Animal Advocates Merit Award of Pennsylvania Fundraiser

A Life of Fierce Love and Unyielding Strength: In Memory of My Mother I want my mother to be remembered as a force of nature—a small dynamo who never let anything stand in the way of protecting her family and doing what was right. She was sharp, stubborn, brave, and endlessly resourceful. When I think of her, I see a woman who turned pain into purpose and hardship into hope—not just for us, but for every forgotten soul who crossed our threshold. I was six or seven when she started opening our home to the children no one else wanted—the ones the foster system had given up on. Kids who came with stories too heavy for their young hearts. Brenda, who had been starved so badly she ate anything she could find—even shoes and garden soil. Zoe, who sat in silence and darkness for weeks, rocking back and forth until my mother’s patient love coaxed her into the light. And Faith—sweet, broken Faith—who came to us at seven years old, unable to speak or feed herself, because her father had thrown her down a flight of stairs as a baby. My mother taught her how to use words, how to eat, how to trust again. That was her gift: quiet, determined transformation. She didn’t wear a cape or carry a banner, but she was a warrior. A crisis manager. A woman with a big heart and endless patience who stepped into chaos and brought order. Again and again. She lived through the Civil Rights Movement, and she marched with those demanding justice. She was the first Black woman to break the color barrier in the West Philadelphia neighborhood where we moved. She faced overt racism with quiet fury and unwavering dignity. She didn't ask to be a trailblazer—she just became one because it was necessary. Her life wasn’t easy. She married a veteran of the Korean War who came home a shadow of himself, suffering from untreated PTSD and alcoholism. Later, she stayed in an abusive marriage—not out of love, but survival—because she needed a paycheck to feed her children. Life tried to beat her down. And sometimes, it did. But somehow, always, she got back up. That’s what she gave me. A blueprint for resilience. A model of defiance in the face of injustice. She didn’t get to be soft or tender very often—but her love was fierce, protective, and real. My mother didn’t live a picture-perfect life. But she lived a powerful one. She changed the lives of children no one else wanted. She broke barriers. She showed me how to keep standing when the world wants you to fall. And that’s how I will always remember her: standing, strong, and unafraid.