I'm sorry, Mom

Mom, it's me. I know you probably won't ever see this, but I need to say it anyway. I need to get it out. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry for how I treated you when I was a teenager. God, I was awful. Just a nasty, selfish little brat.

I remember all the times you tried to talk to me, to connect, and I would just shut you down. Roll my eyes, slam my door, say the meanest things I could think of. I wanted to hurt you, and I knew exactly how to do it. I knew your weaknesses, your insecurities, and I used them against you. What kind of kid does that?

I remember you working so hard, two jobs sometimes, just to make sure we had everything we needed. Food on the table, clothes on our backs, even the stupid expensive sneakers I just *had* to have. And how did I repay you? By complaining that you weren't cool enough, that you didn't understand me, that you were ruining my life. I was such an ungrateful little shit.

I remember that time I snuck out to that party, the one you specifically told me not to go to. I lied to your face, and then I got caught. You were so worried, so scared. I saw it in your eyes when the police brought me home. And what did I do? I yelled at you for embarrassing me, for ruining my night. I didn't even care that I had put you through hell. I only cared about myself.

And then there was the boy. Mark. You didn't like him, and you were right not to. He was no good. But I was so desperate for attention, for someone to tell me I was pretty, that I ignored all the warning signs. You tried to warn me, Mom. You tried to protect me. But I pushed you away. I told you you were just jealous, that you didn't want me to be happy. And then he broke my heart, just like you knew he would. And who was there to pick up the pieces? You were. You always were.

I know I can't take back the things I said, the things I did. I know I can't erase the pain I caused you. But I hope, I desperately hope, that one day you can forgive me. I understand if you can't. I don't deserve it. But I need you to know that I'm not that person anymore. I've grown up. I've learned. I understand now all the sacrifices you made for me, all the love you gave me, even when I didn't deserve it.

I think about you all the time. Especially now that I have kids of my own. It's like a cosmic joke, isn't it? Suddenly, I understand everything. The worry, the exhaustion, the unconditional love. I get it now, Mom. I finally get it. And it makes me feel even worse about how I treated you.

Sometimes I see my daughter, Lily, acting like I used to. The attitude, the eye rolls, the constant need to push boundaries. And it scares me. It reminds me of myself. And I try to be patient, to be understanding, to remember that she's just a teenager, trying to figure things out. But it's so hard. It's so incredibly hard. And I know, now I truly know, how hard it must have been for you.

I wish I could go back and do things differently. I wish I could tell that younger version of myself to stop being such a horrible person, to appreciate you, to love you the way you deserved to be loved. But I can't. All I can do is try to be a better daughter now. And a better mother.

I know I haven't been around much lately. Life gets in the way, doesn't it? Work, kids, responsibilities. But I think about you every day. I worry about you. Are you eating well? Are you getting enough sleep? Are you happy? I wish I could be there more, to help you with things, to take care of you the way you took care of me. But I'm so caught up in my own life, I often forget. And I'm sorry for that too.

I'm trying, Mom. I'm really trying. To be a better person, a better daughter. To make you proud. I hope, someday, I can. I love you. I always have, even when I didn't show it. Please forgive me.

I saw you the other day, at the grocery store. I was too cowardly to say hello. You looked... tired. But still beautiful. You were wearing that blue sweater I always loved, the one I used to steal from your closet when I was little. And you were smiling, talking to the cashier. You looked happy. And I was so relieved. Because you deserve to be happy, Mom. After everything, you deserve the world.

I know I'm not perfect. I've made so many mistakes in my life. But I'm trying to learn from them. To grow. To be a better version of myself. And I hope, more than anything, that you can see that. That you can see that I'm trying. And that I love you. More than words can say.

I don't know if you believe in God, but I do. And I pray for you every night. I pray that you're healthy, that you're happy, that you're surrounded by love. And I pray that one day, you can forgive me. For everything.

Thank you, Mom. For everything. For your patience, your strength, your unwavering love. For believing in me, even when I didn't believe in myself. For being the best mother a girl could ask for. I'm so lucky to have you. Even if I didn't always act like it.

I miss you. I miss our talks, our laughter, our silly inside jokes. I miss your hugs, your cooking, your comforting presence. I miss everything about you. And I promise, I'll try to be a better daughter. I'll call more often, visit more often, tell you how much I love you more often. I promise.

I love you, Mom. More than words can say. Please forgive me.

Your daughter,
Sarah