TUESDAY THOUGHTS: MOMMY

On February 4, 2003, my Mom died. 

I was there in the emergency room, and no day could ever be so surreal. 

She'd seemed fine the day before, which is why it's been so hard to understand. Things really can change in an instant. 

I was brushing her hair the evening of February 3rd, and she was telling me about the book she wanted to write when she got out of the hospital. 

She was only 66 years old. 

She was the youngest daughter, a mother of 3, grandmother of 3 granddaughters, and would be so crazy about her first grandson, little Yusef, the newest addition to our family. 

She was the great-grandmother of 3. 

She was a wife, sister, deaconess, mentor, friend, and volunteer. 

She was a Delta, a Washington Teachers' Union member, and a Southern University graduate. 

She was the greatest teacher I'd ever known. Not just knowledgeable, but dedicated, efficient, prompt, and caring. 

She was an incredible seamstress. 

She loved the Washington Redskins, and would be so happy to know that her "boy" Art Monk finally got the recognition only she could articulate that he deserved. 

Her gumbo was fantastic, and even better on the second day. 

She was neat, clean, and organized.

She loved reading, writing, and learning new information. 

She collected tea pots and admired dishes. 

She loved decorating and redecorating. 

She loved flowers and plants. 

She was the holiday bunny. Christmas, Easter, any holiday was an event. 

She was articulate, and if she got relaxed enough, still had a little Addis, Louisiana in her voice. 

She could laugh 'til she cried. 

She knew the Lord well, and that above all gives me great comfort.

I'd only heard the words "pulmonary embolism" once before Mommy died. A prominent news reported had succumbed to the same condition while in Iraq. 

Mommy had beaten colon cancer, but a blood clot found it's way to a place it should never had been. She was a healthy eater, and didn't abuse her body. Her affliction didn't make sense.

I got my love of shoes, reading, and popcorn from my Mom. 

I'm slowly morphing into her. I see her when I look in the mirror. 

My foot is a size and a half larger than hers was, and we won't talk about my waistline, but I see her. I hear her. 

I'm doing things she used to do, and realizing just how much she is a part of me. Any grace or poise I have is because she insisted upon it. 

I sing because she said one day when I was about 11, "It's time for you all to get off the pew and find something to do at church".

She periodically shows up in my dreams, always busy at some task or getting ready to go somewhere. 

In one dream, she was the owner of a huge mansion, and hosting a Christmas party. She was attending to her many guests and didn't have much time to talk, but she encouraged me to take a tour of the house. In another dream, she was getting ready to go out. I kept calling after her. She turned, smiled, waved and sang, "I gotta go Baby. I'll see you later". She just floated away. 

In every dream she's impeccably dressed, looks fabulous, and is happy.

The days of picking up the phone to call her, and realizing she won't answer are over. 

The Bible says "...willing rather to be absent from the body..." 

I wonder-- if everyone who died in the Lord is already in heaven, present with the Lord, golfing, and singing, and swimming, and bowling, and playing cards, and having parties, and doing whatever fun stuff they did on earth, who's going to get up when Jesus comes?

Some of the things people say at funerals may be comforting, but aren't biblical. I don't know. We come up with stuff to help us to cope, I guess. Considering all that she went through, I would not have her to come back here. Even if I'm one of the ones who scarcely makes it in, I want to go where Jesus is; where Mommy surely is.

Considering that she only weighed a pound at birth, and had been given up for dead, 66 years of a well-spent life was a miracle.

Thank you God for the mother you gave me. She was perfect.