I must have been 11 or 12 years old when my buddy and I got up in front of our church family and sang “A Song for Mama” by Boyz II Men. He was and still is a natural musician with a great voice and a knack for learning any instrument. I, on the other hand, was not and still can’t. But I played the drums and saxophone in church and, at least this one time, even sang a song. I did it because it made my momma happy.
I thought about this song today and gave it a quick play on Spotify, and I tried to take myself back to that moment when we sang it at church. I saw my mom sitting at the piano and his mom sitting at the organ; their faces lit up, and they were proud of the young men their sons were turning into. We could have never known that day that some 30 years later, they would both be gone. If I had known, I would have sung her more songs. As many as she wanted.
My mom would be 62 years old tomorrow and spending most of her time telling everyone about how her oldest grandchild would be graduating high school soon. Or how her youngest is full of sass and spirit. She would be at every football, basketball, or baseball game she could attend. Every cheerleading competition or band recital. She’d find ways to show them how much they mean to her in their own way. And if I’m being candid here, it pisses me off that she got cheated out of so much. Or maybe I’m selfish and upset that she got ripped away from us too soon.
Time is supposed to heal all wounds, and it may eventually. Some days it happens more than others, but I think about her daily. 95% of the time, those thoughts make me smile or even put me at ease, but that other 5% is brutal, man. When I see someone’s silhouette and mistake it for hers. When I hear a laugh that sounds like her laugh. When someone mentions seeing her in my kids. Those days the grief holds on and doesn’t let go.
“I’ll never go a day without my mama.” That’s a line from the song I took issue with after listening to it. I’ve gone many days without her now. She won’t be at the table during holidays or taking pictures in the background. She won’t be bringing me a drink out of the blue or calling to see how my day at work went. I can’t listen to her play the piano or seek her advice when I’m in a bind.
But, dadgum it, she lives on. She lives on in me and my children and the memories that live rent-free in my head. The photos come to life, and the home videos tell new stories. She lives on in this blog and the stories I tell my kids, and hopefully, they’ll recant to theirs. She’ll forever keep that special place in my heart and soul, and her sweet voice will always ring in my head.
I write these things out and throw them in the wind for 2 reasons. For one, it helps me clear my mind when things get all jammed up in there and must be purged. And secondly, I want this to be accessible to someone who might be going through a similar situation and not know how to deal with it. Maybe my words can comfort them or get them through the day. Almost everyone has had to deal with loss at some point. But that doesn’t mean it is ever easy.
Happy birthday in Heaven, Mom. I’m doing my best down here, I promise. Love you always!
Yelco State of Mind 