This year, perhaps more than ever, I am grateful for my mother. A week before I moved home to California, I had a living nightmare of a teenage trauma I had spent ten years burying. I called my mom in tears and she did as she always does- she comforted me and offered me love, but she also became my fierce advocate. She helped me take action. She's held my hand through my processing of it, booked counseling sessions, had tough conversations within the family on my behalf, encouraged me to speak my truth (I'm almost there...), come to my home in SF to take care of me, been willing to admit the mistakes of the past and risen courageously to support me now. It's meant the world- or more specifically, profound healing- to me. When I became sick with an ulcer last year, She took care of me. She cooked for me, cleaned my house, stroked my hair and scratched my back. Last year when she was hired by our local church, they asked her to sign a statement saying she agreed with their teachings. Thinking of me and my aunt, she told them she doesn't agree with the church's stance on same sex relationships (they hired her anyway). She has been through so much in her life and has always been my shining example of how to live with love at the center. Oh yeah, and she gave birth to ten fucking kids. Mama, I celebrate you today and always. Thank you for being my rock. My blanket. My wings. Getting you as my mama is my greatest blessing. I love you.
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