Nancy Ruth Villarreal

My mother, Nancy Ruth Miller, mother of 1 son, grandmother of 1 beautiful and incredibly talented granddaughter, and second mother to so many of our friends and loved ones. She lived a beautiful and full life. She was fun-loving, smart, hard-working, healthy, fierce at times, and so very gentle. She was deeply spiritual, anchored in her Baptist faith. Always welcoming others into our lives, both in North Carolina and in New York, she created a rich life for our little family.

My mother was beautiful, inside and out. She would always give of herself, as a CNA for over 40 years was one of the best of the best, and did stop working as a CNA until she was physically unable to do so.

Yes, my mother had a good and beautiful life, but like most, if not all of us, it was not always an easy life. She grew up in the small town of Gastonia NC, with wonderful parents, who instilled strong values of respect, loyalty, kindness, and responsibility into my mom’s heart. At 33 she birthed me her only child and raised me to the best of her abilities.

My mother loved her family and was so proud of me (her son). But it was not easy raising a son alone. My mother was ahead of her time in so many ways, with aspirations and dreams of the modern era. But traditional values also pulled, and my mother put many of her own dreams aside. She was relentlessly responsible and made numerous sacrifices. She instilled in me the same qualities her parents instilled in her: respect, loyalty, kindness, and responsibility. When my dad wasn’t there, she struggled, and it was incredibly hard, but she didn’t complain. I wondered a lot about all the sacrifices she made, about her always putting others first. But then I look at the end result of all her sacrifices: I look at me and my daughter, at the thread of care and respect that runs deep in us both. So, at the end of the day, what she did with her life was no small thing. She cultivated a beautiful and strong family.

When I asked her one day if she had any regrets about her life, without hesitation my mother said no. She then glanced over at the photos of me and Jordan. Maybe there were things she didn’t remember but at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter. My mother found true resolution, true contentment, and true peace.

I spent a lot of time with my mother, especially in her last decade. My relationship with her was—and always will be—like no other in my life. With Nancy, there was an endless supply of sweetness that was freely given—a sweetness that came directly from simple gratitude, and of wanting nothing back. For me, this relationship was not only a restful harbor, but it became an open field of inquiry into the paradoxes of life and love. Paradoxes that hold loss, sorrow, and grief in the same quiet temple as joy, love, and celebration. There was the loss of my mother as the youthful, active, and spunky woman that she was—but somewhere along the way her life transformed into peaceful stillness and penetrating warmth. The more time I spent with my mother, the more I could feel new parts of myself awaken. Beautiful parts. In a world full of distractions and conflicts, my mother was a refuge and a sanctuary. Spending time with her was sacred. She didn’t always express herself through words, but I simply watched her actions and gained insight into her through divine revelation.

At her last doctor’s appointment, the staff—all those angels—would tell me how strong she was. Strong, right up to 74 years old. They talked about her spunkiness, her humility, and her dignity. Everyone loved Nancy was rooting for her recovery—and loved her disarmingly beautiful smile and wit.

My mother spent her life-giving to others. Even up to the very last week, she gave me the gift of time with her, time to properly say goodbye as I struggled to let go. I convinced her to move in with me which was not an easy task at all LOL (Laugh out Loud) In her final days I never left her side I pretty much moved into the ICU and hospice house, slept on couches, and recliners. All I wanted was to be close to her and be there for her like she had always been there for me. It was the hardest week of my life and I’m sure for my family as well. I just didn’t want her to go. I didn’t want her to go for all of the reasons I just shared. Because she was that safe place at the center of the storm. She was my mother. The best mother God had for me. She was not only my mother, but she was my first love, the first woman I ever loved.

But then in a moment of grace, when my inner storm calmed, I saw more clearly what was really happening. This was my mother’s death—her way—and it was beautiful and gentle and generous. It was peaceful and full and rich, just as her life has been. And that I could be there with her was an honor and a privilege. I kissed her goodbye—with eyes full of tears—and promised her that I would be OK and that we would all be OK. And that Jordan and I would take care of each other and keep the legacy of love and care alive I told her that we had her strength. And I thanked her from the bottom of my heart for filling my life with the greatest riches a son could ever possibly receive from a mother. And I told her she would remain my sanctuary forever, where she can continue to help me through life with the lessons, she taught me through the years.