A Late Bloom: Learning from the Shadow of a Lost Connection

I’ll be honest: I never had the relationship with my mother that I would have loved. The kind of relationship you brag about, the kind you're immensely proud of. It’s a sad reality that sometimes, it’s only in death that we truly recognize the greatness of those who raised us.

Looking back, I was a handful. I was a very rude, arrogant, and an entitled child. Relationships were hard to sustain because, in my mind, it was my way or the highway. I didn't make things easy, and I certainly didn't show my mother the respect and love she deserved. I spoke without thinking. I resisted advice. I mistook stubbornness for strength.

It’s one of life’s painful ironies that sometimes we only recognize someone’s greatness when they are no longer here to hear it.

My mother passed away five years ago. It’s been five years of navigating life without her physical presence, and it’s also been five years of reflection. The more I look back, the more I realize what a wise, brilliant woman she was – as my mother and as a strong woman navigating the world. She was incredibly patient with my arrogance. She possessed an inner resilience that I only now am beginning to comprehend.

She carried herself with a quiet strength I didn’t understand then. And somehow, in her absence, I began to see her more clearly.

She was wise. Not the loud kind of wisdom that demands attention—but the calm, steady kind that listens first. She was emotional, deeply human, and yet incredibly strong. She had the rare ability to sit with someone, truly listen, and offer advice that came from a place of care, not control

One of her greatest strengths was being an amazing advisor and listener. Now, five years later, I'm finally trying to practice those very skills. And the improvement in my relationships – with friends, colleagues, and especially my siblings – is undeniable. It’s a work in progress, but these small milestones serve as a constant reminder of the incredible woman my mother was.

Those were her gifts.

Every time I manage to listen without interrupting, to offer advice without judgment, or to simply be present for someone, I feel a pang of regret. I would give anything to apologize. I would look at her and say:

“This growth you see in me… it’s because of you. Thank you.”

And I would say something else too.

“I’m sorry for being such an ungrateful child. Forgive me.”

Most of all, I would tell her what I didn’t say enough when she was alive:

“You mean the world to me. And I love you.”

To all the mothers out there, please know that when your children are at their worst, we don't always mean it. Thank you for your unwavering patience, your endless care, and your unconditional love. You see past our rough edges to the potential you know is there.

And to all the children – be grateful. Value every second. Don't take the presence of your parents for granted. Relationships can be mended, apologies can be made, but time is fleeting. All it takes is a second, and you’ll lose it all.

Don't wait until it’s too late to see the greatness in the people who love you.