Stories of me and myself

I found this note on my table when I awoke today. Written on scrap cardboard.

"How are you my darling? Mummy gets hurt by seeing you so down and miserable or rather tired. (Blah blah blah... where she inferred right on the crux of the matter even though I never uttered a word.) Must learn how to accept what life is. Always up and down. Not everyday is a sunny day. Keep it up. Be cheerful like your mummy. I have gone through all these years. Anyway just to let you know I had a big war with my boss yesterday. I may get sacked, I won't know. My last request.... (and she goes on to comfort me and assures me)."

Why does mummy love me so much even though I'm crap?
So much to the extent that she wrote to me because she knew I didn't feel like talking.
So much that she hurts when I'm unhappy.
So much that she understands me so well she can guess why I'm unhappy.
So much that she still comforts me even though her day was bad.
So much that she gives me sound advice without pushing it.
So much that she peeps into my room from now and then to check on me, hoping that I'll confide in her, even though all I do is shut my eyes tight or look away.
So much that she calls me in the morning and talks to me in that gentle-st of voice and asks if I'm ok.

I do not deserve any of it at all.
Is this how God demonstrates his infinite love for us? Through mummy-s?
I thank God that mummy now knows Him.
I thank God for mummy.

*tears*