One big act. I wish there was one big act of kindness I could give to my mother, the strongest woman I've ever known. The appreciation that I feel but don't show, will it ever be worth something? The walls I put up are a shell to keep me safe, they keep my demons at bay. The woman who created me, who's loved me since before I existed, she started knitting again. Yarn scattered around the house, yoga DVD's overdue from the library; I break inside. They seem like distractions, distractions from my sister moving to London, from my father who is a story of his own, from her father with his deteriorating body and mind, from me who causes heartache just by existing. I want to scream, "You mean the world to me, I want you to live, I want you to exist outside of us all." She holds us up, the most altruistic person you could ever encounter, she is a masterpiece of kind words and thoughts.

She buys endless bird seed for the constant visitors in our backyard, she yells at squirrels to leave the birds alone. She buys peanuts so they have more than one option for dinner. She wakes me up with coffee every morning, she makes sure I have food to eat and a home to keep. If my mother sees me cry, she cries. She buys me something she knows I'll love, she picks me up books I might like from the library. I spend the day with her until we're both satisfied.

I think she deserves more than the world, more than me. She deserves more than knitting, and at-home exercise DVD's. I want her to love herself as much as she loves other people. When she tries to get into better shape, I want to tell her she is perfect, she is more than good enough. I watch her watch me grow up, I know she could be prouder than she already is. There is so much more I could do. There is so much more I wish I could do for her.