I remember Saturday mornings, Anita Baker used to sing to me,
It was the alarm to clean up for me.
Before the sun could stretch across the blinds,
you already had love working overtime in the kitchen.
House shoes sliding across the floor,
coffee brewing, bacon talking back from the stove,
and somehow your voice made everything feel safe.
You never called yourself a superhero.
You just handled business.
Made miracles out of little.
Made hard times feel temporary.
Made a house feel like a heartbeat.
Mama,
you were the first person to teach me
that strength did not always sound loud.
Sometimes it sounded like,
"Baby, we gon' be alright."
Even when the lights blinked uncertainty.
Even when your own heart was tired.
Even when life kept throwing punches
and you stood there taking them with grace.
I watched you sacrifice in silence.
Mothers do that.
Y'all turn pain into protection.
Turn worry into prayer.
Turn empty pockets into full stomachs.
Turn tears into kisses on foreheads before bedtime.
You gave us the kind of love
people spend their whole lives searching for.
Mama, you are the rhythm of our family.
The heartbeat.
The soul food and soul healing.
The reason holidays felt warm.
The reason family still feels like family.
And even when we grow older,
beards grow in, daughters become women,
voices deepen and life pulls us in every direction,
one thing never changes.
We still need our mama.
Dear Mama,
if nobody told you lately,
thank you.
For the sacrifices nobody saw.
For the battles you hid behind a smile.
For the way you kept loving us
even when life forgot to love you gently.
You are queens in real time.
The heart of every home.
The reason so many of us survived ourselves.
And long after the music fades,
long after the children grow up,
long after these days become memories,
your love will still live here.
Inside everything we are.