My parents unknowingly brought me into this world, a hilltop hospital sitting within the curvy and consuming Blue Ridge Mountains. The afternoon sun hid away on that cold January morning. The frosty air filled the hospital room as my mom laid exhausted but satisfied with the outcome after a C-section birth. You see, I have always been unwilling and uncertain. I always come around one way or another. My Dad’s light blond ponytail and grip to his youthful facade could not conceal the soft, explicit tear rippling down his face as he stared at the smaller one that resembled his own: me. The unspoken uncertainty of my birth was no more, and pure joy filled the air. Although I was not there at this moment, I feel it in my bones. The hospital room oozed with the clammy feeling of love and sincerity. My Mom kissed my ginger head with the promise to always be my protector. At this moment, I was blessed with the purest love of all time.
Although my parents were married at the time of birth, they eventually divorced when I was five years old. For about a year, it was just me and my mom. After the separation, we moved to Birmingham, Alabama, in a red Volkswagen Beetle Bug and sang Sheryl Crow’s Detours on repeat. As I was five years old, my Dad’s divorce and temporary disappearance flooded my small body with confusion. My Mom, as a result, became my absolute hero. I watched my mother pack up her belongings on her own and establish herself in a new place. Brenda did everything; she was Mom and Dad all in one. The provider, working 8 A.M to 5 P.M every weeknight and bringing her work home when necessary. I had no siblings, so my Mom was also my entertainment at home, cooking, cleaning, and just making sure that I stayed alive. There is no limit to how much support my Mom has given me, despite all of the unexpected troubles life threw at us. The power of the single mom should never be underestimated.
I learned about the power of sacrifice. How sometimes, you have to give something up to gain something else. I watched the sacrifices my Mom made when I was a child and viewed them as standard, as something that everyone does. As I have grown older, I have realized that not everyone has their Mom in their life anymore, and some never have at all. The normality of having a Mom who always saw me as my most authentic self has grown to be sacred to me ever since moving away from home.
My mom’s view of success has shaped me into a person who seeks experience and not material things. I grew up with an emphasis on trying my best and failing in the hopes of getting better. I’ve always had a too open relationship with my Mom, and at times I think she would have liked me to refrain from sharing some things. My Mom is my hero, though. The connection I feel with my Mom is natural, knowing that I am a piece of her in the most literal sense.
Moving away from home and figuring out how to navigate the world independently only illuminates my Mom’s strength in my eyes. We all need to take the time to slow down and see all the love that the people in our lives give us. So on this Friday, before you make plans for the night, call your mom, or whoever supports you with love, and show them how much you care.
Happy Birthday to my Mama, Brenda Chancey! I love you!