My Fire

To the one who raised me,

Your fire astounds me. Passion flows out of you like a quiet brook in the middle of a forest, elegant and calm. Even when I felt my own fire grow dim, you relit it with your own flame and pushed me onward. You've taught me how to let that light shine even when others find it blinding. How to use what I've been through to make myself stronger and more kind. It may have felt like it was the two of us against the world, but I know you had the only strength for the both of us.

I know how excited the family was when I was born, and that even though you weren't expecting me at all, even though you never wanted to see my father again, you always loved me. You made me feel loved and cared for, wanted and important. You dealt with someone you didn't want to, so that I could have the life I deserved. One with two loving families. Sacrifice doesn't even begin to describe what you'd gone through. Fighting for me every day was a nightmare. I don't think I've ever told you that I'm thankful for that.

Remember when we stayed in the basement of nana and papa's house? When we had that small room for just the two of us? You put up my Little Mermaid sheets as a curtain to separate our beds. My earliest memory was pulling that curtain closed as we said good night to each other every night. You made me feel so special. I had my own space, my own curtain and I was surrounded by the movie we both enjoyed. I've never felt so loved.

Years and years later, the Christmas after I graduated high school, you gave me a present. I told you it was the best present I ever received and that still holds true. You gave me pajama pants with the same print as my old Little Mermaid sheets. I remember you playing it off, as just something that you found, and you knew it was my old sheets, but I don't think you understand how meaningful that was to me. You are the most thoughtful person I've ever known. I can't find a single person as thoughtful as you. I've tried. You didn't just get me pajama pants, you reminded me of a childhood I loved. A childhood that you single handedly created because you protected me and cherished me.

When you married your first husband, I thought he could be great for us. Seven years old. I thought our lives would change, and they did. We got two beautiful baby girls that I would die for. I couldn't imagine life without them. Until we learned what monster slithered it's way into our home. Walking down the stairs I remember watching you, struggling, trying to push the girls out the door.

"Take the girls. Go to the car," you said so calmly to me. Again, you had to fight for us, to protect us. You left him. You left him for us. So we could know what marriage is supposed to look like. It may have taken you a few tries, but you've shown us exactly what marriage is supposed to look like. Sean may be the best male role model we've ever had. He treats you right, respectfully and honorably. Your wedding felt like a breathe of fresh air because we knew that you had finally gotten the man we all wanted you to have.

But you didn't need a man to show us what love is. You didn't need anyone. Because even when we were on programs to help get us food, even when we were staying with our grandparents in that little basement, even when we had almost nothing, it felt like we had the entire world. We were cherished by a woman who knew her worth, and reminded us of ours.

Mom, you are responsible for the woman I am today. You are the reason I am strong, independent, smart, kind, and loving. There aren't enough adjectives to describe you. You are you. I couldn't have asked for a better mother, friend, and lifelong partner in crime. You've made three beautiful women who look up to you, because you're our fire. You give and give and it never puts your own fire out. Your a phoenix that continues to get reborn through the ashes of past and present challenges and only gets stronger. Thank you for making me the woman I am today.

With all my love,

Munchie.