Chelsy Anne Reyes Palacios holds fond memories of her beloved grandmother, Charlotte Cepeda.
WHEN I look back on my life, the word “mother” doesn’t bring to mind the person who gave birth to me. Instead, it brings up the memories of my grandmother, her gentle hands, her warm embrace, and the love that wove my childhood into something beautiful. She didn’t just raise me, she became my entire world. The voice that soothed my tears, the arms that held me through every heartbreak, and the presence that made me feel seen. She gave me what people mean when they say, “Nothing compares to a mother’s love.”
My biological mother was someone I knew by name, not by heart. She was a stranger whose love never quite reached me. But life, in its wisdom, placed me in my grandmother’s arms from the beginning. Though she had already raised her children, she never hesitated. She gave up rest and took on the sacred task of raising me. She didn’t have to, but she did. And through her, I learned that a mother is someone who chooses you, who fights for you, who builds you from the ground up with love and sacrifice.
She welcomed not just me, but anyone who needed comfort. Strangers became family. Her love had no boundaries. It poured out endlessly, warm like sunlight. Her home became a sanctuary. And to be loved by her was to be known, accepted, and held without condition. In a fast, unforgiving world, her love was my safe place. She was my home.
She passed down more than just skills, she passed down culture, language, and faith. Every story, recipe, and prayer became a thread in the fabric of my identity. She was my greatest teacher, believing in me when I couldn’t believe in myself. Her lessons lived not just in words, but in her patience, her strength, and her unwavering presence. Her love wasn’t just a gift, it was a legacy.
In July of 2022, just three days before my birthday, I lost her. I was in the Philippines when I got the call. I came home to find my world shattered. She had been battling colorectal cancer for years, yet she never let her pain define her. I remember lying beside her as she told me stories, and later watching her fade in a hospital bed, but never in spirit. I was angry, grieving, full of regret. But with time, I learned to make peace. I carry her in my heart, in every tradition, every act of kindness, every strength I show.
A mother’s love isn’t about biology, it’s about sacrifice, devotion, and presence. My grandmother, Maryanne Demapan Palacios Reyes, didn’t birth me, but she gave me everything that makes life meaningful. Though she is gone, she lives on in me. Her story, her strength, her love, it all still guides me. When people ask who my mother is, I say her name with pride. Because her love didn’t end. It became the light that still leads me home. And she is my home.
