Mom was someone that
took great pride in her
appearance, but
never with vanity.
Makeup classy,
never over or understated;
vibrant perfume wafting;
a necessity.
Every night,
before work,
her hair
exquisite,
only to be flattened
beneath her yellow hard hat.
Disinterested in
Others approval,
I doubt mom cared
what they thought.
Only her viewpoint
mattered, and I
think mom knew
she was beautiful.
She knew her worth.
She was more than
beauty standards.
Growing up, one common
refrain was always
do your best. If you got
a bad grade or
the outcome wasn’t
what you wanted, she’d
comfort you with the
warmest hug and
assuring words,
knowing you tried hard.
You tried your best.
That was mom.
She believed in
standing up for yourself.
‘You’ve got to speak up, Dustin.’
I heard that a lot.
Being a single mother, she
worked hard and long
because she had to.
There was nothing
she wouldn’t do for
us—her pride and joy.
As much as we stressed
her out and drove her “bananas,”
I don’t think she would’ve
had it
any
other
way.
Isn’t that the
way of life?
Too short to exude perfection.
Day-to-day
living shouldn’t
be safe or linear.
It should defy
one’s notion
of
pre-
dict-
a-
ble.
Withstand the expected,
the ordinary.
Be extraordinary.
Stay true to yourself.
I hear you, mom
and I’m trying.
Earnestly, I’m
tying to get
back to the
things that bring
the most joy.
I miss and love you
more than any
poem can ever
hope to convey.
Wish you were here