Earlier this year, I made a list of 100 things I feel thankful for. For me, there is always so much to be thankful for, so much left unlisted. Making the list was both comforting and thought-provoking. I thought for Thanksgiving this year I would elaborate on a few of the more important things.
Ten Reasons I am thankful for my parents:
- My mom and dad were both very creative people, and they encouraged creativity in me. I wrote and I painted, I sewed and sculpted. I still do.
- When I was very young, my mother made me truly believe that I could accomplish anything and be anyone. I lost that confidence as I grew older, but I am so thankful that as a little girl I had that much belief in myself. So many people are knocked down from the start.
- I am fairly certain my father is a genius. Genuine.
- When my mother died, I was sixteen, and I know I was a brat. I am sad that I lost my mother during such a pivotal phase of my life, and that she died before I could grow up and become the person who I am today. But I knew at the time, even though our relationship was strained, that she would always have my back. We bickered constantly, but we never forgot to say “I love you.” That means so much to me, now.
- My parents trusted me, and I trusted them. They trusted me to make the right decisions for myself, and were there when I didn’t do quite that. My dad, especially, has been there for the most difficult turns.
- My mother encouraged my anime obsession. She helped me dream up cosplay ideas, and I remember decorating her hospital room wall with Sailor Moon sticker dolls after she had her heart attack.
- My father encouraged my “goth” phase. What a sweetheart. I wanted purple hair, he suggested blue. He bought me a coffin shaped jewelry box for my sixteenth birthday, drew cobwebs on the brown paper package, and wrote my name in “spooky” lettering.
- There were periods of time during my childhood when I know money was a serious issue. I never really felt it. I always had what I needed. I respect my mom and dad so much for this. They must have been hurting.
- They were both (and still, in my father’s case) amazing note and letter writers.
- Without them, I wouldn’t be me. For good and for bad, I am their daughter. This life is incredible: sometimes weird, sometimes sad, but incredible nonetheless.
Thanks for stopping by. My name is Naomi, and this space is made of girldust. This blog is a picture of my comfortably scattered life on the coast of Maine. I'm trying to be a slightly better version of myself every day. I like old houses, reading, the ocean, ghost stories, and museums. You can learn a little bit more about me here. Follow along elsewhere, or get in touch: