10/10/2026
❤️ The Heart of Our Family — My Mother
I’ve been sharing some memories about our family’s years at Amore’s, and there’s someone whose story I really want to tell.
My mother.
We lost her on September 30, 2020, after her battle with cancer. Six years later, there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about her.
When people talk about the American Dream, they often think about the person who came to this country with very little, worked hard, and built something from nothing.
My father certainly lived that story. But so did my mother, in her own incredible way.
Before coming to America, my mom had a beautiful life in Kosova. She was a schoolteacher who taught music. She sang, played instruments, and came from an incredibly close family. She had her own career, her own dreams, and a life surrounded by people she loved.
My father was 16 years older than her. He had already immigrated to America, worked incredibly hard, and established a life for himself before eventually returning to Kosova, where they married.
And my mother made a decision that I appreciate more and more as I get older.
She left everything she knew.
Her family, her career, her friends, her home, and the country where she’d grown up.
She came to America as a young woman to build an entirely new life with my father. I can’t imagine how difficult that must have been, especially coming from such a close family.
And years later, when my father decided to take another chance and move our family from New Jersey to Texas, she was right there beside him, starting over yet again.
My father was the dreamer, the storyteller, and the guy who could strike up a conversation with absolutely anyone. 😂 But my mother was the backbone of our family. Our anchor.
She was, without question, one of the hardest-working people I’ve ever known. And that’s saying something, because my father worked incredibly hard himself.
She worked at Amore’s, waited tables, helped customers, and did whatever needed to be done. But somehow, she also managed to take care of our entire family.
Getting us to school, cooking homemade meals, cleaning, doing laundry, taking us to practices, making sure we had everything we needed.
I honestly don’t know how she did it all.
And it’s funny, because as I get older, some of the smallest memories are the ones that mean the most.
When I was about 14, I used to ride along with our delivery drivers at Amore’s. This was before GPS, when everyone used Mapsco books to find addresses. 😂
I had a really good memory for streets and neighborhoods, and I got pretty good at figuring out which deliveries we could combine into one route. The drivers loved taking me because we could knock out four or five deliveries efficiently, and they’d sometimes throw me a few bucks for helping.
Eventually, my mom had an idea.
Why don’t we just take the deliveries ourselves? 😂
So she started driving, I’d figure out the routes, and she’d let me keep every dollar we made.
Sometimes I’d make $50 or $60 in a night, which felt like hitting the lottery when you’re 14 years old!
She never asked me for a penny. She was just happy seeing me excited, learning something, and making a little money.
Then there were my football years.
Anyone who played football in Texas knows how brutal those practices could be, especially in the heat. There were days when I’d be so exhausted afterward that my mom didn’t even want me driving home.
So she’d come pick me up.
I’d climb into the backseat, completely worn out, and she’d have a couple of Gatorades or Powerades waiting for me. Usually different flavors, sometimes a snack, too.
Mind you, we were going straight home, where she’d already have a homemade meal waiting for me anyway. 😂
But that was my mom. She always thought about the little things.
And because my truck was still sitting at school, she’d wake up at four or five the next morning to take me back for early workouts or film sessions.
I can still remember how gently she’d open my bedroom door in the mornings. I’ve always been a light sleeper, so she’d barely have to open it and I’d wake right up.
She was so thoughtful, even about something as simple as waking me up.
She never complained. Never made me feel like I was inconveniencing her.
She just did it because she loved me.
And when I was around 19 or 20 years old, I had an opportunity to open my very first restaurant.
An old restaurant had closed, and I saw an opportunity to build something of my own.
Most parents probably would’ve told their kid to slow down, get more experience, or think twice before taking such a big risk.
Not my mom.
She believed in me.
She helped me get that restaurant going, and in those early days, it was often just the two of us.
I’d be in the back cooking, she’d be up front waiting tables and taking care of customers. We’d run back and forth between restaurants, picking up supplies, preparing food, and doing whatever needed to be done.
She was my biggest supporter.
And I know I wasn’t always perfect. I made mistakes, made some questionable decisions, and probably gave her plenty of reasons to worry. 😂
But in her eyes, I was always her baby boy.
She never stopped believing in me, even during the times when I probably didn’t believe in myself.
Looking back now, especially as a parent myself, I realize just how much she sacrificed for us.
She had left behind a career she loved, a beautiful family, and everything familiar to her. She helped my father build a life in America, helped raise our family, worked tirelessly in our restaurants, and still somehow found the time and energy to make each of us feel like the most important person in the world.
I wonder how many things she wanted to do for herself but quietly put aside for us.
How many exhausting days she pushed through without saying a word.
How many sacrifices she made that we’ll probably never even know about.
My father had the vision and courage to chase a better life. My mother had the strength, patience, and love to help make that life possible.
My father crossed an ocean chasing a dream. My mother crossed that same ocean believing in him. And together, they gave us a life neither of them could have imagined growing up in Kosova.
I miss her more than words can describe.
Sometimes I wish I could go back and sit in that car with her just one more time. Not because I need a ride home or a couple of Gatorades, but just to have a few more minutes with my mom.
To tell her how much I love her.
To tell her that I finally understand just how much she did for us.
And to thank her for always believing in me.
If I could choose my mother in a thousand different lifetimes, I’d choose her every single time. ❤️
To everyone who remembers my mom from our Amore’s days, I’d genuinely love to hear your memories of her. I know she touched a lot of lives, and hearing those stories means more to me than you could imagine.
And if you’re fortunate enough to still have your mother around, give her an extra hug today.
I promise you, there’s never enough time. ❤️
Rest in peace, Mom. I love you, and I’ll carry you with me for the rest of my life. ❤️
