Days like this yank old baggage out and lay it in front of me. I feel a nudge to unpack it here because there’s an offering inside.

I wish I had understood when my mom was alive the things I have come to understand since her passing. I wish I had seen her as my fellow woman the way I do now instead of only as my mom. With this less limiting, wider lens, I’d have given her more grace. I’d have seen her with more compassion and understanding. I’d have had a greater appreciation for the sacrifices she made. I’d have really seen the struggles that shaped her. I’d like to think I would have reacted less and listened more and maybe we wouldn’t have butted heads quite as much.

But the wider view came after she died, as I prepared to write her eulogy and looked at old pictures of her before she was a mom. It allowed me to see the her before me. She was a girl with immigrant parents. She was a teenager, self-conscious about the finger she had lost in an accident. She was a newlywed with hopes and dreams, some of which did not come true. The pictures were a guide that led me to think about her life from her perspective, not from my side of our relationship. They led me to linger on the challenges she faced and to see her with deep, lasting empathy rather than a child’s drive-by sprinkling of it. Doing this gives childhood memories an adult perspective, one softened even more because I have my own imperfections as a mother. Lots of them.

Thanks to God and Grace, I have not been left permanently stuck with this baggage though it does pop out now and then. On days like this, my mother's birthday, I find myself regretting that I didn't see her more fully when she was alive. But she and I have forgiven one another's lapses, even from opposite sides of the grave. Death is no barrier to the redeeming gift of forgiveness, whether asking for it or giving it. My wider lens and quest for forgiveness after she died transformed our relationship and what I now hold of it.

When the baggage comes out, it’s a reminder of where I’ve traveled and where I want to be now. And God knows I need reminders. But it’s not worth holding it for long. What's the point? There is no going back. There is only here and now. That's all we get.

Today, I think the best gift I can give on my mother’s birthday is to see my people, especially the ones who challenge me most, in an expanded way rather than through the same old narrow lens. To see them as individuals beyond the label our relationship gives. To see their struggles and sacrifices. Maybe it’s a call for all of us to do the same. Give grace. Have compassion. See our own junk, too. Forgive them. And ourselves. Talk to them whether they’re here or gone. To know it’s never too late, but that the best time is almost always now. So don’t wait. Expand the lens.

Happy birthday, Mom. Thank you for the lessons. Thank you for everything. Love lives on.

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