Mom.

Its 3am and I really, really should be studying for my Science midterm.

I’m not.

Because I took a Vyvanse to concentrate and instead I’m having crazy epiphanies.

We all believe we have the best mom in the world. I’m pretty sure even if your mom sucks ass, you still love her because its ingrained into your DNA. She brought you into this world. It’s impossible not to feel that kind of love.

My mom and I are opposites in a lot of ways. She’s a giver, and for most of my life, I’ve been a taker. She sees most things in black and white (not in a negative way. she’s just definitive: she knows who she is and what she wants.) I tend to see the world in shades of grey (being indecisive and other, unstable things.) We fight a lot, but I think its because we push each other the hardest — to grow, to be the best versions of ourselves. Without the opposite-ness (making this a word), we wouldn’t be nearly as good of people. We need each other, its why she is my best friend.

But tonight, while I was in my state of….focus, I finally realized something we have in common. We believe in moments.

We’ve never even talked about this. And I think if she read this she would be confused, so, here I am to explain. One thing my mom and I disagree about sometimes, is faith. When I was in grade school, I almost inwardly held it against her for not taking us to church every Sunday. I believed (notice the past tense), that Church was essential to faith. I didn’t take my mom’s faith seriously because it was too simple.

Did you read that? Too. Simple.

Not complex enough for my complex mind. She just believed. She would watch Joel Osteen, and in hard times, she would tell me to pray. To talk to God. But I didn’t believe her, because she wasn’t ingrained in the system of religion (even though she considers herself a Christian.)

So one day I asked her, in the midst of my spiritual crisis: “Why do you believe in God?”

She began to tell me a story. At the time, she was around my age (20-something). She was dating the man who is now my stepfather, and although I love the man and respect him in many ways, one thing he will always suck at is driving. The man drives like a hell-bent, crazy ex-girlfriend on the loose. It’s never safe. And he’s 50…something. So imagine him at 20. (scared face)

They were driving somewhere one day and my mom didn’t have on her seatbelt. I can’t remember all of the specifics, I just know there was a pretty traumatic crash. Growing up I used to feel these bumps on my mom’s face around her eyes. She told me they were pieces of glass that were still stuck in her face from “the crash.” I never really put the pieces together till’ later….

So my mom, seatbelt-less, flew through the front windshield. I’m pretty sure my stepdad will always feel like shit for this (even though he is STILL A TERRIBLE DRIVER.) It was pretty amazing that my mom didn’t die; she honestly probably should have.

But she told me this story a few years ago, in more detail, and near the end she described what she remembered from flying through that windshield. She said, in the moment, she felt like someone was holding her. Protecting her. Keeping her safe.

My mom is the most non-bullshit person I know, so when she told this story, it was with pure honesty. I could feel it when she told me. I could put myself in her place. I could feel the safety she felt. What she felt, was God. It was strange.

She has faith, simply, from that moment. (And I’m sure many others have solidified it), but in that moment, it was proven to her. Does that make sense?

I believe in moments.

Me and Mom have that in common.

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