When Someone Says Thank You

I had a wonderful Thanksgiving holiday (as can be seen from the silly picture above) with my family, my "children" and my mom. There were no tears shed, there were no arguments. There was only good food, laughter, movies, and the sound of children talking and playing in the house. For me that is what is most important about the holidays. My mom and I are establishing our own traditions, mirroring the traditions we had in yesteryear when my grandparents were still alive and I was a little girl.

Last night as I talked with my 18-year-old niece, I realized that some things have to remain as a legacy. Family must be a present reality in the lives of the children that are growing up in our home. There is so much missing and I refuse to miss the tiny powerful mmoments of love that they need today. I want my grandparents legacy of family to live on when I am gone too.

My niece told me last night that she appreciates my mom and I so much for being there for her, even though her parents did not. Her mother and father seem to hate the presence of family so much that they tried to convince her that the only way to make it through life was independently, unattached, "on your own." But we have tried so hard to show her that everybody needs somebody, and family must be constant. True love starts there.

She said to me, "Thank you, Auntie Mya." Tears filled my eyes as I remembered the bullets shot through my heart when her mother tried to separate us from her for some crazy reason, and I fought to stay (even on the fringes of her life) because I loved her so very deeply. I remembered the arrows my own brother had shot through my soul out of selfish ambition and hatred. I felt the wounds still somewhat fresh from the last battle I had waged against him when it came down to telling my story in "Father to the Fatherless."

And I knew then that the warfare, the battle for her heart, her soul, her future was and still is worth it. She left me with these words:

"I don't know how I make it through each day; I don't know how I do what I do. I just do. I don't even remember yesterday. All I see is my future."

My 18-year-old baby is a mother to a 2-year-old curly haired boy, who understands far more than I ever imagined what family means - even when neither of her parents are there to teach her. I see her future too, and I am excited for her as well.