They call her Mama. Their little eyes stare up at the woman they've always known to be their savior, the woman who fell to her knees at the borders of life and death during child labor, the woman who gave it all and is eternally grateful for the blessings of Little Man and Baby Boy that God gave her. Their little hands hold tight to the one who tucks them in at night, rocking away their fears and promising to make everything alright, though God knows, inside her head, she struggles with reality, wondering how she can keep these promises, how she can protect and provide for them all on her own because they call her Mama, and it's just her. She's their hero. They tell her their secrets and trust that she will always be there, and, by the grace of God, she swears she always will be. But nobody knows the struggle of the hero, the sacrifices she makes to provide her babies with food and shelter every day, to work multiple jobs that are below her potential and still do not provide enough pay, yet creating time to spend with her children, to watch them grow and love and play. They call her Mama. They bring her the questions that swarm their little brains- Did you know that a four year old asks 437 questions a day, on average? She finds the answers. She is forced to explain things little boys should never have to face, she is forced to answer questions of their father's existence, his absence, his love for them, she is forced to explain things she herself may not even understand. Do you know how difficult it is to answer when a child asks why their father does not love them? She does. Her back and shoulders are strong and hard as the stones and bricks of the Great Wall of China, she has carried so much for so long. They call her Mama. I do not know if they know that all she has done and worked for, the safe home she has labored alone to build, everything that means anything to her could all be taken away in the blink of an eye. That now the riches of her kingdom have been threatened. That she must now fight harder than ever before for what is rightfully hers. They say it takes a village to raise a child. Sometimes heroes don't have a village, sometimes heroes must stand in front of exploding volcanoes in hopes the hot lava will not touch the little ones who are hiding behind their legs, sometimes heroes must stand forefront in a bloody war for the things that truly matter, sometimes heroes don't have a village, and they must do it by themselves until they can no longer, until they can reach out to those worthy enough to build that village, worthy enough to be that village. Sometimes heroes are called Mama.