A Mother With No Name

Let me tell you about a mother with no name...

A mother who went places no soul should ever map.

A mother who walked through hell
with her bare feet
and her heart wide open
just to drag her babies back.

See…
Pain didn’t knock on her door politely.
No.
It kicked it in.
It came screaming.
It came unforgiving.

One child
one child
woke up one morning to a body
that betrayed her.
Legs that used to dance
now locked like doors that forgot how to open.
And this mother…
this mother learned to lift more than weight
she lifted worlds.
She lifted hope.
She lifted her child's spirit
even when her own was collapsing.

And her other baby…
God help her
her other baby got shot.
Not once.
Not twice.
Eleven times.

Eleven bullets like punctuation marks
trying to end a story
she refused to let die.

She sat in hospital rooms
where time stops breathing.
She held hands that shook like falling ceilings.
She bargained with God,
with nurses,
with destiny,
with whatever force was listening
“Take anything, just not my child.”

And somehow…
somehow…
she never missed a moment.
Never missed a call.
Never missed a need.

She showed up
a million times
like clockwork made of courage.
Like a heartbeat behind a song
that no one ever credits.

She is the background singer
you feel in your bones
but never Google the name for.
The harmony that holds the whole sky up
but never gets the microphone.

Everybody claps for the comeback.
Everybody praises the miracle.
Everybody celebrates the child who survived.

But nobody...
NOBODY
turns to the mother and asks,
“Hey… are you okay?”

They don’t ask
what it costs her to keep going.
How many nights she cries into a pillow
that knows too much.
How many times she swallows her own pain
so her children never taste it.
How many prayers she whispers
to ceilings that don’t answer back.

See…
she wasn’t just shaped by pain
she was sculpted by it,
forged by it,
reborn in it.

She became something beyond strong.
Strength is too small a word.
Strength breaks.
Strength has limits.
But she...
she became something else…

Something mythic.
Something immortal.
Something that rises even when rising hurts.

She became the storm they survived
and the shelter they healed in.
She became the fire that fought back
and the hands that soothed the burn.

And even if the world never sings her name,
even if the spotlight never turns her way,
even if she stands in the background
like a quiet chord holding up a cathedral

Tonight
right now
in this breath,
in this room

we see her.
We honor her.
We hold space for her.

Because a mother like her
doesn’t just raise children
she resurrects them.

She doesn’t just endure
she becomes prophecy.

And though she may never say it,
and though nobody ever asks it,
and though the world keeps expecting more of her.

Tonight, let the truth be spoken:

She is the song without a name.

She is the warrior hell should fear.

She is the crowned pillar and foundation of the family...

she is me.