Para Mi Mama

For the better part of my life I’ve failed to find the words to deliver the level of gratitude due your sacrifices.

Often I not only fell short of finding those words but had no desire to send out a search party for them. I let them wander lost in a desert that my pride depleted of all life giving thankfulness.

You see self righteousness leaves our compassion parched and gasping for grace.

It occurred to me as I’ve watched my wife give birth to my two daughters, that it is appropriate that mothers are globally recognized for their heroic and life giving status and not just because I can’t do what they can.

The intentionality of this letter to you mom is because you’re the only one worthy of hero status in my existence because when struggles brought me low you reminded me to stand. From womb to wounds you have always sought to sustain me.

Heroes have a way of holding the lines of our doubt and calling forth reinforcements that send towers of fear crumbling to the ground. They rally our courage and draw out our confidence like a train slowly leaving a station to embark on a journey.

It is within the realm of reason that you could come to the conclusion that because of my vision of you as a hero you never let me down but this is far from the truth. In fact it’s the hard reality that many memories find me disappointed or upset.

The thing no one tells you about heroes is that if they are human they will at some point lower and ground your expectations in their flawed humanity.

Even so it is not relevant to the reason why you are my hero but only this.

What I saw when you thought the cape came off.

What I saw that you didn’t think I saw is what exalted you above the heroic fray of motherhood. The skipped meals so I could have money for food. The disregarded fatigue so you could keep a roof over our head. It was the passed over dreams for me that taught me true love sacrifices everything and expects nothing in return. It was that love that painted the door post of my heart so when I grew up and the spirit of anger attempted to enter my feelings for you it simply passed over.

The memory of smells from the kitchen alone are enough to wrap my soul in a warm blanket of it will be okay, it will pass and I will always love you. When the bullies chased me down like ravenous wolves you spring from behind the trees pushed me behind you and stared them down until I felt brave and secure in who I belonged to.

There is not a fight I had to step into the ring within my life that didn’t find you in the corner. Your very presence saying that you will never give up on me so I should not either. So I kept one foot in the fight no matter how hard circumstances hit I took it and hit back with the force of a dozen generations passed through my mother. Warriors and royalty wrapped in artistic fleshy clothing passed through the umbilical cord you told me once “ Is this the best you can do” and I was offended but now I know what you meant by it.

That I am capable of unsheathing more dangerous swords than I believe but if I want to drink from that well I have to dig first.

But you let me know it’s there because you felt the nourishment pass in the womb to refresh my soul when I forget who I am I can simply look at you because at one point we shared the same food.

Mother of my life you are my hero because there hasn’t been a valley or shadow of death I’ve faced you haven’t grabbed my the neck and said how dare you try to scare my son. You passed down this confidence in your faith like a family treasure and it’s value to me has proven of more worth than all the salaries I will ever make.

There is a reason why my daughter carries your name because 36 years ago you carried my fate and found the courage to be a mother. Even when post partum depression told you it was taking the M so you were just the other person who had to give birth to this child.

Depression I know will take your identity if you let it but you wrestled it back like you were in a street fight for your life but it meant everything to me because that’s why in the city of my joy I call them days when it’s really night because my mother never gave up the fight.

So Your presence is a lantern I will carry until I die. I pray that on days doubt pokes you and says you should have done more you read my letter and stare him down as you lock the door. Then draw a smile because you were always good at art and remember if there is anything good that I am it’s because you are.

With all the love I can muster as a flawed son.