On a day set aside to honor all mothers, I must take a moment to commemorate the matriarch of our family, Nora Franks.
In 3rd grade we made Mother's Day cards.
My folded piece of card stock read, "To the BEST Nora on The Planet!"
I didn't have a mom. Instead, I had a Nora.
She rocked us and read to us.
Pulling my hair into pigtails, she'd look at my reflection in the mirror while I sat on the edge of the sink.
And she'd remind me I was special and smart and worthy.
On Saturdays, we'd traipse across town, visiting garage sale after garage sale.
Two dollars felt like a million bucks, and she always encouraged me to buy books instead of toys.
Today, the bookshelves in my apartment overflow because of her influence.
My Nora has raised multiple generations of children.
Just the other day we had a one of our marathon phone conversations.
She expressed fear about the challenges my nephews will face in this uncertain world.
I told her as long as they have her, everything would be okay.
She builds a rock solid foundation in the lives of babies, children, and teenagers.
Her gift of nurturing is unparalleled.
Mental illness and addiction afflicted my biological mom, leaving behind emotional scars.
But Nora was always there to mend the wounds and stand in the gap.
She came to every ball game, every school play, and every award ceremony.
She cooked us lots of Hamburger Helper, did endless loads of laundry, and spoiled us rotten.
I am the woman I am today because of her, and I couldn't have asked for a better mom.
She taught us there was nothing we could ever do to make her love us less.
Our value was never dependent on performance.
She's lovely and beautiful and good.
Our Nora is a saint.