I became a motherless child at eleven when my
Grandmother passed on. My birth mother was there, sort of, but Mom loved
Four Roses Whiskey. It's hard for kids to compete against the lure of liquor.
I was twenty-one, not yet twenty-two when I became a mother myself. My son, a joy was born with so much hair, the nurses wrapped it around their fingers making a curl, and him look like a turnip...but a cute as a button turnip.
Twenty two months later, I became a mother again to my beautiful daughter who came out with her fists clenched and hasn't stopped letting the world know they'd better not mess with her since.
I have so many beautifully funny memories from their youth. One birthday, they were two and four I think, they decided to bake Mom a cake and serve it to Mom in bed.
I don't know why they thought they could pour water and flour into my
electric typewriter and make a cake, but what could I do when they presented me with my paste clogged typewriter beaming from
ear to ear? I grinned, stuck my finger into the goo, licked it with a
BIG smile...they forgot sugar, and gave my typewriter the proper burial rights it deserved.
My son was sixteen. He was proud he was working and had his own money to give me a special, one-of-a-kind
Mother's Day Gift. What did he choose? He decided my car really needed a paint job...and who better to paint it than him?
Kat made me drop her off around the corner from school. No way was she letting me pull up and drop her off in front of everyone in a car that now looked like a drunk American Flag.
Once again, what was I going to do, but smile, thank him profusely and ignore the
double takes I would get driving down the road in my custom painted vehicle.
I miss those days, but I also miss having a mom of my own.
I was in a serious car accident eleven days after 9/11. No longer able to drive I was forced to accept
Para-transit for the elderly and disabled. Sometimes what seems to be the worst thing turns out to be
a miracle in the making.
Winnie is 82 years old. She survived the
London Blitz as a child, came to
America's South met and fell in love with a Black man. This amazing woman endured
raising her children in an atmosphere where her daughters could not pee in the same bathrooms she could pee in, and she could not pee in theirs. Imagine.
When I met her, her youngest daughter, almost my age, was in the final stages of
MS. In less than one year she lost one of her daughters and her son. I cannot imagine the pain of losing ONE child...two?
Yet this woman is so
beautiful she has stepped into the role of being the mother I lost when my Grandmother died, and the Grandmother my daughter NEVER had. She is an
inspiration, and so much more.
We love you Winnie.
Thank you for being you.
And Happy Mother's Day,
Lin and Kathy