Today I received a post that was written in the casual yet ornate script I recognized immediately to be my mother's. Inside was a birthday card and white tissue paper that held my present. I had asked my mother for a cash gift, simply because I'm 18 and in need of a new cell phone. When she reluctantly agreed to consider it, I thought she was being somewhat selfish in wanting to buy me a dress or some such gift. As I unfolded the tissue and saw the glistening of an exquisite necklace tumbling from the wrapping, I felt greedy and pathetic. Money is easy; my mother wanted to give all that she could by ransacking salt lake for the perfect gift before delivering. I left a thank you on her voicemail, and felt proper and polite, but softly distant. I miss her.

"I bought you the most elegant necklace I could find for your 18th birthday. What an important day for you. Just as you have far's wedding ring and the golden heart pendent from mor- both priceless heirlooms- this necklace can become an heirloom for your posterity that is handed down again and again. It's so you and it's the one way you can always be remembered. But...until then, wear it when you want to be especially beautiful. I love you and miss you terribly. -Mom"

My eyes stung as I thought of my previous selfishness, of my eternally animate pessimism, of my ingratitude. Half of the cutting beauty of growth lies in the flippancy from which we grow.

Mom, you are a phone call away, but it's late and I don't mean to wake you. Hopefully my need to tell you this will not dwindle with the passing time. Be happy, darling. You are so dear to me. All hallmark cards aside, friction and tribulation is what makes us appreciate what we have. I have my issues that I've allowed to push me to thanklessness, but please excuse the crimes of a child; I know, and will never deny, that you are a fantastic mother.