When my mother died I realized that no one would ever love me like that again. I always knew that no matter what I did, good or bad, she loved me anyway. Not to say that my father hasn’t been there or that he doesn’t love me. Or that my son’s love isn’t the best thing since honey-buttered biscuits (Have you had them, they are freaking delish)!
A mother’s love is never judgmental. It’s kind and forgiving yet bold and endearing. And when you can’t see or hold that love anymore…it’s hard to survive in a world that openly judges and discusses your failures and whispers or ignores your successes.