The first person who called me “Mom,” was born over half a century before me.
His name was Raymond. Deemed unable to make his own decisions, he became an adult ward of the state after his parents and close relatives passed. Unlike a child who learns whom to call mother, Ray asked my permission. When I paused, he explained with choppy speech and teary eyes that he missed his mom and knew it was pretend.
Once terrified of the dark—haunted by sleepwalking and shadowy fears—I learned to see darkness as a gentle, restful lady. Through winter nights and motherhood, find peace in the quiet beauty of night. Reflections on overcoming fear.