She stood in the back of the room and occasionally nodded, less in agreement, more reflecting a cadence of comprehension. The way you might bob your head if you heard your echo bounce back to you in a tunnel. My mom stood in the corner of the room and arranged drinks and snacks while I navigated teaching my photography workshop last week (whenever I have an event, my mother clears her schedule to ensure she's around to help).

My mom stopped organizing the drinks and placed her hand around her ear to hear me better. The aftereffects of chemotherapy are weighing on her sight and hearing more than we'd like to admit, but she's finding ways to cope. I raise my voice so she can hear me when I talk about how much I love what I do. Her head bobs, the echo.

Today is my mom's birthday and I felt the need to come out and say it. Loud. To say that she's the sun, the moon, and the stars in my world. My mother is the light in my life and when I hit dark patches, she–in turn–shines brighter to ensure I'm never alone.

If I could, I'd cup my hands around each of her ears and remind her to keep shining because her light is the very thing that keeps me in orbit.