My mother was my best friend. She called me Meho—Spanish for son—a name that always made me feel safe and loved. She was my mentor, my guiding light. I called her sometimes twice a day, just to hear her voice, to share my life with her. I am, and always will be, a mama’s boy. In 2001, cancer came for her, and for three years, my siblings and I cared for her the best we could. I watched the most beautiful, wonderful mother a boy could ever ask for endure the agony of radiation and chemotherapy. It ate away at her, but she fought back with unimaginable strength. When she went into remission, I was overjoyed, believing we had won. But then, the cancer returned with a vengeance, cruel and relentless. I watched my strong, courageous mother wither away, battling this merciless disease. And when she left this world, my heart shattered. The pain was unbearable. I turned to drugs and alcohol, trying to escape the emptiness, the grief. I spiraled, lost everything, and hit rock bottom—ev...
