The Facebook Post is BS - I Want a Mother's Day Gift!

The
Facebook Post is BS – I Want a Mother’s Day Gift! by Debra H. Goldstein

Dear Mom,

On Facebook this week, the unknown
writer cut and paste post tied to Mother’s Day is:

Every year my
children ask me the same question. After thinking about it, I decided I’d give
them my real answer:
What do I want for Mother’s Day? I want you. I want you to keep coming around,
I want you to ask me questions, ask my advice, tell me your problems, ask for
my opinion, ask for my help. I want you to come over and rant about your
problems, rant about life, whatever. Tell me about your job, your worries. I
want you to continue sharing your life with me. Come over and laugh with me, or
laugh at me. I don’t care. Hearing you laugh is music to me.

I spent the
better part of my life raising you the best way I knew how. Now, give me time
to sit back and admire my work.

Raid my
refrigerator, help yourself, I really don’t mind. In fact, I wouldn’t want it
any other way. I want you to spend your money making a better life for you and
your family. I have the things I need. I want to see you happy and healthy. When
you ask me what I want for Mother’s Day, I say “nothing” because you’ve already
been giving me my gift all year. I want you.

I think the posters have it wrong. I
want a gift. I’d like the opportunity to spend another day with you. A day when
we talk for more than a few moments. A day when I ask you about you instead of
ranting about my life or getting annoyed because I’d rather be doing something
for work or with my family rather than making my daily telephone call to you. A
day when we go to lunch or take a drive or laugh at a joke.

Thank goodness you were with us for
Jen’s wedding, but I’m so sorry you missed Beth’s. It was special, too. You’d
be thrilled at how your grandchildren and great-grandchildren are doing and
you’d be patiently listening, and silently praying, over the antics of your
playboy grandson.

So, I want a real gift this Mother’s
Day. Memories aren’t the same.

Love,

Debbie