The Black Mushroom

My mother lost my father when I was seven years old. At the time, she was five months pregnant with my youngest sister. Life changed overnight. The company responsible for compensating my mother after my father’s death shut down, there was no life insurance, and my father had been the primary breadwinner. Stability vanished quickly.

For a while, we moved in with my grandmother. Unfortunately, my mother’s relationship with her own mother was strained; they both had strong, choleric personalities, and conflict was unavoidable. At times, we slept outside under an avocado tree in the yard, sometimes at my mother’s friends’ homes, and once—even in a cemetery. Relief finally came when my uncle moved to the United States and began sending money to help his sisters and brothers. Slowly, life improved.

Years later, when I married and had children, a quiet fear followed me: the fear that I might die and leave my children with only one parent, just as my mother had been left. Because of her experiences, my mother deeply understood the pain I felt after my divorce following thirteen years of marriage. Although the separation left me wounded—and forced me to see people differently after the lies my ex-husband shared with others—I made a conscious decision not to cling to bitterness.

My mother and I share a strong relationship. She knew that when my finances allowed, I did everything I could to give her a comfortable life—and she proudly bragged about me whenever she could. I know she worries about me and genuinely wants the best for my future. My sisters sometimes joke that I sound just like our mother, especially when I ask whether they’ve prepared food for their spouses. When I was married, I made sure my husband’s meals were ready—even when we were upset with each other. Love, to me, showed up in consistency.

After my divorce, my mother supported me in every way she knew how. She prayed for me constantly, kept me company during difficult days, and used what little money she had to help me sustain the business I was running after my ex-husband damaged it. I had to hire new instructors just to keep the school open. One of the sensei, however, did not share the same spiritual foundation as the rest of the team. I reached out to someone I admired and asked her to stop by the school for support, but she never did. Still, my mother showed up—she even purchased a car for me and offered guidance on what steps to take next.

As a single mother, I came to understand even more of what my own mother endured. Many men offered to “help,” but their help always came with conditions. Some were married and shamelessly sought something on the side, willing to lie or take advantage when I was at my lowest. Without spiritual strength or maturity, it’s easy to fall for those lies and lose yourself in the process.

I realized that I share my mother’s capacity for both strength and forgiveness. During the time I ran a business with my then-husband, I wanted things done with structure and purpose. Still, the resistance I faced from others led to resentment. I found myself competing for his loyalty instead of focusing on the vision God had placed in my heart. I held tightly to what we had built together, even as bitterness took root. Eventually, I asked for the divorce.

Now, I am actively working on releasing bitterness and walking in forgiveness so I can move forward into the provisions God has prepared for me. Forward is the only direction that makes sense.

Recently, one of my sisters shared an old photo in our group chat from shortly after my divorce, when my siblings gathered in Atlanta at my brother’s house. She suggested we plan another get-together. I proposed we do it in May for my niece’s graduation and mentioned inviting our cousins as well. My youngest sister asked, “What cousins?”—and I was reminded how different she is, as she rarely interacts with extended family unless it’s for a wedding or a funeral. I chose not to explain or react. Instead, I shared that I had dreamed about our grandmother. I also texted someone close to me, who reminded me not to sweat the small stuff—because family, after all, never has a dull moment.

I had another dream where my sisters and I were sharing one room, and it was completely disorganized. I went downstairs to complain, but when I returned, the room was suddenly in perfect order. In another dream, a long black stretch limousine was parked in a driveway, and people kept bumping into it. Finally, I approached the homeowner and suggested moving it to a parking lot across the street. They took my advice and relocated the limousine. I realized I knew the family and had been in that house before—I could even see the furniture in the basement.

These dreams reminded me of something simple but powerful: order comes after honesty, peace comes after movement, and sometimes the best thing you can do is gently guide things where they truly belong—and keep moving forward.