I see young girls so nonchalantly spending precious time with their mothers, the thoughts that are deep down in the darkest part of my mind began flooding back as I see the bound between mother and daughter, all the laughter and secret sharing I was to unfortunate to miss out on, the late night discussion on broken-hearts and the action of hair braiding and nail painting I never once got to experience, I constantly observe children, teens, even full grown adults mistreating and disrespecting their mothers as if they hadn't cared for them when feeling down, nurtured their delicate bodies,nursed them back to health when experiencing illness and made sure they had a plate of food in front of them every single night, I always disliked it when in elementary school on Mother's Day the whole class was making these small, yet cherishable gifts for their mothers and I always had to be that one kid who had to go up and ask "Should I just not make one?", I find it so difficult to see everyone with their mothers, how close they are and yet they don't even know it, while I'm stuck constantly having to remind myself I'll never have that connection and it makes me feel so empty to know I'll never get the relieving feeling of a mothers warm touch or the satisfaction of her calming me down when I'm stressed, whenever I read my baby book my mother started writing and suddenly stops after year one, it always makes me cry, it makes me think about her and how she never got to finish it, feeling the burning tears stream down my face while I read the words she wrote "We're going to have so much fun together as she gets older", and I can't help but think to myself "Well that never happened", People are wasting time doing activities without their mothers because they think they're lame but what they don't know and should is that I would kill just to hear the sound of my mothers voice for the first time in my life, most little girls wish for ponies or the latest Barbie when blowing dandelions but since the age of three, I remember just hoping as the seeds flew from the stem that my mom would walk up and finally come home, I was dependent on that small dandelion for the returning of my lost mother, being older I obviously know now that it's impossible, but whenever I see a dandelion just waiting to be picked, I can't help but go over and blow on it, wishing for the same thing my child mind believed could become a reality