One of life’s major transitions is when you become an orphan. Mine occurred last December when my 89-year-old mother passed. I never took for granted how thoroughly she impacted my life, but when I gave her eulogy many people were amazed at what my quiet mother had accomplished.
Born in Mississippi, she grew up in Detroit. Inspired by tennis great Althea Gibson, (long before the Williams sisters), she played tennis competitively. And, unusual for an Afro-American girl at the time (we were worried about getting our hair wet), she earned a Red Cross Life Saving Badge while in high school. I actually saw her save the lives of two people!
When I was ten, she did an unusual thing for married women in post WWII; she went to nursing school, a step that others would routinely take only decades later. She also briefly attended university. I was a freshman at the time, and I remember my pride in seeing my mom on campus.
Our home exhibited two important things: books that weren’t mere decorations; and laughter. My mom loved to laugh and we were pretty good at being silly. She always encouraged and challenged me.
She also loved to travel, taking frequent trips with Dad to his family farm in Virginia and later to Oregon to visit my brother. After my father’s passing, we cruised the Bahamas together and visited the Grand Canyon. Even with her cane she got off the bus at every stop on the route around the Canyon. Even though she hadn’t played tennis or swam in years, she still took long walks in the neighborhood.
My mother chose to love me, not for duty but because she wanted to. So it’s easy for me to say I Love You, Mama, still in the present tense.
