I wrote this some time ago, in loving memory of my mother, Filomena.
Like most, I loved my mother.
I loved that she taught me to be independant, to always think for myself.
How she instilled her work ethic into my childhood habits—requiring I cook, clean, do my own laundry, even sew my clothes when torn or a button lost.
I loved her life-lessons as she explained how no one on the planet was better than me, and I, no better than anyone.
It was her unwavering love and support that inspired me to believe in myself, giving me an unusual abundance of confidence as a young man.
She encouraged me to never depend on others;
“Make your own way” she would often say, her biting intonation still reverberates in my head.
The lessons in love;
“Put the needs of others first”
“Give more than you take”
“Always give others the benefit of doubt, everyone has a good side, look for it”, she used to say.
And most important, her lesson in humility whenever she caught me acting up.
“Diego, always remember, he who humbles himself shall be exalted.”
“What’s ‘egg-salted’ mommy?”
“You’ll know someday.”
“When is sum day mommy—when we go to church?”
Mom always used to smile in an odd sort of way that said in very certain terms, no more questions for now.
She liked the word someday and invoked it often when she spoke.
I liked it too.
It offered reassurance in a single word.
Believing in someday gave me hope, inspiring me to chase dreams, knowing all the while I would catch them—someday.
Someday taught me patience.
The patience needed to survive life’s struggles and to learn of its many mysteries as time slowly unfolded them.
An inquisitive child.
A loving mother, skilled at knowing which of life’s puzzle pieces to hand her son at precisely the right moment.
I can only be grateful.