“Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass.
It’s about learning to dance in the rain.”
This quote is the first thing you see when you walk into Phyllis Moore’s cozy and colorful home in the Morris Heights neighborhood of The Bronx. The walls and shelves are plastered with family photographs of her three biological sons, four granddaughters, and eight foster boys who have called her “ma” over the past six years.
In the next room, her 5 month old granddaughter is sleeping soundly after a morning at court during which she was placed in Phyllis’ custody. One of her foster sons is resting with a sore throat in his bedroom. The other three teenage boys are at school, but the phone rings every few minutes as they check in with her to let her know that they got on the bus or arrived at football practice. Phyllis is relaxed – curled up on her couch, hugging a throw pillow, and chatting away.
She has clearly learned to dance in the rain. Phyllis’ parents taught her to be nurturing and compassionate. “My parents are my best friends,” she says. “My siblings and I learned how to be caretakers because they took such great care of us. Now that we’re grown, we always have our own kids and somebody else’s kids.”
As the baby wakes up crying from her nap and the phone rings again, Phyllis smiles peacefully and poses in front of her children’s photographs, trophies, and awards that her sons have won. She doesn’t wait for the storm to pass, she invites it through her door and dances with her family.
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