Many people have an image, a portrait, of someone that exists inside them that no one ever knows about. In me, it’s the musician, the visionary who sees further than most. For me, that image is a racecar engine inside a beat-up junk car that’s been wrecked too many times, and only those that pop the hood ever find out the secret. But for my mother it’s Yellow Dog Woman. For years I’ve heard her refer to herself as this, and never thought too much about it, we are playful with each other, and my mother has always believed in the healthiness of play between people. I’ve come to believe in this magic too, and I use it in every relationship I have.

One day, after my mother and me exchanged a laugh at something, she said, ‘that’s because I’m Yellow Dog Woman,’ which I followed with "where in the World did you ever get that name?" Looking like she was surprised, she asked, ‘didn’t I ever tell you about the movie I saw as a child?’ I replied, "No, you never did," and she went on to tell me of a movie, she couldn’t remember the name. And even the details were sketchy in her memory, but the basis of the story went as follows:

"Two Native American tribes were at war with each other, and one of the tribes had kidnapped one of the women. She was consequently treated badly, insulted, put down and made to do all the work under great duress. She was the ‘outsider’, the one no one recognized as having any value, all because of her blood, and what people she belonged to. This victim of circumstances soon acquired the moniker, Yellow Dog Woman, because of her close relationship that she had formed with an old shaggy yellow dog that came around for scraps of food. Every time that dog showed up Yellow Dog Woman found something to feed him, even if it meant taking from her own small ration of food. She played with him when no one else noticed him, or her, and together they found companionship. In what was supposed to be total isolation came friendship, someone to play with, someone who accepted her for who she was on the inside. Suddenly, sharing the weight of hardship became easier because of a simple friend."

In a lot of ways, I’ve been the Yellow Dog, and she’s always been Yellow Dog Woman. No two people ever needed each other more than we have. And since we have joined forces as friends, as companions, faced with hardship, we have grown in strength. Together, my mother and me have formed a team that constantly supports each other with simple friendship, simple acceptance, and simple respect – without judgments. My dear mother grew up the outsider, and followed that course most of her life, while working at any job, anywhere, to keep her family’s head above water. The struggles she endured with men and her children can never be expressed in merely written words. However, there’s a great peace that sometimes follows a great storm, and now that my mother has entered the winter of her life she has looked to me as her Yellow Dog, always giving to me, and taking my friendship in return.

My mother has said to me on more than one occasion that being important to someone, and being needed, is the greatest role someone can play in this life. She has truly been that to me since my car accident that left me paralyzed, and to stray animals that always find something to eat at our porch. I love Yellow Dog Woman for who she is, and the wisdom that only comes from hard times, and the outsider that has only wanted my friendship, and respect, and the only ally that I can depend on to help me live a near normal life.

On this Mother’s Day, I celebrate the life of Yellow Dog Woman.