Roots, Wings, and the Women Who Raised Us
In the quiet hush of early May, as Mother’s Day approached like the scent of blossoms on the wind, I wandered the land. My mother was away on a well-earned adventure, resting her bones and spirit. The stillness wrapped around me like a shawl, the hush of wind moving through tall grass, the soft murmur of memories were rising like mist. I was overcome by a fullness so tender it brought tears to my eyes, a feeling I’ve learned to welcome with age.
I felt the love of every woman who’s ever mothered me. My mother, my grandmothers, my sisters in spirit, the aunties, the teachers, the soul-friends who stood like sentinels in my storms. Their lessons live in my bones now: how to keep going, how to speak the truth, how to carry sorrow in one hand and joy in the other, without breaking.
First, to my own mother
The one whose love was stitched into lunchbox notes and hems, into long talks that mended the pieces life had broken. Mama, you were the steady rhythm beneath the chaos, the one who carried us when we didn’t even know we needed carrying. You taught me to pray with my feet, to work with my hands, to open my door and my heart in the same breath. I watched you give, always giving, even when you were tired, even when no one said thank you. You made holidays out of nothing. You taught me to love fiercely and live gently. To say what needed to be said, but always with kindness. You taught me the power of staying, when the staying was hard, when the leaving might’ve been easier. Your hands taught me everything: how to braid hair and bake cookies, how to plant hope and pull weeds, how to hold grief without letting it swallow the joy. You made it all look easy; though now I know it never was. You poured yourself into us, until your love became the very soil beneath our feet. Thank you for every unseen sacrifice.
To my daughter:
You are the one who made me a Gigi. But more than that, you rewrote the rhythm of my heart. Watching you become a mother was like witnessing the first light after a long winter, a light I didn’t even know my soul had been waiting for. But before that, long before, you saved me. Time and time again, without even knowing it. Your laughter in the dark days, your fierce spirit when mine faltered, your little hands that reached for me when I didn’t know how to reach for anything. You gave my life meaning when I couldn’t find any. You gave me a reason to get up, to try again, to stay. You taught me that love could be redemptive. You reminded me that I wasn’t too far gone, not too broken, not too late. You cracked me open and filled me with something holy. Thank you for this gift, this Gigi life. You are my heartbeat out in the world, and I am endlessly proud to be your mother.
To the women who raised John
Oh, how I wish I could have met you. Though I feel you often, in little ways: the butterflies that land softly on my shoulder, the lilacs that bloom around the edge of the yard like a quiet hedge of memory. Thank you for raising a man who walks with quiet strength and loves with his whole heart. A man who shows up, boots on, sleeves rolled, whether it’s for a broken fence or a broken spirit. I see your fingerprints on him every day. In his fierce loyalty, in the way he notices the little things, in how he holds space for others without ever needing applause. You gave him the kind of love that made him safe to love. You taught him how to hold a woman’s heart like a sacred thing, not something to possess, but something to protect. You taught him how to be gentle without being weak. Because of you, I get to walk beside a man who honors his family, adores his child, and has embraced mine as if they were always his. He makes me feel cherished and adored every single day. Thank you for raising someone so rare.
oh, you magical women!
You sweep in with hugs and markers in your bag, know exactly when to show up and when to just be. You antagonize the uncles just enough, and teach the littles how to do it, too. You love our grandsons like your own. You are the glitter, the wildflowers, the extra sprinkles on the sundae of life. Never, ever doubt how vital you are.
To the mothers of my sons’ sweethearts
You raised the women who’ve captured my sons’ hearts. You taught them to love, to dream, to stand tall. Thank you for your quiet teachings and your loud laughter, your patience, your wit, your generous hearts. You’ve given me daughters by love, and I will protect them fiercely. Your fingerprints are on this family, etched into the love we now share.