My mother was a strong woman. Worked her fingers to the bone night and day, she worked for her children and barely knew the meaning of the word rest. Never minding the fact she was sick and weak and tired of struggling, she pressed on because she had mouths to feed and house to care for. Cooking and cleaning for a household that took her for granted, she skipped not one beat but that look in her eye was a screaming plea for help. Her strength to press and carry on moved my soul and her smile was a high five from God.
I watched her daily pulling herself from the bed to nurture the world but better known as her responsibilities. Her inner pain and failing health was over shadowed by the legacies she raised because she knew time would not stand still if she gave up. Once a month was a hospital stay and I wonder if she ever thought of it as a vacation. But what did I know? I was just a little nappy headed baby boy who thought his mother was god because when I was sad she delivered me from it, her love was church and I glorified in the temple. Her pill bottles told another story, one to this day I’ll never comprehend. Two for her heart, one for hypertension and breathing through a tube for asthma, each one played her synthetic Jesus but as soon as she got attached they fled the scene but my mother was strong woman.
She knew she was the sarcophagus of the women that traveled the blood that flowed through her veins and their fights and struggles were casted spells in order for her to go on. Her presence was my favorite color, her laugh was my favorite song and she was the greatest poem God ever wrote. No need for edits, he knew she was a rough draft that would author five of the greatest autobiographies, each one tailored with punctuation marks meant for their life. She authored each one with the reverse side of every mistake she ever made and she made sure each one was a best seller because my mother was a strong woman.
But that cold winter night…..February 1, 1991 is a day I will never be able to erase from my mind. I woke up to what I thought was Christmas but December was 10-months away and I remembered the flashing red lights was part of the chariot that always took my mother on vacation but this time it felt different. The feeling I usually felt was replaced with a heavy thump in stomach and my nerves awakened my senses to a tremble. My grandfather not allowing me to see my angel before she took leave, how dare he. Go back to your room was all I heard as the bellhops carried my mother to sanctuary. Her chariot departed the driveway and I’m confused and concerned before I even knew the meaning of the two words. Mama I muttered.
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