She was in the hospital at this time. Her petite stature caused the doctors to say “no more.” But she persevered. Made it through with St. Gerard and the Blessed Mother at her side. Her bella madre’s spirit calming her mind. I’d come forth into this world at 1:29 a.m.
My birth day is more about my mother than it is about me. Wherever she goes, that’s where home is, because I learned a long while ago that Mom meant “home” from the start. Her arms could hug away my sickness; her hands could brush away life’s tangles; her countless novenas could keep me away from harm; and her sweet humming could sing away the blues. My heart beat in rhythm with hers long before it beat to its own tune. And when my own song was being written, a new verse for each new year, the refrain always remained the same, with my heart and home belonging to the woman I’m blessed to call Mom.