Birthed me into a world of black and white.
Fed me white milk and read stories of love and wonder.
Mother, now with silver white hair and tired hands, wary but not worn out.
She too is a daughter of a mother who taught true love.
We eat chocolate and take walks slowly together like the days are our own. Moments that belong to us.
She has given gifts beyond my comprehension. The gift of faith and sacrifice day in and day out. Swim lessons and home-made chocolate chip cookies, college applications and visa appointments.
She is a woman of prayer and love.
Beyond my 20-something years she has prayed. Planted seeds of faith. My mother, mamma, the one who birthed me into a broken world and taught me how to hope. Gave me my name and continues to pray with open hands sitting in the white chair in the morning light of home.
This woman indeed is my home.
She is mother.