A Project for Better Journalism chapter

To My Mom

This is to the little girl who lost her father at the age of three. To her strong independent widowed mother who raised her. To the five year old girl washing filthy knifes while balancing on a chair because she couldn’t reach the sink. To the ten year old girl raising her two older brothers while her mother was working her one of two jobs. To the star student and athlete she became in high school.

To the young lady who managed to escape poverty and was blessed with the opportunity for a higher education. To the woman who later had to give it up after becoming severely ill after years of struggling with eating disorders and spent months trapped inside her hospital room like a prisoner. To the the woman that made a full recovery and decided that she wasn’t going back to live in beggary.

To the woman who made the decision to leave her entire life behind and start all over again, to the one who stood 2,195 miles away from her dreams, who didn’t let a river and a fence get in the way of her pursuit towards happiness. To the woman that didn’t let a different language scare her into backing down. To the woman that gave birth to her first daughter in a foreign land. To the woman that raised her daughter and son to dream big and never let anything stand in her way of success. To the woman that would always come back no matter how far and hard she would try escaping her problems because she knew she had to stay strong for her two kids. To the woman whose overprotectiveness was her way of showing love, but her daughter never seemed to understand. To the woman who never left her seven year olds daughter’s hospital bedside for days, who always tried her best to protect her children from any harm at all costs. To the woman who lost everything she had worked so hard for but always made sure her children had a place to sleep even when they had nowhere to call home anymore. Who would sometimes go a day without eating so her kids could be fed when money was scarce. Who made sure they were happy even when she couldn’t be. To the who woman pushed herself to move forward and past tough times because she didn’t want her children sleeping on a cold, hard floor with empty stomachs anymore.

To the woman who sat with her dyslexic daughter every night for eight years to help her improve her reading in a language she didn’t even understand herself. To the woman and man who gave their daughter their hard earned money to celebrated her coming of age.

To the woman who helped her daughter succeed in school, the woman who pushed her to become great no matter what it took, to live life, to pursue happiness, to love all, to learn from mistakes and to keep pushing forward. To my mom.  

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