As far as I can tell, we all had a mother.
Some had more than others.
Like everything in life, it isn’t fair.
I was lucky—I had a mother. A good mother.
She was born in 1920 and lived a full life. She was married twice and raised two kids on her own, in a time when being a single mom—and a woman—meant facing a thousand invisible walls.
She saw me grow from a child into a man.
A businessman.
A husband.
A father.
A survivor.
A success.
Women today have freedoms she could only dream of. They complain sometimes, but they’re lucky. We all are.
We just don’t always appreciate how much pain, toil, and sacrifice those before us endured just to get us here.
So to all the moms up there—
Thank you for your life of sacrifice.
To all the moms still with us—
Thank you. Your job is never done.
Somehow, most of us make it. And that’s the thing about being a mom—or a dad.
You’re not just raising children.
You’re raising survivors.
You’re shaping the next generation to stand, to stumble, to keep going.
And if I were granted one wish—
Just one, to ask for anything at all—
I would wish for my mom.
In any way, shape, or form.
I miss you, Mom.
More Mom Stories
My Mother’s Story – the Domino Hustler
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