Don’t get me wrong, I love my dad. And I’m sure most people love their dads too. But there’s something different and special about mothers.

My friends and colleagues complain about their nosy, bossy mom in one breath and then list everything she’s doing for them in the next. They receive texts, emails and phone calls, and, if they live away from home, the occasional visit once a month or so.

They call their mom when they have a problem and are more like sisters or old friends than mother and daughter. They receive care packages, thoughtful and practical gifts, and clothes that actually fit.

If you don’t know me, or you haven’t visited the about me page yet, my mom died of cancer almost five years ago when I was 18.

…

Phew. OK. The bomb has dropped. Can we move on now?

It would be too simple to say I’m jealous, or that it stings when I witness and hear about the relationships between them and their mothers, whether good or bad or somewhere in between.

I’ve accepted my place as a quasi-orphan and I’ve learned to deal with people’s sympathy.

As a seemingly unrelated aside, I’ve totally accepted my Gen Y identity – except I don’t have a helicopter parent.

It would have been my mom. She wouldn’t have been one of those crazy helicopter parents who does your homework for you or won’t let you do your own laundry or calls your profs if you don’t get an A in their class. But she would have been involved in my life.

The thought occurred to me today after I went back to Cambridge to visit my dad and my brother. I can’t help but think of her whenever I go home. My mom never lived there, but some of her furniture, photographs and knick-knacks are there. We have to drive past the house we lived in with her when she died on the way to my dad’s house, only a few blocks away.

But I got a direct reminder thanks to some paperwork my dad’s been holding onto for the past four, almost five, years. I guess my mom put some money away for my brother and I when she really knew she wasn’t going to make it and my dad wants me to check it out.

Just seeing her handwriting, our old address and phone number, and her email address (which no longer exists – I checked) flooded my mind with memories and the reality that, after all this time, she’s still not around.

She filed the paperwork April 2, 2004; less than two months before she died. It’s not much money and I’m not even sure how to go about getting it, but I’ll figure it out.

It just got me wondering what she would think of me now, five years later, as I’m about to graduate from university. I’ve survived this long believing she’s proud of me and somehow knows what I’ve accomplished since she’s been gone.

What kind of relationship would we have? How often would we talk, email, text and visit? What would I ask her for advice about? Would I be annoyed by how involved she is in my life? Would I take her for granted?

They’re questions which can never be answered, but also questions I think about to figure out where I fit among my peers – especially as I continue to discuss and write about Gen Y, who seem to have such deep relationships with their parents.

What kind of relationships do you have with your parents?

But I’ve also come to appreciate the people in my life at various points in time who have given me the extra push I needed to get through a rough patch.

It’s taken me a while to recognize who they are and exactly what they’ve done for me, but now, when one of those people appears, I know instantly. Now, the experience is much more rewarding because I feel I can appreciate what they’re offering me.

My parents raised me to believe that a person’s success was determined by how self-sufficient they were.

This was probably because, at times, they weren’t very self-sufficient and they had to take jobs, borrow money and accept second-hand items (including cars) from well-off family just to get by. They worked hard and did their best, but it wasn’t until much later in their lives that they were able to achieve some measure of self-sufficiency.

But I’ve been accepting help from well-meaning friends, family members and strangers for almost five years now, since my mom died. Whether it was simply their company and inspirational words, or their expertise in a certain area, or even gifts or money.

It has been tough to realize people actually care about me enough to offer me these things without expecting anything in return, except my company and, for those who have contributed to my education, my continued hard work.

It’s also been difficult to realize I may actually be the type of person who deserves these tokens of appreciation and support. My drive, hard work and persistence has probably helped these people decide I deserve whatever they’re offering, but I’ve always been too modest to think or say that.

Recently I noticed that I’m now able to accept these things as they come. Instead of feeling guilty and holding myself back by being reluctant to accept them, or by not accepting them at all, I know I’ve proven my worth and the person really believes in me.

I survived the loss of my mom with the support of family and friends.

I stayed in the journalism program at Ryerson thanks to the faith my first-year reporting instructor had (and continues to have via email) in me.

I focused on school and extra-cirricular activites at a critical time in my career thanks to the financial and moral support of my dad.

I’m going to the National Post for my internship instead of a small community paper because my third-year copy editing instructor took the extra time to tell me she thinks I’m a strong enough journalist to pull it off — almost a year after I was last in her class.

And today my aunt took me shopping for some professional-looking clothing so I can feel confident and comfortable when I finally start my internship in March.

I didn’t ask for any of this, but I needed it and it’s truly helped me to become who I am and get where I am in my life.

I’m not a success yet, but I think I’ll get there one day if I accept help from enough kind-hearted individuals. I hope I can offer the same help to others along the way, but perhaps a person’s success is measured by how much they help others realize their dreams.