I know I love my mother. Everyone loves their mother. She gave birth to me. She raised me. And she loved me. It's only natural to love her as a mother. But she was an amazing woman. She should have been more than my mother. She should have become an adult friend.
I remember her as a friend because she talked to me like one. She reasoned with me. She counseled me. And never once talked down to me. But I wish that we had fights. Not at 8. But I wish we had time for teenage Purple Owl to fight with her mom.
I guess I also feel bad because I don't remember her. I remember my life with moments of her. As I try to tell someone who she was, I spin off into a story about me. I guess that makes sense. One, children are usually self-centered when telling stories. Two, people see the world from their point of view. I have stories that star Purple Owl because she's what I see.
I get so wrapped up in the mothers I see in media. I read and watch TV. I think that's the way it should be. I feel like we missed out on something. That makes me feel sad for us both. And I feel guilty about my lack of memories. But I do remember my mother, my friend.
How much more could a mother ask anyway? A child who may not remember you well but remembers your touch. Remembers your touch, physically and mentally. Who in part owes who they are to you. A child who had their own life outside of you but is thankful to have had you. Who knew what they had while they had it. A daughter who has no bitter memories of her mother.
In loving memory, Purple Owl's mother, mom, 엄마, 어머니.
P.S. This is basically what I think each December and January. These thoughts of guilt and regret are the reason I get more depressed than usual. But this is the last year I'll do that. In the future, I'll be sad about the fact that mom died in January. But I'll remind myself that we didn't miss out on too much. And the way she added to my life, without dominating it, shows the woman and mother she was. 
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