Dear Mum, that’s why I did not celebrate you yesterday…

My only and irreplaceable Mum (with capital “M”),

you may have noticed that yesterday — and for the last twenty-nine years more or less yesterday…

OMG!!! I’m turning 30 years old this year and I haven’t got a wife, I haven’t got a car, I haven’t got a job… What on Earth am I doing with my life?!?

(ti gnivil: reliopS)

Beg my mind’s pardon. It was a worthy interruption.

Like I was saying… You may have noticed that neither yesterday nor on any other previous Mother’s Day did I celebrate you. How impolite!

It isn’ true — you’ll say — You brought me home an array of hand-crafted gifts from school when you were little.

You’re right. But was that my decision? I don’t think so. That’s just one of the many truth we’re given and that we’re expected to take for granted: Hey, it’s Mother’s Day/Father’s Day/Christmas: let’s buy something [useless] to make someone feel useful, let’s buy something to make someone feel loved.

You see what’s going on here, Mum?

Not only are we being told to express LOVE (a passion, a rather abstract and universal concept) by means of ARTEFACTS (objects, rather terrain and very often superfluous stuff), but also to express that on a specific date. But what about the other 364 (or 363, depending on the year) remaining days? Shouldn’t those be Mother’s Day too?! I think so. And I behave accordingly.

I celebrate you

every time I wake up and realize the heart you’ve given me is still pumping blood through my veins. Every time you cry for nothing… cause (guess what?!) I cry for nothing too!!! Every time you bring me the laundry(Yes, I am currently being one of those fellows — How sad…) and you did iron it even though you know that I haven’t ironed a single piece of my attire during the last 2 years and a half and I’m still alive (Baiden way… Did I ever tell you that people around the world have pulled my leg because we, Italians, tend to spend — they actually used the verb “waste” — our precious time ironing our clothes?). Every time you invite me over for supper and you say that you’ve cooked something “the way you like it, son.” Every time I see you and I am aware it might be the last time I see you (’cause — believe it or not — I could die or you could die the next moment). Every time you start laughing and I start laughing and you can’t stop and I can’t stop either. Every time the world is calling me, but I can’t help bursting out in tears, since I know how much I’ll miss you. Every time that by simpling gazing into my eyes you fathom that something isn’t quite alright. Every time I come home after a long time away only to find out that you still LOVE ME the same.

I could go on for hours, as life is everywhere one wants to find it (what a quote, Kevin, what a quote!) and life is what you’ve given me almost (almost, i said, not yet) 30 years ago, but it would be pointless: even celebrating you multiple times per day wouldn’t feel enough to THANK YOU for that.

Nevertheless, I’ll keep doing that, don’t you worry.

I dearly hope that by writing this [truly inspiring and very well written] article I made mine and many other mothers’ day (LOL)!