Julie Woltil

My mom and I at a lights show together four years ago

She has been there since the light first filtered through my open, fluttering eyelids. She was always life itself; exuberance has a way of attaching itself to her aura and gently reaching out to those around her. Her exorbitant love of life is spread through her hands, but really, each finger is more comparable to a paintbrush. 

Each brushstroke creates a colorful, vibrant life, perfectly splattered against a previously plain canvas. The way she gestures wildly—the dramatic pause of movement at the pinnacle of a story—has you waiting attentively for her next word. Each eye-catching jolt in movement only further attracts.

If not for her, I would quite simply just be left adrift as she is the wind in my sails and the compass that navigates me through the treacherous, onerous seas that lie ahead and the ones previously conquered. 

A jack of all trades—even since the early ages of clinging timidly to her leg, I could tell she was something extraordinary beyond mere wonder. 

Her laugh is like the murmured melodies on a violin she once taught me to play. Her eyes are faintly creased at the corners from a life of smiles at each passing stranger and in accomplishment when she finishes a puzzle. 

I don’t know how to say it eloquently enough to capture how much I truly feel and believe it entirely, but she should know how much I love her. 

She is the flowers I stop and smile at that remind me life is beautiful, the fluffy clouds I wish to float away with on a bright summer day, and the crunchy leaves in autumn that make my walks enjoyable.

She is the good and beautiful in my life, and I so wish she could see herself the way I see her. Perfection envies her and the way she can do anything and everything somehow simultaneously; she carries the weight of the world on her shoulders, but not everything should have to rely on her. 

She paints the sky, each color a different and unique memory with her untarnished and forever held up on a pedestal as she stands strong as a keystone part of my life. 

I thank her for every late-night murder mystery show together, every home-cooked meal, every car ride, every shopping trip, each stitch in the fabric of what she sews, each sage piece of advice I hold dear, each question about her outfit and makeup because I somehow know more than her, and every single hug because in her arms, it just makes sense that everything will be all right. The rhythmic hum of her heartbeat is the constant reassurance that she’s there, and 500 words aren’t enough to encompass the lifetime of love she has given me.

I still cling beside her, wishing she could be by my side in every hard time, but now, when I’m on my own, she is the sound voice of my moral compass and inner advice, still guiding me through life.