Monday marked the 7th year since the death of my mother. I was sad....truth be told, I was sad from Thursday...actually bawling my eyes out. It always gets me....I guess you always regret not having been given the opportunity to grow older with your mom and her to watch you transform into you.
The day passed though with minimal time for much reflection...usually I go over to her grave with flowers and rest there for a bit, trying to be as close as possible to her, but this time I was soooo busy that it wasn't until 8:00 p.m. that I got a moment to reflect on her and her love and thank God for the time I did get with her....she was cool.....Tough as nails, but cool nonetheless......I sometimes wish that I had gotten her personality....she could light up a room.
Anyway, I was saddened by my lack of focused attention/remembrance. I was thrown back to that faithful Sunday morning when I was told that she had passed...nothing prepares you for such news......it hits you hard and you fall, you break, you crumble. I was 25 when it happened and I had to be strong for my younger brother who was only 16. It was tough though, and as I remember the funeral service, having taken the trek to Florida to bring her home...choosing a casket, sorting out her things so that my mother could rest finally in the land of her birth, where my 16 year old brother bundled me up in his arms and hushed me like a child as I wept, I thought about how soon they grow up. It was comforting.
The light on the day was my brother's return to the island for a brief business trip. I battled with the two emotions, being happy to see my brother and being sad about our loss, and a friend of mine put things into perspective for me....she said that God knew it would have been tough on the day so he gave me many distractions to protect me from wallowing in utter depression. "I think too much" she says, and she knows that at times I see the passing of my mother as the turning point in my life, as I had a 16 year old who I had been charged with shaping since he was 8, to put through school and teach to be a man. I have other siblings, don't get me wrong, but they are mostly scattered across North America, and my father had unfortunately degenerated into the typical Jamaican Dad....there when he wanted to be. It was tough, but I felt I could do no less for him than that which his mother would have done, and I am happy to see the way it all worked out. .
So my task was to shape a boy into a man. As I looked at him yesterday, heading off to a reception for the shortlisted applicants for the Rhodes Scholarship, I thought to myself that I did well. My friends had always told me that I raised a good man, but I never was able to see him outside of the nomenclature , "my little brother"....but he is indeed quite a man and I told him as much. I am proud of him and I can only hope he continues to develop and grow from strength to strength.
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