I never talk about my mother. I mean, I do, but I don’t. I share her, but not all of her. I tend to keep her close for various reasons. She’s a pure thing to me. She’s often imitated, and somewhat duplicated. She’s my home team. My Cabinet. My Supreme Court. I’m Trey, she’s Doughboy. I’m Peaches, she’s Wayman.
(If you don’t get the last two references, please direct yourself to Google.)
I can go on for pages about how I’m constantly hearing that I’m the spitting image of her, only taller. Often times people don’t remember my name, so they call me by hers. It wasn’t until I got older that I saw that I have her mannerisms. I make the same faces she does. I sometimes sound like her. I handle certain things the same way she does. I’ am my mother’s one and only daughter.
In this series where I’m choosing to share my healing from heartbreak, I want to share with you, my Mother.
It took me a few days to tell my mother I was heartbroken. She wasn’t the first person I called when it happened. I couldn’t tell her I was hurt. Not me. Not the one child she has that handles things with grace, ease, poise, and can just do it. How could I call my mother and let her know her 31 year old baby was hurting? That was too much to do. Plus, I was a bucket of tears. The minute she would’ve asked was I okay, another bucket would’ve spilled over. So I kept quiet. I was going to deal with things first to get a handle on it, then tell her. My first thought was, I’ll let her know about 3-4 months from now. By then, I’m sure I’ll be over it and everything of it. Part of the reason I don’t share this kind of stuff with my mother is because I would often share it with my father, who is no longer here. He was the one I could share it with, he’d give me a solution, and I’d be okay. I think just knowing that my dad listened and cared enough was all I needed. I didn’t have these kinds of conversations with my mom. But now, at some point, in this life, I was going to have to start.
So I sent her a text to sorta kinda let her know.
She left me on ‘Read.’
Shawty, never responded.
A couple of days had gone by and I was having the greatest day. I was productive at work. I felt like I was getting back to me again. Actually, it was the first full day I hadn’t cried. I’d called her to tell her one thing and that was when it started.
We were on the phone for over 3 hours! And it was the best conversation. It was the one thing missing, I didn’t know I needed. When I tell you we talked about everything, we talked about everything! She gave me countless laughs. And even reminded me it was National Daughter’s Day, but she didn’t have a gift. She even summed it up by saying, it can’t be a real day because it’s only on Facebook. Way by and by, the time came for me to mention what was going on. I brought it up. She said she’d seen the text but was busy and didn’t get a chance to respond. I told her all about it. How I was hurt. I was ill. I explained to her the situation. How it all went down. She knew some of the ins and outs. But most importantly, she listened. Little did she know, that was the best part for me. She was paying attention. The parent who I never really shared boy troubles with growing up was giving me her ears, eyes, and quietness over the phone. After listening, she told me using the most basic words, “If you love him, let him go. If he’s yours, he’ll be back. But, you can’t miss out on The One if you keep him around. Now he had time to make this grow with you and he didn’t want to. And that’s okay.” When I tell you that made the most perfect sense to me. I’d heard it before, I even knew that. However, hearing it from my mother made it seem truer than true. Like, because she said the words, I would get over things much quicker than anticipated.
And that was only the beginning.
She later went on to tell me she often thinks about me and how I handle things. And how she finds herself saying she wish she could speak up and out on things like me. I shared with her, many times I feel like I just do the absolute most and wish I could dial it back like her. What surprised me was that my mother was looking at me in this way. As a child, you look up to your parents. I never thought how even though she was the vessel that brought me in this world, I can teach her a few things, too. I guess it’ll all come full circle once I have a daughter. I’m just so amazed because I’ve spent many of my younger days watching her. How she does things. How she moves. How she deals. I used to think if I didn’t hold my hands the same she did when doing things, I was doing it wrong. If I wanted to do it right, I had to do it exactly like her. In my adult years, I’m learning so much more about her. Those things I couldn’t once grasp a concept on, are starting to make sense. I can’t wait to give her grandchildren one day. She’s going to flip out. In a good way.
Thank you, Ma for being my solid foundation. I know I got here two weeks past the original due date, but that was just a prerequisite that I will never be on time. God’s plan! I’m thankful God chose to place us together. I commend you for seeing me through my tough teen years. You’ve prepared me for the world in the best way you knew how. Thank you for teaching me. I’m forever grateful of what you’ve shown me so far, and anxious to see what’s to come.