Mary Mba (Ph.D.)
To my children –
Who bring light to my tired eyes
And laughter to rooms where grief once sat,
You are the reason the world still feels kind.
Even in hard years, like this one,
You make joy out of ashes,
Surprises out of sorrow.
With your love, you cradle me
As once I cradled you.
Your gifts – small, thoughtful, immense –
Are my balm and my crown.
To my mother –
Whose absence never erased presence,
Whose picture still guards my heart,
Whose spirit lingers in my wisdom,
I was proud to be your daughter.
I am proud still.
You taught me to give,
To stand,
To mother with fire and grace.
And even now,
When I mother my own,
I hear your voice humming through me.
Today I live in the middle—
Between the one I came from
And the ones I brought forth.
And in this middle space,
This beautiful stretch of love,
I celebrate being held,
Being seen,
Being Mother.
Today I live in the middle—
Between the one I came from
And the ones I brought forth.
And in this middle space,
This beautiful stretch of love,
I celebrate being held,
Being seen,
Being Mother.