I’ve lost my mother. I say that as if we were in the mall and I thought she was in one store but she is instead browsing another store. As if I can’t find her. I wish that were the case. I know exactly where she is. But still, I’ve lost my mother. But my mother isn’t lost. She has opened her wings and flown away. She is gone.
I’ve lost my mother. A mother who was truly “something else”. She was a mother who has taught me more than she knew. She was smart. Smarter than people knew. She had a gold medal in what I call the Mental Olympics. My mother would say something and it will go right over my head. A night or two later I’d wake up in the middle of the night, and say “Oh! That is what she meant. That is correct.” And smile. Her reminder to me that as smart as I know I am, she is still just a little bit smarter.
I’ve lost my mother. A mother who I wanted to tell everything to, yet tell nothing at all for protection. A mother who could make me laugh and cry almost one moment after another. I’ve lost my mother. A mother who both avoided confrontations and started them herself. A mother who could argue with me as we’re walking into a place and then grab my hand, put on a big smile and introduce me as her wonderful daughter who has accomplished so much.
I’ve lost my mother. My mother who taught me shorthand and how to type. Who taught me how to sew. Who bought me earrings. My mother who was glad I stopped dressing like a tomboy, but hated that I still hid behind bland, dark clothes. She always wanted to jazz me up. Try this color. That shirt or that dress would like really nice on you, you should get it. You should try to wear some makeup. You’d really look nice in fingernail polish. I like what you did to your hair. You look nice today.
I’ve lost my mother. A mother who could talk about everything under the sun, except for this and that. She knows what this and that are. When her smile disappeared, she was shut down and nothing penetrated her fortress. Her sparkle was gone and she became mean. My mother who I wanted to ask questions to, but could not. Why did this happen? Why did you allow this to happen? Do you know how I feel? What I went through? Can you tell me how you feel? What you went through? What you are thinking right now? Where are you hurting? Can you just stop?? Will you please talk to me?!
I’ve lost my mother. And I have to rely upon white men to solve her case. White men who are filled with racism, disregard, assumptions, and statistics. White men who lie, cheat, and throw theories under the rug to hide. White men I do not trust. White men who are always in control. White men who use your frustrations of their mediocrity against you to retain supremacy. White men who promote themselves and pat themselves on the back for doing nothing at all. White men who tell you to wait, let us do our job. Wait. Be patient. It’s only been… We are still… Wait. They do not understand.
I HAVE LOST MY MOTHER!
Hey Mom? If you can read this. If you can hear me:
Zoom, baby!