Describe a family member.
My mother stands five feet tall — though she’ll tell you otherwise.
Back in her younger days, she’d rock her heels and claim 5’4”, proud and playful about it.
She crossed the border in 1979 at nineteen years old, chasing a better life with nothing but grit and faith. Two kids followed — one in the 80s, one in the 90s — and somehow she made both decades her own.
She’s known, at least to me, for never missing work. Fever or no fever, heartbreak or no heartbreak — she showed up. Six days, seven days, overtime. When my father drank, she worked double. When life got heavy, she worked triple. That’s just who she is.
She’s never hated anyone. She greets strangers like old friends. “Always say hi,” she tells me. “You never know who needs it.” And she’ll wait — patiently — until they say hi back.
That’s my mother. Five feet tall, full of heart. A woman who built her life one hello and one hard day at a time.
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