I
tend to do things out of order. Like tell you about my child (children) out
of order. Before there was Millie…there was a triangular tribe of 4.
Though the youngest, CM was an only child for a while. We talked about
boys, hung out on campus, did our homework together, talked about boys, did our
hair, spent time in my office with my office assistants, called boys she knew
and talked to them, went to parties, played spades, and cooked because she
wanted to invite boys over. It was probably the enlightening discussions about
the boys that led to the other births…but, uh…well, wait, that makes perfect
sense! It seems like one day we were all individually living and the next day
we were together. Five separate lives became one inseparable love.
I pretty much helped them with everything – except, there was this one
thing. They never went hungry, they always left home happy, I could never get
angry – they were so wrong sometimes – and we were always laughing. Even with
no child support coming in, no visitation on the weekends, they had it all – except
that one thing. Sometimes your kids have dreams. Those dreams aren’t
necessarily bigger than you, they are just different from any dream you’ve
imagined for them. So you’re clueless when it comes to helping them figure it
out. Clueless and unqualified. They wanted to experience the world in ways I
could never understand. So I had to let them go and give them back to the
world. Give them to their dreams.
I mourned them. Oh, I missed them. I really did. But I couldn’t say it. I
certainly was not about to tell them. They didn’t need to know about Mama at
home all alone. So this was a timeless time in my life. Devoid of air, of
feeling, of vision. It was eternal darkness…an abyss of loneliness. They were
doing what made them happy, and that’s all I ever wanted for them. So I applied
the pressure myself and dropped it down an abandoned mine shaft. Never knowing
exactly when they would come back to me, just hanging on the hope that they
wouldn’t forget home. It was crazy. When I finally got a moment alone, I
realized all of the things I did in my world were really all about them. Connected
to them. Because of them. And that made me happy, really happy. I felt like
this one other time in my life. A time in which I… I uh, suffice it to say it
hurt like hell…
They came back to me. Changed. Forever changed. And that made them happy.
So very happy, in a way, I could never make them. Positively Elated! No matter
how big the giving, or how special the day or how nice the shoe I let them
borrow. But when you love something and you let it go, if it comes back (which
statistically rarely happens) then you hold on for dear life – no matter if it
comes back to you changed. Because it coming back means one thing: The only
thing. Love.
Before they left and returned, we celebrated Christmas. This was the first
Christmas in my first apartment. First Christmas, first apartment, and first
Christmas tree! This means, this was our first family outing to the store, as a
family, all together, to do our Christmas shopping.
I see now, or then rather, why my mother insisted on taking trips like
these alone. It was a rare occasion for her to be with her seven “baby” girls
in anything that remotely resembled a store – no matter the genre. Watching my
own four kids, monitoring what they put in and took out the basket, had to
have, didn’t like, wanted me to personally buy, thought was really interesting,
and needed me to see that second was enough to have me committed! O_o
I don’t want no big blue ass tree! that AD got a mouth on her. She’d say she “got it from her Mama” but she got
that from her Daddy. I just need to figure out who he is – but I’m not going on
Maury to do it!
AD! This ain’t your tree. This is
my tree and I like blue. Then I began my defense, It’s different, not traditional, unique!
Well, I’m not coming over if you
have a big blue ass tree at the house. The plaintiff rested.
Ugh… defeated by her attitude,
I just continued to look around at the pretty Christmas stuff.
Moments later… Mama, Mama, can we
get these? Without looking up, I knew it was KF. That voice? I could pick
her out 20 feet away in any direction.
Quieting my response, Really KF,
really? You’re going to call me Mama in the middle of Target?
Angry Black child moment, Oh, so
you are going to act like you’re not my Mama?
…and so began the Mama can I have? chorus conducted by MP. Not so much that she wanted to conduct it, but the conductor
is usually the quietest…which she was. And true to motherhood form, I allowed
the chorus to play like a soundtrack as I continued to shop.
I quickly returned from my mental vacation long enough to exchange glances
with a delusional middle-aged Caucasian woman. She empathetically looked over
and said, Oh honey, I understand. My
kids do that to me too… without breaking her stride or cart speed (true to
motherhood form as well). While there are so many things wrong with her
response, I will not get on that soapbox. At the end of the day, I had to
realize that I had four kids. I was a single parent to four sweet, hard-headed,
not going to stop until they got a red and white Christmas tree, kids. Me – 0,
Kids – 4. It was a nice tree. My blue and purple tree the following year was
much better.
My girls remind me that I have a divine purpose and one day, when I give
myself permission to step into it – all the way – I’m going to be used to do
something really special. Like CM did for me. You always save the best spots on
the fridge for your kid’s greatest artistic creations and A+’s. CM made me
trust love enough to do it all over again. To love someone’s child like my very
own. For no reason at all. A complete stranger. I didn’t cry much after that
when I would receive a letter from Mom (Mrs. H). CM set up shop in my heart, adjacent
to the hole, and decorated it with red, white and elephants.
…and
that is why I miss Arkansas. #GoFigrue
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