A Life That Still Shapes Mine

When the phone rang in my room at 2:00 am, I couldn’t answer it. I knew who was calling, and I didn’t have the courage to pick up.

I heard my dad get up and walk to the rotary phone in the kitchen. I followed him. His words didn’t surprise me, but they still hurt more than I ever imagined.

“She’s dead.”

My mother had lost her battle with breast cancer.

I knew the day before that the end was near. When I made my usual after-school call to her hospital room, one of her roommates answered and said she couldn’t talk. There were a lot of doctors and nurses around her.

My father went to the hospital shortly after that call. He came home late that night, his eyes red, and said it didn’t look good.

This week marks the 45th anniversary of that day.

I can still remember so many details. What I cooked for dinner: spaghetti. What I played on the piano: Für Elise. Which friends showed up to support me and my brother.

Two weeks later, I turned 15.

I remember my dad asking what I would cook for dinner that night. I boldly told him I wouldn’t cook on my birthday.

That moment started a new tradition. We celebrated my birthday at Denny’s. For many years, Saturday nights meant dinner at Denny’s with my dad and my brother, Frank. And to this day, I still have a soft spot for a Grand Slam breakfast, for dinner.

I had to grow up quickly.

I became the mom of the house. Cooking. Cleaning. Laundry. All while trying to keep up with school.

I wasn’t doing well in my Political Science class, and my teacher gave me a better grade than I probably deserved. At the time, it felt like I was getting away with something.

Looking back, it was exactly the kind of grace I needed.

I will always be grateful for my church family.

Libby. Donna. Alysia. Traci. Mary Beth.

They were my community. My sisters.

There were others too—mentors and friends who came into my life at just the right time.

They helped me see that I still had a purpose. A future. A reason to keep going.

I often wonder what my life would have looked like if my mom had lived.

I’d like to believe I still would have been independent, courageous, and confident.

But the truth is, I don’t know.

What I do know is this: My life is filled with blessings because of the people who showed up for me. The ones who supported me, challenged me, encouraged me to keep learning, and reminded me to give back.

A few years ago, I heard a speaker talk about heroes.

He shared that when he looks in the mirror, he sees all the people who helped shape him. His heroes.

Then he asked a question that stayed with me: “Who looks in the mirror and sees your face? Who is better because you showed up for them?”

The room went silent.

Because the truth is, being a hero doesn’t require a title.

Sometimes it’s handing your restaurant leftovers to a someone who needs a meal. Sometimes it’s the neighbor that holds you for hours and lets you cry after learning that your mom and her friend would not be coming home. It could be donating a kidney to a stranger, simply because you know it will save a life.

If you are in a position of leadership, the responsibility is even greater.

Pay attention. Ask questions. Support the people around you.

Even the ones with ideas that don’t quite make sense yet. Especially them.

Because growth doesn’t come from having all the answers. It comes from being willing to learn.

When I look in the mirror today, I see the person I’ve become.

But I also see the people who helped me get here.

And no image is stronger than my mom.

She may have left this world far too soon, but her impact never left me.

She is still with me. Every single day.

I don’t weep the way I once did.

But writing this still takes something out of me.

And maybe that’s the point.

Because love like that doesn’t disappear.

It becomes part of who you are.

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And I will always be grateful that she shaped the person I see in the mirror today.

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