My beautiful Armenian mayrig is my inspiration. The goodness in me started with her great love for my sister and me. She is the type of mother who kissed her children on the cheek before dropping them off somewhere. I have always known she loves me, and that love gives me strength.
For anyone who grieves today because their mother is no longer here, I love you and my heart goes out to you. You are seen.
It is nearly midnight on the eve of Mother’s Day. I will keep this short and sweet. I am grateful for my mother, so in her honor I present you will photos of her.
This is a picture of my mother as a child. Happy and carefree on the beach, which is where she probably feels most at peace in this world.
My parent’s wedding. My paternal grandmother made her dress. The train is French lace. Looking at the white flowers of the wedding bouquet, I see why I now favor minimalistic colors and decor.
My mom, dad, and baby me. The picture was a moment in the early 70s when mini skirts were the rage. I don’t think I have ever worn a dress that short. My mom has always been more adventurous than me when it comes to fashion.
My mom and I were in the early 90s in my paternal grandmother’s kitchen. Our curls are natural, a part of her Armenian heritage.
My parents and I were at our church’s international food court. We manned the Armenian table. My mother’s shirt says much about her. Yes, she’s loud, but so is every other Armenian on the planet. We lack indoor voices.
My mom was holding my nephew’s dog Bo. Our pets mean much to us in our family.
For all mothers out there—biological mothers, adopted mothers, spiritual mothers, and mothers to pets—who love no matter what, I salute you today.
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Praise God for a mother who loves her family and loves God. <3