“June Belongs to Her” — A Tribute to My Mother, Corina Mae

June has always been a meaningful month for me, but this year it carries a deeper kind of weight. On June 23rd, it will be 5 years and 6 months since my mother, Corina Mae, passed away. As that date approaches, I find myself reflecting not on my own birthday — which falls the very next day — but on the woman whose strength made my life possible.

This month, I want to honor her story. I want to honor her love. And I want to honor the way she shaped every part of who I am.

A Mother Who Fought for Her Miracle Child

Before I was born, my mother endured three heartbreaking losses. Doctors told her she would never be able to have a child — that her body simply wouldn’t allow it. But she refused to accept that. She held onto hope with everything she had.

When she became pregnant with me, she carried both joy and fear, and she fought for me every single day. She went through extra checkups, constant worry, and 27 hours of labor that pushed her body far beyond exhaustion.

When complications led to an emergency C‑section and I was taken to the NICU with an IV in my forehead, she was told she wouldn’t be able to get into a wheelchair to come see me. The pain would be too much, they said. Her body wouldn’t allow it.

But they didn’t know my mother.

Stapled shut, barely able to move, she fought through every ounce of pain until she reached me. Every bump in the floor sent pain shooting through her, but she didn’t care. Her baby was alone, and she refused to let me be alone in this world — not even for a moment.

When she saw me lying there with an IV in my forehead, she cried. Not because she was hurting, but because I was. That was the kind of mother she was — someone whose love outweighed every limitation.

A Story Told Every Year

Every year on my birthday, she told me the story of my birth. She told it with the same emotion, the same pride, the same gratitude that I had made it here safely. Eventually, I learned it so well that I began telling it back to her. It became our tradition — our reminder of everything we survived together.

After she passed, I found a box of letters and poems she had written to me — some from before I was born, others from my earliest days. I never knew they existed. Reading them felt like she had left pieces of her heart behind for me to find, as if she wanted to make sure I would always know how deeply she loved me.

Those letters are now some of the most precious things I own. They are reminders of her voice, her tenderness, and the way she saw me long before I ever understood myself.

This June, My Birthday Belongs to Her

This year, my birthday isn’t a celebration of my life. It’s a tribute to hers.

It’s a month to honor the woman who gave everything she had — and more — so I could be here. It’s a time to reflect on her strength, her resilience, and the way she poured her entire heart into motherhood. It’s a moment to acknowledge the quiet ways grief reshapes us, and the powerful ways love continues long after someone is gone.

I am who I am because she never stopped fighting for me. And this June, this month of remembrance and gratitude, belongs to her.

A Note From My Heart to Yours

If you’re missing someone this month — a parent, a child, a friend, a partner — I hope you feel a little less alone reading this. Grief doesn’t follow a calendar, and love doesn’t fade with time. We carry the people we’ve lost in the ways we live, the choices we make, and the stories we tell.

Thank you for taking a moment to honor my mother with me. Her story lives on in the hearts of those who hear it, remember it, and carry a piece of her spirit forward.