The Semicolon

Up until two years ago, I'd made it through adulthood without feeling the need to adorn myself with tattoos or piercings anywhere other than my earlobes.  Not that I hadn't toyed with the idea of a tattoo, but "someone" would have nattered on about it far too much and listening to the snide comments would have dulled any of the fun of getting one.  About six months after I was on my own, I decided that I would take the plunge (and a few Tylenol for the pain) and go get some ink done.  Little did I realize how addictive this whole tattoo thing would become.  I now have four tattoos, each with their own special meaning.  The first one is "Breathe, Believe, Begin" to remind me that nothing is insurmountable if I take the time to take a deep breath, believe in myself and get started.  The second is an infinity heart to remember my father who passed away.  The third is my daughter's name surrounded by delicate flowers, so like her.  The newest is a forget-me-not flower, the symbol for Alzheimer's.  This one honors my mother.  There will soon be a fifth.

The next one will be the semicolon symbol, a very small and discreet little marking that will be placed on my inner wrist.  A great many people are sporting this tattoo, but I wonder how much of the general population know what the meaning of it is.  I'm sure that those who know me will likely think that it's my way of flaunting the fact that I'm a bit of a grammar nerd, but they would be very far off the mark in this thinking.  I expect to have to explain to quite a few why I have a semicolon tattoo, and I fully expect to find that a difficult thing to do.  However, as difficult and awkward as it will be, I'll explain it as many times as needed.

This symbol represents mental health struggles and suicide prevention.  In 2013 there was a vast social media campaign called "Project Semicolon", described as a "movement dedicated to presenting hope and love to those struggling with depression, suicide and self-injury".  The aim of the project was to create encouragement, love and inspiration.  This project resonates with me for several reasons.

As the parent of a teenager who has struggled for far too many of her young years with severe anxiety, depression and borderline personality disorder, any project or cause that will increase the awareness of these mental health issues has my full support.  For too long I have watched my daughter gather up the courage to face each day, never knowing if she will get through the entire day without something triggering a panic attack, setting off an uncontrollable rage episode, another round of depression or the need to cut herself in order to numb the emotional pain.  To say that being on the outside of it looking in is heart-wrenching is a definite understatement. 

I often feel there is nothing I can do to help this beautiful, intelligent and gifted young woman.  It's  emotionally, mentally and physically draining on levels that I can't even describe.  As a parent, giving her all of my support should be something that comes easily, but it doesn't.  We often end up tangled in a web of arguments, mistrust and hurt feelings because I can't always be the "rock" that I should be to her and I've not yet figured out how to not take things personally in the heat of the moment.  The personality disorder episodes are unchartered waters, and each time it happens it's hard to know what course to take, and I somehow usually get it wrong and make things worse.  Fortunately, she always finds her way back with some kind of inner determination that I only wish I had myself.

My hope with getting this little tattoo is that when I lose my patience and my own emotional strength in the midst of this journey with her struggle, I can look at it and remember what it's there for.  I hope that it reminds me of the parallel to a writer who chose to use a semicolon instead of an ending, and that she has chosen to fight this battle instead of giving up.  I hope that when she catches a glimpse of it every now and then, she realizes that it's there because I love her.  It's there because I want to encourage her and support her, even if she often doesn't think so.

I also hope she realizes it's there because I've had my own struggles and understand far more than I have ever told her, or ever will. I understand the fear, and I've had the chest crushing pain of anxiety attacks.  I am familiar with the sudden feeling of hopelessness and sadness that sneaks up and envelopes your entire being.  I get that sometimes these things prevent a person from getting out of bed because sleeping is easier.  I also can relate to the struggle to make a choice between a semicolon and a period.  The difficult thing is trying to convey that to her without it seenimg like I'm making it my story instead of hers.  Unchartered waters, indeed.

So with this next tattoo, I won't be taking the pain-killing Tylenol.  It just seems fitting that I feel the pain with this one.

;

Changes

I've realized recently that I don't like change.  That would be well and fine if change didn't seem to be the constant in my life.  It's the one thing that I can count on, almost daily.  I suppose that resistance is futile at this point, and truth be told I haven't got much left to resist with anyway.

I've had more changes in the past few years than most people do in a lifetime.  To be honest, not all of them were bad, and some were absolutely necessary.  A couple of them brought me a great deal of good (even if it took me a while to realize that).  However, it's the changes where I lose people that are the most difficult to deal with.  I'm so tired of losing people that mean so much to me, whether it's from distance, death, the parting of ways, or shift in life circumstances.  It sucks any way you cut it.

Currently, I'm finding myself in the position of losing another relationship that I desperately want to hang onto. I doubt that anyone who has had loving parents ever wants to see the inevitable change that comes with age.  I certainly don't, but another round with Alzheimer's, the most challenging opponent ever, keeps the changes coming. I'm seeing them in my mother, and I'd rather not.  Burying my head in the sand isn't going to stop these changes, nor will any of the other attempts at evasive action that I keep grasping at.

Each time I visit her, it seems to take her a little longer to realize that it's me.  It breaks my heart, and I always end up beating myself up over the fact that I don't visit her as often as I should due to the other responsibilities in my life and the fact that I can't be in ten places at once.  My logical side tells me that she has no idea how long it had been since I last saw her, but my emotional side takes me to task - every single time.

The fact that she is unhappy where she is doesn't help matters.  I was so grateful when we found a facility where she could get the proper care, and at first she was very content there.  It made things a lot easier to deal with, for all of us.  The contentment ended with the arrival of a new "roommate" who was very unpleasant to my Mom and constantly tried to physically prevent her from entering her own side of the room by blocking the doorway.  Had this been a couple of years ago when my Mom's feisty temperment was still in play, I'm pretty sure there would have been some humour-filled yet firm retaliation.  Instead, it  happened at a time in her life where my mother was timid, fearful and unable to stand up for herself.  This has created a set back in her well-being and happiness, which in turn, manifests more confusion in her mind.  For months my sister and I had been trying to get the facility to sort this out while we waited for an opening at another care facility more suited to her needs. As is typical when dealing with any kind of health program, progress seemed at a standstill.  Sometimes it feels like most of my life is spent waiting for the provincial health system to come up with a "care plan" for those that I love so dearly, and I can do nothing but wait and hope the plans don't come too late.

When we finally got a call that there was an opening in another facility, we realized that it would now be too detrimental to make any change to Mom's living arrangements.  My biggest fear in all of this (aside from the physical safety of my mother), is that it would speed up the progression of her disease. After consulting with the her physician it was confirmed that would likely be the outcome.  Having gone through this once already with my father, I'm all too well aware of how any sudden changes or emotional upset can affect the mental state.  Hell, even without having Alzheimer's, unwanted and unpleasant changes can have these affects.  I know, because I struggle with unpleasant changes so frequently that I often have a hard time keeping myself together enough to make it through an entire week without losing my sanity.  I can't imagine what it's like when half of your mind is already ravaged and confusion runs rampant through your day. 

It's heart wrenching to see my mother afraid, confused and in tears most of the time.  For the last few years my mom was very easy going and content.  Unless she was having an episode of dementia related hallucinations, you could always depend on a smile and a laugh from her.  Now, those smiles take a bit of coaxing and the laughter is a bit quieter.  I could also depend on her to know what was happening in my life.  She now forgets more frequently that I have a job, that my daughter is almost grown, that I have my own house.  I hate those changes with all of my being.

So far the only thing that hasn't changed with her lately is her knowledge that my daughter is her granddaughter.  When she sees her, she lights up and says "there's Emily".  It brings me to tears every time, because Mom was so overjoyed to be a grandmother. 

Recently I visited on a rare day when she recognized me and said "there's my baby" with her arms outstretched.  I ended up having to turn my head away so she didn't see my eyes well up.  It isn't because the words made me sad, but because I knew that the number of times I would get to hear those words are limited. 

I often think of the quote that says "without change there is no growth".   I used to like that quote because it seemed to say to me that good would always come from difficult changes if I waited long enough.  However, now it seems to me that the trend with changes to my world always mean a loss of some sort.
And every loss seems to take another little chunk out of my heart.

So if change really means growth, I don't want to grow anymore. 

Sixteen Candles - A Birthday Letter for my Daughter

To my dear daughter,

When you were born, I couldn't envision the day that you would turn sixteen.  You were so tiny and so new, that the thought of you as a teenager was unimaginable.  Yet here we are a few days from your sixteenth birthday.

You have grown from such an adorable, quiet and shy little girl into a beautiful, engaging and articulate young woman.  The tenacity that you show in accomplishing your goals is something that continues to amaze me.  Your courage in facing adversity and the challenges that you encounter daily is nothing short of incredible. 
The way that you so maturely handle the onerous task of trying to make others understand what sets you apart makes me so very proud of you.

I realized recently that you have been swimming against the tide since before you were even born.  Due to some complications, during the last months of your "incubation" I was consumed with worry that you wouldn't survive to see this world.  In true "Emily" nature though, not only did you survive but you were too impatient to even wait until the due date, thus arriving five weeks early.  Thankfully, though you weighed all of five pounds, you were healthy, feisty and bossy right from the start. 

From the first day, you slept and ate on your own schedule rather than the one that the baby books said you should (something you continue to do to this day).  You reached the milestones well ahead of your time, and you constantly surprised everyone with your early accomplishments.  Everything you did was exactly when you wanted to, never when we were expecting it, and always with a little streak of mischief and a lot of independence.

It's hard for me to look at you and not see the baby girl that gave my life such purpose.  I still sneak in and watch you when you're sleeping (don't get creeped out - all mothers do this), and I still see the little girl with the blonde curls who just couldn't wait to be "growed up".  Well, you're almost there and I'm still not ready.
I'm not ready for the boyfriend, not ready to see you behind the wheel of a car (and no, not mine) and I'm not ready to see you with a job.  Then again, I wasn't ready to hear you talk, or walk or start school but those things all happened, and it turned out just fine.

I know that life isn't always a bed of roses when you're a teenager, but soon enough you'll be out of the teen years.  High school will become a distant memory as you move on to other things.  You'll have your ups and downs, and the downs will sometimes seem insurmountable.  I can't tell you that will ever stop as you get older because life will continue to give you ups and downs.  How you handle the downturns will help determine the outcome, so muster as much grace and courage as you can to get through them.  You will welcome people into your life for many years to come, and you'll lose people as well.  Friends and lovers will come and go.  It will hurt at the time, but remember that when people leave you it isn't a reflection on you.  All it means is that their place in your story has come to an end.  It doesn't mean the story is over, just that a new chapter needs to be written.

So, write your story Emily.  Fill it with as many chapters as you can, and as many pages as you can fit.  Edit as necessary, review often.  You may not have written the first few chapters by yourself, but you now have total control in how the rest of the story unfolds.  Write it with passion, write it with pride and write it in purple because no one will expect that.

Happy birthday sweetheart, I love you to the moon and back.

Soulmates

I am in love.  I have finally found the one that can make me happy just by being near me.  My new love willingly goes everywhere that I go, and very graciously leaves all of the decisions up to me. I feel spoiled.  The pace is set by me, there is never a dispute about where I want to go, or what time of day or night I decide we should get out for a bit.  I have found a real gem, so quiet and so pretty to look at.  We can overcome the age difference, I am sure of it.  I have all a woman could ask for.  My companion practically purrs when we are together.  How loved I feel.  

 

Before anyone starts asking when the wedding is, I should clarify that I have fallen in love not with a man, but with my new car. I have given up all hope of ever being in any other type of relationship, and I'm pretty sure I can get at least an eight year run out of this one.  All I have to do is remember to keep it hydrated with fuel, wash it occasionally and take it in for scheduled check ups.  Sort of like having a dog, without having to pick up any undesirable leavings.

I don't have to be dressed in any particular style; my car cares not whether my hair looks like a corn broom in the middle of a fit, and it doesn't make smart-ass remarks on the state of my mood.  I don't have to try to make small-talk or have an emergency backup plan, unlike the three recent ill-fated dates that I foolishly embarked on over the last two weeks.

On the first one, I could clearly see my little car across the parking lot while I suffered an hour of what surely was more boring than watching paint dry.  How I longed to just make a run for it and ensconce myself securely in the haven of my lime green Hyundai. I think I kissed the steering wheel when I got in, but I don't really remember.  My brain was numb by that point.

On the second, although my car was parked out of sight, I knew it was there.  I couldn't stop thinking about it.  I finally "admitted" to my far too young date that I was interested in someone else and really shouldn't waste any more of his time.  I just didn't admit that the someone else was my car.  The one that I practically sprinted to once I broke a speed record finishing a cup of coffee.

The third (and as far as I'm concerned last) failed date took place blocks away from where I parked my little pride and joy.  I started having separation anxiety as I got further and further from where I left my little gem.  Now, to be fair, date number three was very easy on the eyes.  Enough for me to temporarily forget about my little green machine.  Until I asked him what he did for a living.  Once he said he was a commercial pilot, I had no choice but to fake illness and cut my losses. I work with pilots every single day.  I could find no polite way to say I'd rather be shot in the head than date one.  So I bolted.  Right back to the parkade and into the arms of my soul mate.  

When the seats started heating up, I knew I was forgiven for my betrayal. I'll never cheat on my amour again. I've learned my lesson.  Next week we're going to the automotive store to pick out floor mats and air freshener.  Because that's what couples do.

Memories of Dad

Tomorrow marks my first Fathers Day without my Dad. While sorting through some old photos last night, the memories of him were both overwhelming and heartwarming at the same time.  I was so very, very fortunate to have such a great father.  There's something to be said for the fact that I can't recall any unhappy memories of him.  Not a single one.  In all of our years together, we never had an argument of any type.  I can't remember a  time in my life that my father ever raised his voice to me or spoke to me in an unkind way.  I doubt there are very many people who can say that about their relationship with a parent.

I have nothing but pleasant and fun things to remember about growing up with the Dad that I had.  All of my childhood memories of him involve the two of us doing things together.  I think I was pretty much his second shadow (when I wasn't trailing after my older sister), but if he ever found that annoying he certainly never let on.  Any time Dad was working on whatever old beater of a car he had at the time, I'd be right beside him holding a wrench or some other kind of tool, likely asking a million irritating questions.  If he was working in the yard or on a project, I was there too.  I probably wasn't a whole lot of help to him, but wherever he was is where I wanted to be.  Some of that stuff with the tools must have stayed somewhere in the back of my mind, and it's starting to finally pay off.  He'd get a real kick now out of watching me try to do things the way I remember him doing them all those years ago.  Dad was meticulous about his tools and taking care of what he had.  I've discovered that I'm the same way with my own tools, even though up until the past year the only tool I owned was a craft knife. 

My father spent years trying to get me to enjoy active living, and when I was little, I would join him in pretty much any activity he came up with.  We used to go snowshoeing in the woods behind our house in the winter, and he even found me a pair of snowshoes that were exactly like his.  I had my own cross-country skis when I was six, and I remember spending hours skiing on trails, enjoying the scenery and each others company.  He desperately tried to teach me to skate on the lake down the road from us, but much like my dancing skills, I could only skate with my left foot for some reason.  And my feet would get cold very early into it.  Dad's "remedy" for cold feet was to take my skates off of me and stick my sock-clad feet into his armpits to warm them up.  Sounds disgusting now, but back then it seemed like a neat enough trick.

Summertime activities didn't seem to be my "thing" either, but Dad patiently kept on trying with me.  My sister was more of a "summertime" girl than I ever was.  Dad's aunt and uncle had farmland in Cape Breton, and my sister absolutely loved every bit of the farm.  Not so with me, although I'm sure that most of you who know me would be SO surprised at that.  I've heard that my sister would get right in there to milk the cows and feed the chickens etc., when she was young.  All I remember about those visits was that I wouldn't even get out of the car without holding my nose, which thoroughly embarrassed my mother (who I might add, only refrained from mimicking my actions because it would be deemed impolite).  I was afraid of the chickens, couldn't stand the smell of the manure in the fields and wouldn't be caught dead picking a cucumber or carrot if my last meal depended on it.  Dad accepted this side of me, and never once tried to force me to join into the farm stuff or made any type of remark regarding my distaste for everything farm related.

I can't count how many summers the poor man tried to teach me how to swim, but by the time I turned ten he admitted defeat and advised me to always have a life jacket handy.  Camping was another failed activity and I know that I spent the majority of those few trips complaining and whining.  I think my father must have had the patience of a saint to endure those short trips.  To this day my idea of camping is in a three star hotel, but I have to give him credit for trying.  I always appreciated the fact that Dad never got disappointed with my lack of enthusiasm or skill with some of what he tried to teach me.  He was very much a "to each his own" person, and I'm grateful that at least I came a way with a little of his outlook, if not his love of camping.

When I entered the teen years, my father certainly had his hands full with me.  I shudder now when I think of all of the really stupid things that I did, and the amount of worry and distress that I must have caused him.  Dad's way of handling my rebellious years was to more or less kill me with kindness.  The first time I became ill from drinking too much cheap red wine was one I'll never forget.  When I finally emerged from my bedroom the next morning, Dad very sweetly (and softly) asked if there was anything at all that he could get for me.  Some dry toast, black coffee, aspirin perhaps?  A pillow?  I would have rather been yelled at, or grounded or thrown out on the street.  Anything but the kindness.  That gave me more of a guilt trip than any amount of admonishment could ever have.  I'm pretty sure he knew all along what he was doing.

As daughters frequently do, I moved in and out of my parents home far more times than should have been allowed.  However, each time, Dad faithfully helped load and unload boxes and furniture without complaint.  He never showed the exasperation that he surely felt whenever I'd announce that I'd found "the perfect place". He also never said a word or got mad at me when I'd call to say that the "perfect place/roommate or boyfriend" wasn't working out.  This undoubtedly meant I'd be moving home again, and I wonder if he didn't keep a roll of packing tape in his back pocket for several years running.  The only hint he ever gave that my comings and goings were a bit much was when he was walking me down the aisle.  As we approached my soon to be husband, Dad leaned in and whispered "Are you sure this is what you really want?  Because I'm not moving your furniture again."

When I announced that I was expecting his first grandchild, my father was absolutely over the moon.  Especially since my due date was on his birthday - didn't end up that way, but he thought that was so very cool.  He insisted that he be the one to buy my daughter's crib and he was so thrilled to go "baby furniture" shopping with me.  I remember we had such a wonderful day together.  When Mothers Day came and I was still in the fairly early stages of pregnancy, Dad showed up at my door with a dozen red roses and a handwritten "Happy Mothers Day to Be" card.  When Emily was born, he was the first visitor to see her.  I'm pretty sure he slept out in the hospital parking lot, just waiting to get the all clear signal. 

Those are the kinds of memories I will always have of my Dad.  All of the gentleness, the kindness and the little things he did for the people he loved.  He can't be here with me physically tomorrow, but he'll always be with me in my heart.  Dad - I hope you're dancing in the sky.  Love you to the moon and back.

 

June Jabberings

Well, it's finally June, hopefully a more reasonable month than May was.  I really don't want to repeat a month like that. I would rather have my toenails pulled out slowly by a three headed troll.

Last month brought more turmoil than was necessary, or expected.  Although I usually pride myself on being able to draw strength and patience when I need to, my reserves were getting a bit stretched by the end of the month.

The patience I rely on went on vacation in May.  Too bad it didn't take me along.  I think it hooked up with my strength and optimism halfway through too. I hope they all had a good time without me, because I'm calling them back home now.  Party's over guys. Time to get back to work.

The biggest catalyst to what shall now be known as Miserable May, was my beloved daughter, who for various reasons, decided at Easter that she would rather live with her father for a while.  One would think that being all alone for the better part of six weeks would free up my time.  Not so.  She required more effort and emotional energy from a distance than she ever did before.  Add in the sudden teenage rebellion, and it made parenting triplets seem like a walk in the park.  Although it was to hard to watch someone I love so much make so many bad choices in a "go big or go home" way, it was necessary for me to let her make them.  All I can do is hope she learns from it and moves through this stage quickly (before it kills me). She came back yesterday, toting all of her stuff, along with what appears to be some sort of deadly plague that she will no doubt share with me.  I give it a week tops before she goes back with her dad and leaves me with her germs.

Due to the six week custody switch, I had to spend more time with her father than was normal for a separated couple.  Although we have a pretty decent relationship, that can get weird after a bit.  I'm no longer used to being asked where I'm going, who I'm texting, when I'll be home etc.  Now, in all fairness, it was for the sake of co-parenting and coordinating chauffeuring duties and the like, but it was starting to feel like being married again.  I was beginning to get cranky and annoyed, which tells me that I should stay single.  Forever. I'm more suited to a relationship with myself, or maybe a goldfish.

Another thing hampered last month was my ability to sleep.  I've been running on three to four hours a night for weeks, and it's starting to show.  My house is a disorganised mess, as is my hair most days; my car looks like I've been living in it, and my relationships with a few people I cherish have suffered greatly due to a lack of energy on my part.  I swear I can hear my bed mocking me when I approach it at night.  Sometimes the pillows chime in as well - "oh look, here she comes thinking she's going to sleep tonite, bless her heart".   At least the couch hasn't caught on yet.

Normally, I'm all over things that need to be done and can manage to keep the balls juggling in the air.  Not last month.  Instead, I found most of my time last month was spent picking up all the balls that I dropped.  There has been no time to deal with the non-urgent issues like the broken toilet, car repair, ever-leaking basement door, etc.   I can't even remember the last time I picked up more than the bare essentials at the grocery store, filled the gas tank before the warning light came on, or arrived at work on time in the morning. Never mind the running and sketching hobbies that I was trying to keep up with, but only managed once or twice.  Stolen couch naps when the opportunity arose won out over all of that.  I'm so glad that the couch accepts me, even if it is only for short periods of time.

When I did have a little time to myself and enough energy last month, I found that I really wanted to get out with people.  Very unlike me, being an introvert at heart, but a necessary diversion from the unnecessary daily life-sucking evils that kept cropping up.  Besides, it gave the impression that all was right in my world, thus giving me a break from having to explain my weirdness.  Nobody needed to be sucked into that quagmire, and misery really doesn't love company as it turns out.

I did enjoy the times I got to spend with my girlfriends over the last six weeks though.  I've gotten a lot of driving experience in places I was always hesitant to go to, unless as a passenger.  I've tried out a bunch of restaurants that I hadn't been to before (and gained a few pounds in the process), discovered some really neat little shops in obscure places, relaxed in a friends hot tub, took a few dance lessons and went on my first ever pub crawl.

The dance lessons didn't go well (refer to the sentence on introversion above), but the rest was fun and allowed me to recharge my batteries a little.  Well, maybe not the pub crawl.  Or at least the pub crawl hangover.  Lesson learned the hard way.

In any case, now that June has arrived, it feels like I should get this show back under control.  That's very important to a self-admitted control freak.  Maybe my next tattoo will just say "Control Freak".  Or "Freak Show", since most of the time that's the best way to describe my life.  As freaky as it is though, I know I wouldn't change it.  I'd lose too many of the good things and people that I have, even though I'm sometimes guilty of forgetting that.

So, bring it on June.  I'll even take your June bugs with pleasure.  And that says a lot about Miserable May.

Mother's Day Musings

To my daughter.

 I just dropped you off at your friends house.  When I watched you get out of the car with all of the grace and beauty of a young woman, my heart stopped a little with the realization that my little girl is now almost grown up.  In less than a year, you'll be driving a car (hopefully not mine) and bringing home your own pay cheque.  It really seems like yesterday that you so very excitedly gave me a plunger, pink plastic barrettes and a Barbie doll for Mothers' Day.  To this day I can't figure out the symbolism of the plunger, but you were so proud of yourself for making Daddy let you pick everything out on your own, that I still grin each time I have to pick up a plunger. Which is more often than I'd like to, since you keep forgetting we don't have a garbage disposal system.

When I think back on all of the years that you celebrated Mothers Day with me, I can't help but be so very grateful that I was blessed with you.  For many years I couldn't imagine a life with a child in it, but now I can't imagine a life without you.  I was the least likely candidate for motherhood (ask anyone who knew me back then), but from the moment I first held you, I knew what my true purpose in life was.  You gave me a reason to be, and still do, every single day.

As most mothers and daughters do, we have our ugly moments. We've had the raised voices, Mexican stand-offs, slammed doors and more recently, swearing competitions (which I will ALWAYS win).  We'll probably always have our disagreements, because we're two very different people and both entitled to our own thoughts and opinions.  I will always be annoyed with you for stretching my shoes, "borrowing" my clothes and leaving dirty dishes on the counter.  You will always be annoyed with me for being "weird", putting your things where you can't find them, and asking too many questions. Thankfully, we usually manage to forgive each other.  You finally forgave me for the "marshmallow farm" incident, and I have finally forgotten about the blue food coloring incident.  That's what mothers and daughters do.

Something else that mothers often do is give advice. I'm not great at advice, and I usually get it wrong, but there are a few things I would like you to try to remember as you grow up.  The most important one is to be responsible for your own happiness.  Don't depend on anyone else to make you happy - this is a surefire way to be disappointed.  And don't ever try to be responsible for the happiness of anyone else - that's impossible to do and far too much pressure to place on yourself.   Next, be independent but accept help when you need it.  Don't be afraid to ask for help, you'll be surprised at how many people just might be willing to lend you a hand.  Always let those you care about know how you feel, don't wait until you're at a point when your mind says "I wish I'd told **** how much I ****".    When you fall in love (which you will, several times), don't love with all of your heart - save a little of it for yourself.  Give other people a chance, but not so many that you become a doormat. When you get your heart broken, wallow for only a short time, then pick yourself up, hold your head high and move along. Never stay stuck with someone you don't belong with - if you're not happy, it's not meant to be.  Don't stay somewhere because you're afraid to leave, and remember that "reasons to stay" are only excuses not to leave.  When you make a mistake (again, you will do this many times), learn from it and do things differently the next time around. Finally, do what you love to do and never let anyone tell you that you can't. 

You have asked me for "hints" as to what I would like for Mothers' Day.  I already have the best gift of all, I have you.  Love you to the moon and back Em, always.