Connecting to My Mother’s Roots

The holiday season often brings a mix of emotions. It’s a time of love, joy, and connection but can also carry shadows of loneliness and pain. This year, I found myself navigating both sides of this spectrum.

As the holidays began, I couldn’t help but feel the sadness of my mother’s absence. Regret crept in as I thought about all the times I could have gone back home to Michigan to see her but didn’t. That regret could’ve easily consumed me, but I reminded myself there’s no use crying over what cannot be changed. What’s done is done, and all I can do now is embrace the present and the people who are still here, loving and supporting me.

This year, I decided to reconnect with my roots in a meaningful way. For Thanksgiving, I traveled to the country mountains of Birmingham, Alabama, to spend time with my mom’s side of the family. It was a transformative experience.

From the moment I arrived, I was met with open arms and unconditional love. “Zariah, you know we love you, right? You are not alone,” said my late maternal grandmother’s only living sister. Her words carried a weight that settled deep in my soul. Her eyes held a mixture of sadness and resilience, a reflection of all she’s endured—so much loss, both young and old. Like me, she longs for connection, and in her presence, I felt a sense of responsibility.

In that moment, I vowed to do better—for her, for myself, for my mother, my grandmother and for all the ancestors who came before us.

This trip wasn’t just about being with family—it was about discovering the depth of my roots. My ancestry is a rich blend of European, African, and Native American heritage, and the stories shared during those few hours gave me a glimpse into the strength and legacy I carry. We created new memories, captured moments in photos, and exchanged wisdom that felt timeless. It was as if I could transcend dimensions, tapping into the love, resilience, and guidance of generations’ past.

The love they poured into me was so profound and tangible, I could feel my light shine brighter because of theirs. When they saw me, their surprise and excitement were heartwarming, but I noticed something else too. Many had trouble looking at me for too long. I am, after all, the spitting image of my mother.

Sometimes, I also struggle to look at myself because her reflection stares back at me—her beautiful two-toned lips with a dip up top, button nose, strong yet feminine arms and almond-brown eyes. All the beauty I see in myself, I inherited from her. For that, I am deeply grateful. Her physical traits, yes, but more so the kindness and warmth she instilled in me. Those are the greatest gifts of all.

This holiday season, I’m finding solace in connection—both with the living and with those who’ve passed on. My mother’s love still radiates through me, and through the family who welcomed me home, I am reminded that I am never alone.

Here’s to honoring roots, embracing the present, and carrying forward the love that built us.