"Being a mother is not about what you gave up to have a child, but what you've gained from having one." - Sunny Gupta

Years ago I read this poem and I thought I would share it today. I gave it to my mother one year for some occasion I have forgotten now, but I found it very good back then and still good and relevant now.

I can see it in the attic photos, page by page,

our mother-daughter memories,

all the years and all the growing that was ours.

I can feel it in the denim dress,

you made for me at five.

It matched yours beautifully,

So I wore it with a daughter's pride.

I can taste it still, the love you put,

in all the casseroles and cakes,

teaching me that I could cook --

using one part joy and one part patience --

when I was only seven

but thought I must be eight.

I can feel it, from the inside,

as you drove me to softball games -- or was it to ballet?

No matter my performance,

you always found a way to make me feel

that I was more than fine, that I was simply great.

I can hear it, all too quickly, by thirteen,

the sound of all of me --

too cool to love you, too hip to be you,

too busy for your endless chores and lists.

I became so involved with making me,

I was sure you didn't quite exist.

I can recall it, like yesterday,

grounded from my freedom all too often at sixteen,

I fought your structure and your limits

with the energy of the rebel that I'd found.

"I never want to be like you,"

I spoke boldly so you'd know,

but you spoke back softly, with a smile of wiser years,

"It's unavoidable, my daughter,"

but I pretended not to hear.

I can remember it all too well,

at seventeen you held my hand

as heartbreak held me all too fast.

You said,"Remember all the good times,

then let go. Love is worth it,

and I know, someday it will come back."

I can feel the car wheels as they rolled

all so quickly away from home,

But as surely as the college miles were far

the closer to you did I grow --

at first creating lists, then acting with a new enthusiasm

instead of giving up or giving in.

Now, as I look around my house

I chuckle instead of yell.

From the closest, down to every hook,

and shoe pile, to every tidy file --

this house is mine,

but Mum, it really looks like yours!

I can see it all so clearly,

in the mirror, even our hair looks the same.

But even more than all of that,

it's who I have become today.

I can see how deep within myself

there is a loving sigh

as I mimic your compassion

and it gives me quiet pride.

And I feel your dedication, Mum,

to stick to things through until the end.

After all these years, you're more than a role model,

you're an inspiration ... and a friend.

So when I feel myself doing something like you now,

I hold my head quite tall.

With a peaceful smile, I realize,

I've become my mother after all.

~Marguerite Murer