06/25/2025
My mother was truly one of a kind. After my father passed, she raised my sister and me as a single mom, holding us together with grit, strength, and love. An immigrant in a new country with no safety net, she figured out college when we couldn’t afford it, filled out every form, and even got me my first job at the public library. She never gave up on my dream of becoming a doctor, even when others did.
She donated her kidney to her brother without hesitation. That selfless act saved his life and transformed two families. That was who she was: brave, generous, quietly heroic.
She taught us the value of nutrition long before it was mainstream—okra for math, beets to purify the blood, spinach for strength. She loved walking on the beach, the breeze in her hair and sand beneath her feet. She had serious FOMO, always wanted to be part of the action, even if it meant sitting in the back of a concert with cotton balls in her ears.
In her 80s and 90s, she was still learning, still moving doing Zumba, Tai Chi, painting. She made friends everywhere: Dallas, Orlando, San Francisco. Her mind stayed razor-sharp, even as her body slowed. She never forgot a dose or appointment. She believed in us more than we believed in ourselves and never let us quit.
We celebrated her 90th birthday just recently. She looked radiant, just a little makeup, glowing in every photo.
You think your parent will always be there—until they aren’t. But she’s everywhere in me now: in every act of strength, every moment of generosity, every step by the ocean, every patient I care for, every time I push through fear.
Love you forever, Mummy. 🕊️❤️
