Hope this finds everyone well after a long week. As we begin this Mother’s Day weekend, I’d like to send much love, as always, to all mothers and those who serve as mothers, to all families, in whatever forms they take, since we’re all in this life together. For all of us who labor, whether in the crank of the city or the rhythms of the home, wishing we had more arms to balance work bags, diaper bags, backpacks, laundry bags and to cradle all children with the burst of wordless love or in comfort when they hurt, struggling to be heard in a world of determined and contrary giants.
In my book, The Boulevard Trial, the young attorney Helena has a showdown with her Partner boss after enduring an emotional trial that parallels the trial of her client Francesca. Helena says something about which I’ve often reminded myself at the end of my personal struggles and at the point that grace reveals itself. Helena says, “…I remembered something else, Man. I remembered that I am my mother’s daughter. And she made me good.”
My mom is one of the fiercest, most graceful women I have ever met. This Mother’s Day, as always, I thank her for inspiring me to get up each time I fall and to rise stronger and wiser and always with more grace. She taught me to walk with prose, to be grateful and to always remember who I am. Her voice is the one I seek any time I need encouragement.
So no matter what happens in this life or the next, I’ll remember that I am my mother’s daughter, and she made me good.
I wish the same for you.