Milestones are important in all cultures and rites of passage are not always recognized when they happen. this is the celebration of a universal rite for everyone at some point in time.
A lot of people think in terms of waking up a woman as some kind of action dynamo. I think back instead to a maternal aunt who picking me out of the Arkansas flood waters of 1937 and taking me to Michigan raised me after my mother’s death six days after my birth.Auntie was a physically beautiful woman and homemaker for most of my adolescent life.
She was a woman of limited formal education completing only the seventh grade in a one room country schoolhouse, however, she had a Masters Degree in living. She was not a physical hugger during my formative years but she caressed with words. Auntie loved to talk and talked incessantly when she wasn’t listening to radio soap operas and in later years watching them on television. Looking back over the talkative years when she was still with us one thing impressed me most and that is out of all of those years of talking very little was mean spirited. Most of her conversations to my cousin and I were either inquisitive, humorous or morality lessons. Her most frequently used expression for behavioral failures was, “Any fool would know.”
Forty-nine years after my birth she had a crippling stroke which left her paralyzed and bedridden. Auntie was then eighty years old. This time I was able to go to Michigan and bring her back to Arkansas. Though paralyzed she still maintained a sense of humor through the warped reality of many survivors of major cerebral accidents as the doctor had called her stroke. She had always accused me of building air castles as she called my many shared ideas of my young adulthood, following always with the question; “When are you going to grow up?”
One day as I bathed her, finished feeding her and changing her clothes I noticed a tear at the corner of her eye. What’s wrong? I gently asked, lightly rubbing my fingers across her brow. Nothing. She replied softly. “My little girl has finally grown up.” I was then 49 years old. When she passed on that same year my husband and I scheduled her funeral for the last time we would assemble together in chapel. It was held on our 30th wedding anniversary when we truly celebrated life and shared loves. Although we recently celebrated 47 years of marital bliss our 30th anniversary marked my biggest milestone as I then became a family elder.
What a beautiful story. It reminded me of one of my foster mothers. Let me correct that, my FAVORITE foster mother. Mrs. Miller. She was a big hearted black woman with a sense of humor and humility as big as her heart. I loved that woman. She made that 16 year old white lost child believe that love was not just a word. Thank you for tweeking that memory.
This is such a heart touching tribute that encompasses love, pain, loss and personal growth. I couldn't help but tear up as I read your words. Beautifully written! Best wishes ~Z~
Marion, loved this story told with such emotion and pain about losing your loved one. Told with much detail about your life, it was both interesting and informative. A loving tribute very much enjoyed...
Antoinette
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