Behind The Mission

I didn’t give birth to my son, but I became his mom the moment he needed someone to show up. A year ago, my wife and I took in two teenage boys after their father—my friend—relapsed and lost everything. One of them left shortly after, but Levi stayed. He had a tough past, was labeled “troubled,” and had been bounced between homes. We bonded immediately. I still remember the night we first met: 2 a.m., a rescue mission outside a girl’s apartment, him sitting on a motel bed with his hood up, terrified and silent. I asked him if he wanted a drink from the vending machine. He chose a Monster energy drink. I let him have it. It felt like the least I could give someone whose world had just shattered. Since then, I’ve been there for the big things—his first concert, getting him a phone, showing up for school meetings—and the quiet moments, too. He calls me “Mom.” Has since the first week. When he saved me in his contacts as “Mom,” I tried to downplay it, saying I was more like a stepmom. He stopped me and said, “No, you’re more of a mom than my real one ever was.” That broke me and healed me all at once. Being a mother, to me, is about showing up. It's about offering safety, stability, softness—even when the world doesn’t. That experience has deeply shaped the way I build The Meridyan. Because everyone deserves someone who shows up. Not because they have to—but because they choose to.