Good Mourning – A Remembrance

I am one who doesn’t like to say good morning. I rarely ever am happy to be forced awake by an alarm clock or any other noise. I want to let it happen organically. Mornings just come too soon. Another thing, the words morning and mourning spelled slightly different sound the same. To me, a non-morning person, will tell you that there’s no such thing as a good morning. I just don’t thrive before noon. So, to me those two words also mean the same. I grieve when sleep is snatched from me before I am ready to let it go.

Then, on the morning of January 9^th my mother called me at 7:41 a.m. My mom would not call me that early in the a.m. unless I asked for a wake-up call or… I already knew what she was going to tell me even before I heard her struggle to form the words. She tried to gather her breath to exhale her statement, “She’s gone. She went to sleep and didn’t wake up.” And like that my brain started trying to process the news that my grandmother was gone.

Spare the rod, spoil the child

Let’s go back to my childhood when I and my brothers were temporarily raised by my Nana while my parents relocated to a new state due to their new military careers. During that time and the subsequent summers with her I was always afraid…of her. She spoke so loudly and fast. I was afraid to ask her to repeat herself in fear that she would get louder and mad. As swift as she was with her words, she was just as swift with the belt, or the switch, or a house-shoe, or the extension cord.

Don’t get me wrong, my brothers and I were well taken care of. We went to private school while there, our clothes were always clean, and we were well groomed. (Cleanliness is next to Godliness). We had structure, a routine, a stable environment and were well fed. But there was something missing. It was love. I just didn’t feel loved by her.

There wasn’t any hugs and kisses from Nana. She didn’t use soft tones or smile while speaking to us. She was so…militant. She was the type of woman that could make the most hardened drill sergeant cower and tremble. Thusly, my pervasive feeling was fear. And in my child’s mind being reared in the absence of love there must only be hate. So, for a long while, I hated her.

Lean not onto thine own understanding

As a child I didn’t understand all that she did and for how many. You know when most are children, things are so much simpler. It’s only black and white, and we haven’t learned about the gray. We tend to expect superhero qualities from our elders. There’s no faltering allowed and they’re capable of doing it all. Of being all. We don’t have a concept of the scope of the human condition and what it means to move about wit the weight of the world on one’s shoulders. It wasn’t until I got older, had some life experiences, hardships, failures, and had to rebuild that I started thinking about what It was to be her.

Nana was the hub of our family. She was always helping others and taking in kids to raise them when their parents weren’t able. She did this all the while raising her own. She helped families transition from down south as they build lives up north, and later in reverse when she retired and went back south. She worked full time, was in church full time, and gave of herself full time. My goodness, what did she have left?

I then realized that she hardly ever seemed to rest. She was always called upon by somebody in need and she did what she had to see them straight. As I continued to age and my understanding of how the world works evolved, I started to think of what life was like during my Nana’s youth and all that she endured living in the 30’s and 40’s in Alabama. My God! No wonder the woman was tough as nails. Racism, sexism, colorism, just always in a state of trying to make her less than she was and take away her humanity and wholeness. But oh, hell no! Nana wasn’t going for it, and she would not be reduced. For decades she fought her way to protect and provide for those she loved or to fill a gap where she saw a need. There was so much need she didn’t have time for the extra things like hugs and kisses, or games. It was too much to do and she was getting things done.

In my young adulthood, I started having conversations with my mom and discussed painful parts of my childhood experiences with Nana. I also started asking more questions about her life. Those answers caused me to reflect deeply into our family history, her pains, and other things I won’t write about, my heart softened towards my grandmother, and I began to see her differently and gained a profound understanding of her condition during that time.

While in my child’s eye I knew she was a force, in my adult mind I remembered that she was also human. She was a woman, and she was the epitome of the Strong Black Woman before that was even popular term. This was and is not a good thing. She was robbed of her softness by circumstance. She was not permitted to be weak or vulnerable. There was no time to fall apart. There was no space to allow for tears or to be emotional. There was always somewhere to be or something to do, and so she did. She just kept moving.

I remember when I was little and in the height of my fear of her, she asked me if I loved her. Ironically this is one of the few times I remember seeing her direct a smile at me. Keep in mind I didn’t feel love towards her as a child. I also knew that lying would get me beat. This question from her paralyzed me! I just stared at her, frozen. She actually laughed and said, “If you don’t love me, you better not die!”

Now, what kind of thing is that to say to a child?? At that time, I was just like welp, I’m going to live forever!

Anyway, as I began to have more revelations and put myself in Nana’s skirts, I learned to let go of my childhood hurts and I allowed forgiveness to unburden me from the pains I had strapped down tight and carried in my heart. Then, an amazing thing happened. I got to build a new relationship with Nana, and I learned some things firsthand. Nana was actually very funny!  Nana was indeed not perfect, and Nana said “shit”! I mean you could not tell me that I would ever hear that word fall from her lips. This was a very pious woman who didn’t even say damn or ass and those word were in the bible! That day she said that I had to ask my mother and other family members if I heard it correctly. My eyes nearly popped out of my head and my jaw dropped. I just knew it was an auditory hallucination. That day my grandmother thought my reaction was the funniest thing.

THEN, during the same visit, my three-year-old child who was being potty trained and who also had a healthy fear of going #2 in the toilet, stood in the corner of Nana’s good sitting room and dropped a deuce on the good carpet. No, she did not have a pull-up on. I thought that her being bare under her dress would force her to actually use the bathroom as intended. Clearly, I was wrong. This child’s spirit was as strong as my grandmother’s and boy, did she show me!

Any who, when that happened, I immediately freaked out and memories of childhood whoopins flooded my mind. I just knew that she would be coming for my baby once I told her what happened and where. My next thought (God forgive me) was that I was going to have to fight my Nana and I prayed that my mother would back me up. I built the courage up to tell her. I had to because I needed to get the proper cleaning supplies.

The most blessedly unexpected thing happened. She fell out laughing! She even laughed so hard she cried. I stood there in shock! I stood there for a while waiting in trained obedience for her to stop laughing and beat me. Even at my big age! But she never did. She just continued laughing as she directed me to the cleaning supplies. She didn’t even get up to see the little gift her great grandbaby deposited in her nice sitting room on her good carpet.

Who was this woman? What in thee holy ghost?

A second chance

Alas, I guess the moral of this story is, soften your hearts. Take a second look at your loved ones who seem strong or hardened. Understand their journey. Try to step out of your experiences and step into theirs. I can truly honestly say that I loved my Nana because of that. I got a chance to hug and kiss on her every time I saw her and to receive the same in return. Her beautiful smile was imprinted in my brain and will always be held in my heart. I am grateful that I had the opportunity to love upon her when I Cut My Nana’s Toenails.

Now I understand all the busy work that she did. I see the fruits of her labor in those that she silently loved when she raised children and helped others weather storms. I appreciate the woman that she was, and as I rise this morning and prepare to say goodbye to her body, I am affirmed in knowing that Nana deserves her rest. A job well done, and for her it will be a good mourning.

In loving memory of the great Mrs. Bernice Bates