Miss Clara Blues
"Mama, you stay on my mind.
Mama, you're one of a kind.
Mama, I'm keeping my eyes on you..."
Every post I write could really start off this way. The struggle is real, I miss my Mama every day. That's despite knowing, we are as close as we ever could be. I still miss her physical presence. At least once a week, there is a moment I reach for my phone in the hopes of hearing a word from her. What I've learned is if I'm patient, the word I'd normally get from her finds me eventually. Maybe not right when I want it, but unexpectedly at a time I'm open and willing to receive it. I catch it and know it's from her.
I had a stressful week, not unexpected but it had me feeling extra vulnerable. I really needed some 'Mommy love'. That look of comfort or encouragement that only your Mama could provide.
I mourn that, but am aware of what I get instead. Like, my son asking me for a hug with his arms out stretched and a big kool-aid smile on his face. That's a big deal to me because it's one of the clearest statements he has ever made. Each word is angelic and sweeter than the last, and I can hear every part of me go, "Awwwwwww, come here baby."
My son was officially diagnosed with autism this week. I remember hearing the words and knowing that I've known this all along. These professionals weren't saying anything new. I know my son, the autism label will not define or limit him. Just sitting in that meeting listening to these people who don't know him tell me their opinion of him, was an experience. I had to remind myself to take it with a grain of salt. I came to them for help and that's what they provided. I have to transfer him and his sister to a different school. This school has a program that's better equipped to teach him and that's the goal. I just worry about all the changes, but another word I got this week from family is that kids are resilient so they should be fine.
The irony of missing Ma, while still living in her home, still surrounded by her stuff is just when I get frustrated about not remembering little things, the kids will locate a hidden treasure from one of her drawers. They admire it and carry it around with them just long enough for me to marvel at my two worlds colliding, and me being the only one to recognize it. From Mama's last award she got from the federal government for forty-four years of service, the fancy church hats, and even her painted rock collection, the kids keep her alive. Most recently, my daughter discovered her pink clip-on earrings (Ma more than likely wore them to sorority functions) that she demanded to wear while we played kick ball in the back yard. She looked like such a lady.
Mama is all around me, the more I embrace her omnipresence, instead of mourning her mortality, the more peace-filled my life should be.
Mama, you're one of a kind.
Mama, I'm keeping my eyes on you..."
Every post I write could really start off this way. The struggle is real, I miss my Mama every day. That's despite knowing, we are as close as we ever could be. I still miss her physical presence. At least once a week, there is a moment I reach for my phone in the hopes of hearing a word from her. What I've learned is if I'm patient, the word I'd normally get from her finds me eventually. Maybe not right when I want it, but unexpectedly at a time I'm open and willing to receive it. I catch it and know it's from her.
I had a stressful week, not unexpected but it had me feeling extra vulnerable. I really needed some 'Mommy love'. That look of comfort or encouragement that only your Mama could provide.
I mourn that, but am aware of what I get instead. Like, my son asking me for a hug with his arms out stretched and a big kool-aid smile on his face. That's a big deal to me because it's one of the clearest statements he has ever made. Each word is angelic and sweeter than the last, and I can hear every part of me go, "Awwwwwww, come here baby."
My son was officially diagnosed with autism this week. I remember hearing the words and knowing that I've known this all along. These professionals weren't saying anything new. I know my son, the autism label will not define or limit him. Just sitting in that meeting listening to these people who don't know him tell me their opinion of him, was an experience. I had to remind myself to take it with a grain of salt. I came to them for help and that's what they provided. I have to transfer him and his sister to a different school. This school has a program that's better equipped to teach him and that's the goal. I just worry about all the changes, but another word I got this week from family is that kids are resilient so they should be fine.
The irony of missing Ma, while still living in her home, still surrounded by her stuff is just when I get frustrated about not remembering little things, the kids will locate a hidden treasure from one of her drawers. They admire it and carry it around with them just long enough for me to marvel at my two worlds colliding, and me being the only one to recognize it. From Mama's last award she got from the federal government for forty-four years of service, the fancy church hats, and even her painted rock collection, the kids keep her alive. Most recently, my daughter discovered her pink clip-on earrings (Ma more than likely wore them to sorority functions) that she demanded to wear while we played kick ball in the back yard. She looked like such a lady.
Mama is all around me, the more I embrace her omnipresence, instead of mourning her mortality, the more peace-filled my life should be.
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