There are no words vast enough to explain what it feels like to live in a world that no longer holds your voice, your smile, or your warm embrace. You were more than just my mother—you were my guide, my defender, my safe place. Losing you didn’t just break my heart; it shattered the very ground beneath my feet.
I often find myself remembering the simple things—your laughter echoing through the kitchen, your hands working over the stove as you cooked enough for two families. The way you’d fuss and pray in the same breath, never letting go of your faith even when life pushed hard against you. You raised me with truth, with strength, and with a fierce kind of love that never let me give up—even when I wanted to.
You were there for the first grandbaby, even though it came at a time that neither of us were ready. But you stood by me. You never left. You didn’t just help raise her—you helped raise *me*. And that’s the love I’ll never forget.
As I sit with your memory today, my heart aches for your presence, especially in 2025—this year, *four* more of your grandchildren walked across that graduation stage. Four more reasons for your heart to swell with pride. Momma, they did it. And every step they took was with the strength you instilled in all of us.
And yet, there’s one more bittersweet piece I must share with you. One of your great-grandchildren, a little angel who barely touched this earth, was called home far too soon. Only a few minutes with a heartbeat, and yet, enough time for love to be born. I know she’s with you now, cradled in your arms, rocking in heaven’s gentle light.
But don’t worry, Mom. God left us with *two* more of your great-grands—beautiful, precious, full of joy. If you were here, I know without a doubt that their lives would be overflowing with the kind of love, laughter, and grace only you could give. They would’ve been spoiled by your cornbread, your bedtime stories, your advice wrapped in scripture, and your stubborn, unwavering belief in family.
There is not a single day that passes where I don’t think of you, wish for you, long to call and tell you about something one of the kids did, or ask you how you got through it all. I wish you were here to watch them dance at prom, walk across stages, hold their own children someday. But I carry you with me in every moment, and through me, you’re still here.
Your legacy doesn’t live in things—it lives in people. In us. In them.
So today, I say thank you for everything. For showing up when it was hard. For standing tall when others would have folded. For being the backbone of this family.
I will keep your love alive, and I will make sure every grand and great-grand knows just how much of who they are is because of you.
Sleep peacefully, my angel. You were the first to love me—and you will always be my greatest loss, and my forever treasure.
“Her children arise and call her blessed...”
— *Proverbs 31:28*
