This cross was gifted to me by my mother, Betty. When we laid her to rest just before the COVID lockdown, it was placed between her hands. Since then, I’ve kept it hanging in the window of every bedroom I’ve lived in—catching the light and looking out over each new view.
For years I’ve searched for ways to feel her presence. Being back in the hospital has brought up the quiet grief of knowing I can’t call her the way I used to when I’m scared or in pain. In those moments, the silence feels heavy.
Last year I layered it with a rosary that
@personal_pan_pizza_ gave me—one that was blessed by Pope Francis after the last time I was hospitalized, following a violent assault. But on my darkest days, when everything feels still, I’m reminded of her in the way the light pours through that cross each sunset in my room.
Betty taught me how to be kind. She taught me how to be resourceful. She taught me how to survive. But she never taught me how to accept help.
For so many years, my life has been about survival. But recently I’ve begun to dream again and to believe that my dreams are worthy of coming true. I need them to come true not just for me, but for Betty.
I hesitated to ask for help, but right now I’m fighting for my fucking life.
If you’re in a position to support me, I would be deeply grateful. Even small contributions help buy me the time I need to heal without completely falling behind. Asking for help doesn’t come easily, but I’m realizing I can’t get through this alone.
My sweet friends
@christian_face and Sammy Lewis have set up a GoFundMe for me. If donating isn’t possible, sharing this post would mean the world.
Thank you for holding me through such a difficult moment.
xx Hexie 🤍
Photo by
@gabo__gamboa 
