Our Founder's Journey
Written by:
Noah Roberts, Founder of The Corina Mae Foundation
Growing up, my mother, Corina Mae, was the strongest person I knew. She spent much of her life in a wheelchair, yet faced every day with dignity, humor, and a quiet courage that shaped who I am today. Beneath that strength were very real challenges-pain, mobility barriers, medical complications, and a world that too often misunderstood her. I didn’t simply witness her struggles; I lived them alongside her. Those years by her side changed the way I see the world and helped shape the person I would become.
Her life also taught me the importance of compassion, accessibility, and speaking up for those whose needs are too often overlooked. I learned that independence can look different for every person and that true strength is not measured by what someone can do alone, but by the resilience, love, and determination they bring to each day. My mother’s example gave me a deep respect for caregivers, families, and individuals living with disabilities, and it continues to inspire me to approach others with patience, understanding, and empathy.
Corina Mae Thompson (Soares) - The strength behind this foundation.
"My mother’s strength and resilience shaped who I am, and this foundation is my way of carrying her forward."
Founder, The Corina Mae Foundation
Carrying Her Strength Forward
My mother’s strength shaped more than my childhood-it shaped my purpose. Growing up beside her, I learned what resilience truly looks like. I watched her face challenges that might have broken others, yet she met each one with dignity, humor, and a quiet courage that taught me more than any classroom ever could.
Her disability was never a limitation-it was part of her lived experience, revealing her patience, determination, and unwavering ability to love without condition. Those lessons became the foundation of who I am today. They taught me how to lead, how to listen, and how to advocate for people who are too often overlooked or misunderstood.
When she passed away, the world felt heavier. But within that grief, something shifted. I realized that everything she taught me-every act of courage, every moment of resilience-was meant to be carried forward. Not only privately, but publicly. Purposefully. Boldly.
This foundation is more than an organization. It is my promise to her.
A promise that her story will continue to inspire.
A promise that disabled individuals across Alabama will be seen, heard, and valued.
A promise that her legacy will live on through every act of advocacy, every resource shared, and every voice uplifted.
Her strength built me.
Now, through this foundation, her strength helps build others.
From Her Strength to My Story
I learned resilience early in life. My childhood was filled with moments that called for strength, patience, and a determination few people could see. Those experiences did not define me, but they shaped the advocate I would become. They taught me to listen, lead with compassion, and fight for a world where no one has to face their struggles alone.
My mother and I were connected not only by love, but by shared struggle. We understood each other’s pain without needing to put it into words. When she hurt, I felt it. When I hurt, she held me through it-even as her own body was failing her. We were each other’s strength in a world that did not always understand what disability truly looks like.
Growing up disabled in Alabama was not easy. I saw how people looked at my mother, and I saw how they looked at me. I witnessed the assumptions, the judgment, and the lack of compassion. I saw how often disabled people are dismissed, overlooked, or treated as less capable. And I saw how fiercely my mother fought to protect me from those attitudes-even when she could not protect herself.
Her strength was not loud. It was steady, quiet, and constant.
When my mother passed away on December 23, 2020, everything changed. Losing her felt like losing the one person who fully understood my journey. The world became heavier and quieter without her, and for a long time, I carried that grief privately. I was not ready to turn it into anything; I was simply learning how to live in a world without her.
Yet even through those years of healing, her strength remained with me. As time passed, I realized that what we endured was not only our story-it reflected the experiences of countless disabled individuals and families across Alabama. The barriers we faced were not isolated. They were systemic. And her life deserved more than silence.
Eventually, I reached a point where I knew I could no longer keep our story tucked away. I needed to honor her in a way that created meaningful change for others. I needed to turn our pain into purpose-not before I was ready, but when I was finally strong enough to do so.
That is why I created The Corina Mae Foundation.
This foundation is rooted in both of our experiences: her battles, my battles, and the love that carried us through them. It exists to create understanding where there is ignorance, compassion where there is judgment, and support where there is silence. It exists so that no disabled person or family feels alone, misunderstood, or unseen.
Today, I carry this work forward as someone shaped by lived experience, not defined by it. I live with disabilities and medical challenges, but they do not tell the whole story of who I am. I am Noah: a son who loved his mother deeply, a person who understands barriers without being limited by them, and an advocate committed to building a more compassionate Alabama. I lead this foundation with the resilience I grew up with, the empathy my mother taught me, and the belief that every disabled person deserves dignity, respect, and a voice.
Everything I do here is for her. Everything I build is because of her. Every step forward continues the strength we shared - a strength that now lives on through this foundation.