I’m not entirely sure what I should call you. You’re my mother but you’re still, for the most part, a stranger to me. I don’t want us to be strangers. We’ve gone too long being separated by time and space. I want our first Valentine’s Day together to be special and I guess I want to catch up. I want to make up for lost time and find the right way to show you that I never forgot about you. Not once. I’m not angry with you anymore. I know you did what you thought was right. You had no way of knowing what would end up happening to me. You didn’t deserve what happened to you and neither did I. Please accept the flowers that I have sent. We have so much more than Valentine’s Day to make up for. We have thirty-three years of history to make.
There are exactly thirty-three white roses to make up for every Mother’s Day that I pretended to not care about who or where you were. Only the tears that ended up on my pillow know the truth. Now you do too.
There are thirty-three yellow roses for every one of my birthdays that I’m sure you never forgot.
There are thirty-three pink roses for every one of your birthday’s that I had wished I could forget but didn’t. I couldn’t.
There are thirty-three red roses for every Valentine’s Day that I wondered what kind of flowers you would have liked most if we had never been separated.
Happy Valentine’s Day, Noni… mom.