Gloria RIP

 In Loving Memory of Gloria Luz Prado

Born in L.A.'s General Hospital and raised in the Ramona Gardens projects, my mom lived a life that was raw, real, and full of love. She ran through the streets of Lincoln Heights, Boyle Heights, East L.A., and City Terrace with a fire in her spirit and music in her soul—Billy Stewart, Marvin Gaye, War, Joe Bataan, Ralfi Pagan, Malo—but Betty Wright Live was her soundtrack.


She didn’t graduate high school, but she had more wisdom and grit than most. In the '80s, she worked graveyard as a switchboard operator and would take me to work with her. She later had her hand tattoos cut off—old-school style—just to get a better job, eventually working at Commerce Casino, then with the L.A. County District Attorney’s child support division. No diploma. Just hustle, heart, and sacrifice.


She loved French vanilla ice cream and 50/50 bars, taking us to the beach to watch the grunion run, and waking me up with Las Mañanitas on my birthday. She sent me for asada nachos from Arizona on Whittier Blvd and made the meanest flat enchiladas and huevos rancheros. She was Catholic to her core and had deep devotion to the Virgen de Guadalupe. Days of Our Lives was always on, and family always came first.


She protected us like a lioness. Through every jail, prison, or rehab I found myself in, she never gave up on me. She wrote me, visited me, and always ended her letters the same:

“I love you and I can't wait to see you.”


I miss her every day. Her strength, her love, her voice. Rest in peace, Mom. You were everything.

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