Mommy Entity

My mama was a poet, an artist, a seamstress, a fan of etymology and Matlock, and could run like the wind. Those are the things I recalled when I did the exercise of remembering her outside of her service to others. It takes work for me to remember her as an individual. My knee-jerk recollections involve everything but her being her own person, even in death. She was my mama. She was my daddy’s wife. She was God’s servant. Most people who only know her through my stories don’t even know her name: Lou Verda Mae.

Children were always mama’s ministry. Before she had children of her own, she spent time caring for her oldest brother’s six children, whipping them into shape for their mild-mannered, overwhelmed mother. As the oldest daughter, I found myself following in her footsteps. There were four of us, so I learned to cook, do minor sewing, comb hair, and change diapers at a really young age. Taking care of my unruly sisters was a chore, but I knew that I was going to be a mom one day. I always had a baby on my hip. When I found myself pregnant and single at 21, the choice I made was a no-brainer.

“Mom” contains so many moving parts. My mama saw it as a bigger than life role that encompassed every part of her life once we arrived. When she would spend all night sewing four dresses or skip out on every event that wasn’t kid-friendly, she’d look at me and say, “You’d better do the same for yours.”

I tried.

My house was always open, I expended myself until I almost snapped. My mental well being was stretched so thin…