The day Momma died, Nuithia had stepped outside with Ben for just a moment. Probably a minute in total. Momma, even on a ventilator was surprisingly responsive and interactive. As I sat there and looked at her, she patted her stomach. I laid my head on it, and she rubbed my head.

Momma held me, even as she lay on her deathbed.

I don’t know if she did that for me or for her. But that moment was exactly what I needed before I had to say goodbye.

That wasn’t really surprising though, because Momma made her life about giving me exactly what I needed.

Momma worked so hard our whole lives. She was superwoman, because she did the job of mom and dad without ever complaining. She never even wanted a break from us.

When we were young, we had a deal. Each summer, Nuithia would babysit me. And, if when she came home, we’d done all of our chores, we’d lather ourselves in sunscreen and go spend the rest of the evening at the public pool. It wasn’t till recently that I realized the sacrifice even that must have been. She would work all day as a custodian, coming home smelling of sweat and bleach, then muster the energy to take two crazy girls and play at the pool all evening. I’m going to be real honest. I don’t even have kids, but there are many days I come home, look at my energetic chihuahua, and just declare that there is no way I’m taking her for a walk. I’m simply too tired. I don’t know where Momma got the energy to do all that.

During the school year, she’d come home exhausted, but she’d cook. She’d listen to my stories. And then after dinner, she’d study with me. Momma spent hours reviewing spelling lists or history notes with me, making sure I had them all committed to heart.

Momma made sure we knew about Jesus and really knew Jesus. Each night, we’d do our routine of saying I love you back and forth a million times. Then, at the end, she’d stop and say, “I love you, Jesus. I love you, God. I love you, Holy Spirit.” From the youngest age, Momma taught me big truths like that of the Trinity, but also that He was near, listening to the goodnight I love yous of a little kid.

Momma was my rock. I’ve always been full of emotions, but with each meltdown I’ve had since I can remember, she was there, assuring me that things were going to be okay and trying her best to convince me that I was amazing.

Momma taught me the value of hard work. I’d watch her faithfully do her job each day, and then pour her heart into us at night. I learned how to be a daughter by watching Momma love my Grandma. It seemed almost every day we were at Grandma’s house when I was young. And even when I was a little older and logistics were more complicated, we were there each Saturday, taking Grandma grocery shopping, cleaning her house, and just sitting with her, letting her be part of our lives.

Momma taught me that people mattered. If someone needed help, and she was able to give it, Momma was right there, pouring herself out for people. She’d take in stray cousins, offer people rides, or listen to a stranger’s story.

Momma taught me that sharing your faith mattered. She told everyone about Jesus – literally everyone she met. Momma dedicated her Saturdays for as long as she was able to going out and inviting people to church and kids to ride the church bus. She knew she would have been lost were it not for God’s grace, and she wanted EVERYONE to experience that same grace that defined her life.

Momma modeled selflessness – to a degree that I’ll never attain. She never had anything nice, ever. Yet, she always made sure that we had cute clothes, I had the fancy pens I declared I needed to succeed in grade school, and that I had whatever doll my little girl heart desired. We never had much, but we wouldn’t have known.