One more time around the sun, hard to believe.
What can I say to you that doesn’t sound clichéd? My admiration for you is boundless, and if I must grow up it’ll be just fine if I turn out just like you.
There are so many things to thank you for. All the soccer games, all the riding lessons, all the horse shows, all the concerts – from “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” to Tchaikovsky – you were there for them all. In the past few years, as my life has grown busier, I have realized that there must have been times you had to move heaven and earth to be at all those events, but you never let me see it.
You indulged my passion for mismatched socks, never insisting that I find a pair for a special occasion. When I wanted to be a witch for Halloween one year, and you had miles of green fabric and almost no black, you convinced me that green witches were way scarier than black ones.
Your courage in the face of multiple frightening diagnoses and difficult treaments humbles me. Your dedication to your volunteer work for the public library, your lifelong love of reading shining out of you, inspires me. Your continual wonder and amazement at the world around you are a reminder to me that beauty is everywhere if I’ll just let myself see it.
You are my hero.
So, to the woman who read Pooh stories to me:
Hippy Happy Bitatuski Wottadusky! And many many more.
All my love, always,