I recall being attached to my mother’s hip as a wee one and I mean literally. If she was sitting on the couch, I was laying my head on her lap as she gently brushed my hair behind my ear. If she was grocery shopping, I was sitting in the cart she was pushing down aisle four, reaching for various items a child would typically crawl on the kitchen counters in search for. If my mother was crying her eyes out on a park bench on a brisk autumn day, I was sitting next to her, doing my six-year-old best to console her. Unknowingly, twenty years later, I would be sitting by her bedside, consoling her through the inevitable depression that ensued after the shock wore off from the tragic diagnosis she received days before my 26th birthday.
Through the many years of this undeniable bond with my mother, or mama as I called her, she bestowed upon me many life lessons, words of wisdom, values and morals. I dedicate this blog to her. In fact, I dedicate my life to her for she gave me this life and it’s about time I picked myself up from the many falls I’ve taken over the past few years. She taught me how to do that. Most importantly, she taught me the meaning and action of strength. My mama was the strongest woman I know and my words could never do the depth of that strength justice, but I will certainly do my best. I was fortunate enough to witness it, to learn from it and to become the strong woman I am today because of it. Not a day goes by that I don’t give credit where credit is due for that.
It may have taken over a couple of years, after her death, for me to sincerely feel this, but my mama lives on inside me. I carry her in my heart, in my stories that I share with the utmost candor and humility and in the decisions I’ve made in my life that have led me to this very moment that I type the word, revival. These are some of the uncensored stories of my journey to a renaissance, if you will – I share in the hopes of reminding one human being that he/she is never alone.