An Ode to My Mom

peace, love, Queen Jean

My mom was born on October 25, 1957, in Ann Arbor, Michigan. I wasn’t there, obviously, but I’m sure she was the cutest little bean of a baby. She grew up with two rambunctious older brothers and a sweet, affectionate younger brother in a classic suburban house on Inverness Road in Howell.

She was a horseback rider, a French major at the University of Michigan, a camp counselor, a heartbreaker, a marketing specialist, an ultra runner and biker, a swimmer, a married woman, a divorced woman, a remarried woman, a mother, a nurse, and a dog grandma. No one’s life can be distilled into a single paragraph—nor should it be. Our lives are always more complicated than a list of labels. But for the sake of brevity, I’ll start there.

My mom is very much alive (and I’m thrilled about that), so consider this a love letter, a thank you, an ode.

When I picture my mom’s life, I see it through the photos she’s shown me:
A young, thick-haired girl with big glasses and a demure look.
A chapel in Yosemite on her wedding day to my dad.
Wet hair peeking out from a swim cap and goggles at Walloon Lake.
A woman with long, wavy black hair, decked out in 90s attire, a little baby on her hip.

Each of these pictures captures a moment in time. I know I’m missing the full context, but together they offer a glimpse into my mom’s life before me—a life filled with adventure, education, love, travel, ambition, and friendship.

Here are some things I know about my mom pre-1995:

• She was a Horse Girl (capitalization necessary)

• She’s never been broken up with

• She was held up at gunpoint in Detroit

• She had an eating disorder in college

• She had a legendary summer fling as a camp staffer (people still talk about it!)

• She ran a 100-mile race in Vermont and finished in under 24 hours

• She lived in a beachfront condo in Ventura

I’m undoubtedly missing other chapters: her seven-year relationship with a legendary rock climber, morning swims around the Ventura pier, a trek to Everest Base Camp, and a brief stint as a bank teller at the McPherson Family Bank in Howell.

But throughout all of it, what’s stayed constant is her crystal-clear moral compass, selfless generosity, and deep passion for connecting with others.

When I first sat down to write this, I thought I’d start with my own birth. But I realized this story isn’t about me. My mom had nearly four decades of living boldly before I came along. She filled those years with adventure, joy, and friendship.

Then, in 1995—tada!—I appeared. And my mom kept going. In her 40s, she pivoted from marketing to nursing. She completed nursing school and later earned a master’s degree in nursing management, all while raising me.

My mom and I were joking the other day that all parents mess up their kids; it’s just a matter of how much. I’m sure I’ve absorbed a few quirks (example: I’m still learning that cereal doesn’t have to resemble rat droppings and bird feed), but overall, my mom has enriched my life in immeasurable ways. I don’t feel “messed up” by her; if anything, I feel incredibly lucky to have a mom who values adventure, friendship, and quality time.

My favorite memory with my mom is backpacking the John Muir Trail. To be clear, “favorite” is not the word I would have chosen at the time, but looking back, I see how special that journey was for us. Twenty-four days of uninterrupted mother-daughter time, pushing through fears and growing together.

When I think about the life I want to live, I think about my mom’s. She continues to approach the world with curiosity, empathy, and a hunger for new experiences. She values connection, nature, and lifelong learning.

Happy Mother’s Day to the woman who keeps me sane, encourages me to be brave, and reminds me of my worth. I adore you!