I don't think anyone's story starts with them. It starts with their mother.
Last year, I came across an opinion piece on the New York Times: "Our Mothers As We Never Saw Them," in which the author found old photos of her mom - the time before her mother became her mother - captivating.
“The old photos of her are even more compelling than the stories because they’re a historical record, carrying the weight of fact, even if the truth there is slippery: the trick of an image, and so much left outside the frame. These photos serve as a visual accompaniment to the myths. Because any story about your mother is part myth, isn’t it?”
It inspired me to look back on old photos of my Ma.
She used to wear leather bomber jackets with shoulder pads. She had the longest, thickest hair. Even at 16 her huge smile is intensely familiar.
She was in the National Guard! Look at her in that uniform... that was my Ma?
In these photos I see the girl who ran away to get married in 1994 and fell asleep during her MCAT because she was 8 months pregnant with me. Decades later and though Ma is a sweet therapist, with grey strands and two "adult" children - she still has that air of rebellion.
It's heartbreakingly beautiful looking back at old photos of your mom, seeing the parts you never knew, while recognizing all that she still is. Here's to my Ma, an unassuming badass, a pillar of strength, my best friend.