Still Standing

Last year, many people were devastated mentally, financially and physically due to the COVID-19 pandemic. Whether you lost a loved one, income or your mind during quarantine, 2020 may have been a true testament of one's true strength. After Kobe Bryant and his daughter Gianna tragically passed away, I kept hearing over and over again "give your loved ones their flowers while they are still alive and able to smell them." Therefore, I'm giving praise to the only woman I've ever loved, feared, revered and resented all at the same time, my mother.

My mother, Ms. Dantica, is a fierce woman with the mind of an elephant, the heart of a lioness and the spirit of a wolf when it comes to protecting her young. She made being a mother look easier than being a woman. I think that's why I always respected her. It came too natural and easy for my mom to be overprotective, overbearing and over-the-top. I didn't realize until I had my own children she was like that for several reasons.

My mom was born and raised in Port-au-Prince, Haiti during the reign of corrupt presidents "Papa Doc" and his successor "Baby Doc." In the 70's and 80's, many Haitians fled Haiti to escape the extreme poverty and unpleasant conditions. Many Haitians sought refuge in south Florida including my parents and a good amount of my distant relatives. Out of my grandmother's five children, she was the youngest daughter. My grandparents were married for over 40 years, but my grandpa was known for being a skirt-chaser who had women and children everywhere. Because of her experiences as a child, my mom was forced to grow up quickly. I am my mom's oldest child. While studying to be a nurse, my mom gave birth to me at 22-years-old. As fate would have it, life took her on a different path away from nursing.

Trauma and grief seemed to shadow my mom's life, yet she wakes up everyday with faith and purpose. As a way to cope, my mother talks to herself frequently as if her conscious or enemy is listening and talking back. Often, she yells at someone even when no one is there. When I attended high school, my father and mother bickered like my little girls do now, but extremely worse like raging lunatics. There was an instance when my father angered my mom so badly, she picked up one of those wooden patio couches (that she used as living room furniture for some odd reason) and flipped it upside-down. She cursed, she cried and was destructive until she fell asleep hours later. At that point in my life, I chose not to have a personal relationship with my father. I, primarily, felt he enabled her manic behavior when he was aware of her poor mental health.

Although my father and I are close now, he disappointed us too many times during our upbringing. On my ninth birthday, my father promised to throw me a birthday party inviting family and friends. My hope was lifted so high when he took me, the day before, to buy some party favors and ice cream. The actual day came; he was a no-show. When he stopped answering my calls, he yanked my hopes down from the sky and stepped on them. On the flipside, my mother put her cape on soared in to the rescue. She threw me a small party and invited the neighborhood friends literally at the last minute. She had music blasting from her little radio outside and cooked the little food we had in our fridge. She didn't have a cake, but she managed to keep the party fun with the Neapolitan ice cream we bought the day before. Till this day, my mom calls me every birthday. First thing in the morning, she sings me Happy Birthday off-key. I'm 33 years old.

Most of the women I grew up around were strong, but to characterize my mom as just strong doesn't do her justice. She's a survivor. The Haitian women, I grew up knowing, were not weak or timid. All of them were hardworking, smart, beautiful and driven. On the other hand, I've yet to meet a man or woman with the same resilience as my mother. At twelve years old, my sister and I witnessed my father assault my mother. He was holding over her head one of her porcelain Madonna that she kept on her mirrored dresser. I noticed blood from her face dripping unto her shirt. Before he attempted to bludgeon her to death, I screamed hysterically and stopped him.

Unknowingly, my mom was pregnant with my brother. I'm not too sure if he was ashamed, scared or appalled of what he had done, but he disappeared out of our lives for a year before he came back begging for forgiveness. I've continued to think about, had I not made a sound or reacted, would my mom and little brother be alive today. No matter how much she resents him, she has always encouraged my father to have a better relationship with his children.

My sister and I share so many memories of my mom as a champion. I watched my pregnant mother with no car, barely any help, and two children managing to keep a roof over our heads with a broken heart and low income. She would walk almost 15 miles home from the bus stop after getting off work. She held our hands and talked to us as a way to keep us distracted. She took us to work with her when she was a security officer at a job that supported her knowing her trauma. Even, they recognized that my mom was a force to be reckoned with. Her job, then, provided care for us during the day and threw my mom a baby shower before my brother was born.

During the recession, I was in college. My mom was laid off from a Florida turnpike job that she worked at for almost a decade. She started working there when my uncle (her brother) died during the holidays. Since they made her aware of his no-call, no-shows, she went to notify his supervisors and they offered her a job. He died in his sleep after he too suffered from a diabetic shock. My mom was unemployed for two years. At that point, my mom applied for any and every job. However, her age, social awkwardness and thick language accent stood in the way of multiple opportunities. Eventually, she settled to work for a minimum paying job, and my sister moved back in with her to help with expenses.

Last year, my mom lost a significant woman in her life from a diabetic shock. Auntie San was someone my mom considered a sister and loved tremendously. My mother was so shocked and inconsolable that she uttered "I'm so tired of this..." She slammed the door and locked herself in her bedroom. Later on, she buried her pain at work as she tends to do. In my mom's lifetime, she has lost three brothers, her best friend, mother, father and now another loved one who she grew up with. Auntie San was there for my mom when she was sick, hurt or needed guidance, but my mom couldn't be there for her. She died in Haiti, and my mom had to watch her funeral virtually because of COVID-19.

My mother has survived many ailments like a mild stroke, abuse, mental disorders, being a single mother, working two or three jobs at a time and lost loved ones. People have taken advantage of her, and conned her out of money. Her home has been broken into a couple of times. No matter how the world has treated her, it didn't stop her from giving her last to a homeless man. Regardless of all the challenges she faced, she was able to show my sister, brother and I what unconditional love looks like. My mother sacrificed so much for her children, and always made sure we ate before she did even if the food was gross. We were stubborn, rebellious and defiant, but my mom would break down every neighbor's door to find and punish us if we stayed out too late.

My childhood was tough, but not as tough as the woman who raised me through it all. When my mom feared my elementary school might hold me back, she dedicated the little time she had to review English and math with me. Because of her, I carried that same resilience through college and became the first generation to graduate from a University and obtain my journalism degree. My sister graduated with a degree in neuroscience and is working to be a neuro optometrist. My baby brother is attending a technical college in Orlando with computer science goals.

When I look into my daughters' eyes, I know my mom feels proud of all she's accomplished raising us. No accomplishment is greater than having children and knowing you did your best with what you had. I want nothing more than for my mother to be happy since she's overcome so many obstacles. She's still standing, still praying, still working, still loving, still crazy, but still my mom. I'm forever grateful and can never say thank you enough. The greatest lesson my mother has taught me is that children are the best examples of unconditional love. They love you right or wrong, they love you weak or strong and only want that love reciprocated. Nobody should tell a mother what they should do, wing it with your child's best interest at heart. Ms. Dantica has always been my "shero." That's why my mom will forever be a boss in my eyes. I love you and always will, mommy.