A Letter to My Mother - And to the Child I Haven't Met Yet

Dear Mama,

If strength had a face, it would look like you.

Through every appointment, every phone call, every breakdown, you’ve been there. Not just physically—but present in a way only a mother can be. Calm when I panic. Grounded when I spiral. The voice of reason when I’m ready to argue with the entire healthcare system.

You’ve carried so much without ever asking to be noticed for it. You work. You give. You love. You show up for everyone—without complaint, without rest, and often without being asked.

You are the house kids want to be at. The heart that others orbit around. The one who feeds people, wipes tears, and somehow makes the heaviest loads seem light. I don’t know how you do it—but I know I’ve survived this far because you do.

When I was scared, you reminded me that I still had a future.

When I doubted, you said “Let’s just go and get it checked out.”

When they said “It’s cancer,” you held me with peace I hadn’t yet found for myself.

You are my rock.

My home.

My forever safe space.

Dear Baby (Who I Haven’t Met Yet),

I don’t know your name. I don’t know when—or if—you’ll arrive. But I need you to know something:

Your grandmother is magic.

She is the kind of person who makes love feel easy and consistent, like warm food and clean laundry and soft hands on your forehead when you’re sick.

She’s been my example of what real parenting looks like—how to sacrifice without resentment, how to give with your whole heart, how to show up when it’s hard.

I want to be that for you. I pray I get to be that for you.

I want to be the kind of mom that makes you feel safe and funny and free. The kind of mom that lets you be loud when you need to be, and small when you need to hide. The kind that says, “We’ll figure it out,” even when I don't have the answers.

And I hope—more than anything—that you get to meet her.

That you get to sit on her couch, eat her food, feel her hugs, and know what it’s like to be fully loved by her.

Because the truth is, you’ll be walking into a family of fighters, of lovers, of strong women who carry softness like armor.

If you get here…

Just know we already love you.

We already made space for you.

And your grandma? She’s been saving you a spot.

To my mom: thank you.

To my future baby: I’m trying my best to be her—for you.

With all my love,

Khira