It could have been just another Sunday.
But it wasn't.
It could have been a Mother's Day to celebrate with Mami, Gangui and mis primas, to have our little comidita in Alamar, to scrape by to get those red roses.
Or a day to tirar la casa por la ventana in this colorful Colorado.
But, since in this life misery is optional, I opted it out and concentrated in the sweetest and tiny details.
In things such as the pain you feel the first time you spend the night away from your kiddo and the glory of seeing his eyes when you are back. Things such as witnessing the total and undivided love preference he has with Mami, no matter how bad the day is.
Or seeing your own mother unconditionally sided with you, while she's aging and battling los golpes de esta vida, suffering for the world she left behind, just to be with you.
There is no better rose or gift for Mother's Day than listening your child calling you with his first "Mamá". Or feeling his soft arm at night, while he reaches out just to touch you, making sure you are there, right next to him.
It doesn't matter that the day goes by without some Felicidades, or kisses or flowers. Those things, although very nice, come and go.
The real ones are always here, with us, all year long.
And I thank God every single day for having them.