I love Amá, I've loved Ama Day sitting with her from 9:30 a.m. until 6:00 p.m. in her old Colony home. Apá's home. I've loved walking her to the bathroom, helping her wash her hands and her face.

I've loved my Amá Day. My proud raíces day. Frying an egg for Amá, then mashing it so she can eat it, handing her a cup of milk, water, holding the cup steady for her, singing her song--"Homenaje a María"--with my borrowed guitar, then caressing her and telling her how much I love her: "Amá, la quiero con todo el alma y corazón." Thanking her again and again for her beauty, "gracias por mis raíces Amá," singing songs of her pueblo querido--Salamanca--talking to her about José Alfredo Jiménez y Guanajuato, teasing Amá about drinking tequila with her, handing her my guitar to hold while I run to the "escusado," sneaking a quick call to Lorna Dee Cervantes about the introduction she's writing for Xicana on the Run, watching Mom lovingly wet, then comb Amá's hair as if she were her very own muñequita.

I've loved my Amá day. Composing a new song to Amá as she listens to me sing my heart away, taking pictures with her, wearing her green chopos, then teasing her that I'm going to steal them, take them back to Califas. I've loved sitting at Amá's side, hugging her as we take a photograph together, placing her old portrait, the one of the young María with her husband Saúl, baby Saúl on Apá's lap, asking Amá questions about her favorite photograph taken in Hollywood, California, "De qué color era su vestido?" "Azul," she whispers as we admire Apá's two hands, watching Amá shed tears as she treasures Apá's handsome face.

I 've loved my Amá Day, helping her lie down on her bed, covering her with her blankets, sitting in her old arm chair while she sleeps. It smells of Amá, I think to myself as I lean back. It smells of 96 years of love. Raíces de México love. Amor Eterno love.

I love this day I will never live again--Amá Day.