generated with meta.ai
When I talk about my mother, words fail me. It is not because I have nothing to say. It is because this is a woman rich in character that words often fall short.
The first time I read; “God couldn't be everywhere therefore he created Mothers by Rudyard Kipling, my soul moved in a way like never before. It needed no further explanation. My mother was my god. The one who gave up everything for me to live. Now that I have become a mother, those words are even more profound. There is nothing on the surface of this earth that I wouldn't do to protect my child until my last breath.
Still, I often sit and wonder how my mother managed to do life with all five of us. Even through joy, grief, and struggles, she always showed up for us with peace all over her. The kind that is contagious and makes you feel safe instantly.
I would probably never know how she did it but my mother could carry an entire nation on her back with so much grace that you'd think the problems of this world were weightless on her.
There was something about her spirit that clearly radiated and attracted people to her. It was in the way her aura commanded so much elegance and respect.
My mother didn't have all the silver and gold of this world but she was a giver that never ever lacked. She would give her last and a miracle would happen.
My mother would only exhale, and then put her trust in God. Just like that, it worked every single time and our problems would find solutions. I thought, “This woman has special access to the divine that we do not know about.” If not, how did she just breathe and magic happened?
My mother is all the faces of beauty that I have ever known. In her eyes, I see the sun. In her smile I see embers. Embers that burn in white flames that fall like soft snowballs. Such purity I can’t compare.
My mother’s modesty is next to none. Her gaze so deep. When she speaks her words are chars of wisdom and truth that seeps through your body like a cold embrace.
I often tell people, “I’m not even half the woman she is.” And that much is true.
Sometimes when I speak, I hear my mother's voice through me. Her views of the world are becoming mine. I know I am becoming more like her every day but I also know that I can never be HER. A rare gem.
