I hope one day he looks back and realizes that in his greasiest, grumpiest, prickliest teenage days, his mother was always happy to see him.
I hope one day he looks back and notices that his mother came to very nearly every single one of his many, many games. And that every time he looked her way after an especially awesome play, he could catch her eye, watching him.
I hope that one day she looks back and can see all the encouragement, instruction, structure, consistency, and correction from her mother as a form of love.
I hope that one day he looks back and is grateful that his mother made him believe he was a special gift (no matter how rowdy, disregulated, or behind the curve he fell).
I hope she's always my best friend.
It is a huge bright spot in my heart that he now sees his mother as the wind beneath his now spread-wide wings.