My dearest and loveliest  Mom,

I got your letter today with a copy of the article that you had written for the magazine. I tried to read it very fast but halfway through the second paragraph, I stopped. I couldn't go on. I started to cry. "That's my mom," I said. I looked at the picture on the page. "That's my mom."

Many people have read the article, but none of them can say that you are their mom. You're my mom... I'm sorry for all the times I've argued over meaningless things with you while you're battling fatigue and just the desire to keep going.

I wanted to punch that guy as I read, more than anyone who could have read the article, because I am the only person in the world that is a part of you.

I'm still sobbing as I write this, and I guess I'm trying to tell you that I love you very much. I know I was never very good at saying it, but I do. I wanted to stop right there as I was walking and hold up the article above my head and yell, "This is my mom, and I am proud of her!!" I love you so much mom, and I am proud of you.

I'm the luckiest guy in the world. Between you, dad and God, I got the best possible combination a person could have. I'm sorry it took this disease to make me truly appreciate you mom, but through the disease some of your best qualities have come through. Just ask dad. I love you mom. I'll let you go, I'm probably not making much sense.

I love you,

Priyankar

PS: I love you too, Dad!

This letter I got from my son, this is my beloved one and only son. He is my world. I luv him beyond any one's imagination.