An Ode to Your Fiery Corona

Dear Mother,

I don't think I ever took a moment to truly tell you how utterly amazed I was by you. So here is my confession to you, my deepest appreciation for the strength I don't even know if you knew you had, but the strength I saw daily.

Your most recognizable feature was always your bright red hair, and I always secretly believed that was your body’s way of letting your fiery spirit shine through. You never seemed scared of anything, which was such a stark contrast from my timid nature in childhood. How I wished I could have an ounce of your courage. Even the seemingly insurmountable task of bearing and caring for six children left me in amazement. What I assumed would leave you tired and drained, gave you new waves of light and energy.

No matter what it was - a bully, a boy problem, a school problem, a work problem you always gave us the strength to tackle anything head on with grace and dignity. And once I became a mother of my own, you helped guide me through the dark of the unknown and second guessing. You were the first person I told I was carrying your first grandchild, and being so young, I was so scared about disappointing you. You met my wavering words with nothing but happiness and acceptance. With you by my side, I could do anything.

I never told you how much I appreciated you watching little Leo while I finished college. I wouldn’t have graduated without you. I never told you how much I appreciated everything you did for my wedding, making sure I had everything I needed because I was nervous enough joining another family. You gave me the skills to be a loving and devoted wife, but to make sure I never lost myself. But I know when it was time to say goodbye to you, I did tell you how much I loved you.

The morning of your stroke was like any other day, so when I got the call you were in the hospital, I figured it was something minor but I decided to go be with you just to be sure. I’m not sure if you even realized I was there by that point. The nurse escorted me to your emergency room bed, hidden by a curtain on a crescent-shaped rod coming from the ceiling. Once I pulled it back, it wasn’t you.

My once strong mother was not before me. You couldn’t speak anything that made sense and you were grabbing your head in such pain. The doctors couldn’t diagnose you yet and said you’d have to be put under anesthesia so they can run additional testing. At this point they were still optimistic. A couple hours later I told you goodbye for the last time. That day was a whirlwind that I still haven’t recovered from.

Years have passed me by, and in my darkest of moments I still use the strength you instilled in me. I have a daughter now, one your mom swears has your same spirit. Having a little girl without you there filled me with such sadness. Never would I think I would feel so empty and so full.

So, Mother, here is my promise to you. Here is my promise to your legacy. My daughter was born into this world without your physical presence, but I see you in her. I see you when there’s a tinge of red in her hair under the sunlight. I see your rambunctiousnesses in her when she’s getting into something she shouldn’t be. I see her bravery when she stands up for herself. I promise you, she will know you and love you. I promise to nurture her, teach her, and love her like you did me for all those years. You were a wildfire, and my daughter is now your ember, and I promise your light will never go out.

I love you always,

Your ember’s mother.