I began with this:

Thank you, Mom. I appreciate all that I know you have sacrificed, missed, given, and suffered for me. No one else would have done these things for an ingrate such as me.

Thank you, too, for the things you made me do that I did not want to do and for not letting me do the stupid, dangerous things I was wise enough to let you know about before I did them. I say wise because only when even I knew something was too foolish, too pinheaded, for any sane person to do, only then would I come to you with a hare-brained idea. Sincerely hoping you would be the voice of reason that brought me back from the precipice of unreason.

Also, thank you for extending your love for me to those important to me. I know you know that polite civility is all I would ever expect from you toward anyone I bring into my life, but you rise so far above that. Despite your nearly feral protectiveness, you welcome with open arms those I love. You treat them as your own blood; give of yourself to them as I certainly never will. Where they fail to thank you, let me stand in their stead: You may be imperfect, and no saint, but let no person doubt the steadfastness of your heart to those you love, thank you.

More than those things though, I want you to know how much I appreciate the things you almost certainly endured, accomplished, or avoided on my account -without my ever knowing. I'm certain there are times I have no concept of where my mere existence changed your choices. It is these times by which I am most humbled. As a child, the world revolved around me; as it does for all children (and most women). Surely I failed to be properly grateful, then. Of course, I cannot see any way in which I could be suitably thankful.

So we're back to it: Thank you, Mother.


And I ended up with this, too:

As I finished the above, I found myself reminded that my cup runneth over with another form of love.

I have a knack for making the truest of friends. I'm not particularly proud of it, and I abuse it brutally, but I am blessed nonetheless: I don't make a lot of friends, but those I do are ridiculously loyal.

I have, for instance, a pair of friends who I honestly believe would take a bullet for me. Now, I would totally disapprove of them doing this, and seek to dissuade them. They are that kind of friends, though. The kind of friends to whom I can do horribly, terribly, selfish things and they will love me as though we are from the same womb. As I do these things.

Don't get me wrong, I love them, too... and would take a small caliber round for them (like a BB or a paint ball, maybe) I just cannot seem to grasp how they can love me in return.

I have another group of friends with whom I am also blessed. While I do not know that
they are up to dying in my stead, they will do (and have done) things for me that are far beyond the things I've heard of other people's friends doing - except in the movies. Things that people go to jail or hell for, in some cases.

I love them all, too.

These people, including the two above, are some of the nicest people anyone will ever meet. No one who gets to know any of them would be less than honored to be able to call even one of them "friend". Yet I, unworthy bastard though I am, have the distinction of calling them all not just "friend", but "dear friends".

So I'd like to finish with this:

So, to all of you (I say "all" because everyone who fits the descriptions above are privy to this document) thank you.

Thank you? A million times thank you would not be adequate for one of you - what the fuck am I to say to you all?

I love you and I am so glad

I'm not living this life without you
I'm selfish and clear