The Day I Dreaded All Of My Life

As Mother's Day approaches, it brings back memories of the day I dreaded all my life: the death of my mom.

To me, my mother was the best mom on planet Earth! I'm sure others feel the same about their own mothers, and I won’t argue that. Several years after her passing, I vividly recall watching an episode of “Iyanla, Fix My Life,” where a beautiful garden served as a backdrop for several female elders who were "on call" to offer love, mentorship, and guidance to women in need of support. I yearned for that nurturing environment, longing to feel a mother's love and touch once more, in person. Though I felt my mom’s spirit all around me, I missed her physical presence—her voice, her intuition, her protective embrace. That longing for her presence persists to this day. I've come to realize that no one on Earth will ever love me like she did, and that realization cuts deeper than anything.

My mom dedicated herself entirely to my brother and me. She poured her heart and soul into raising us, shielding us from harm. She became a mother at a young age, marrying our father at 18 and giving birth to me at 20, followed by my brother at 22. I've always admired her resilience, especially considering she wasn't raised by her maternal mother; in fact, she didn't meet her until she was 16. Raised by her paternal grandmother in Newberry, South Carolina, circumstances forced her to relocate to Passaic, New Jersey, where she transitioned from a home filled with familial love to a crowded 4-bedroom apartment shared with her father, a mother she hardly knew, and 9 unfamiliar siblings.

She would recount how her father would visit her as a child to ensure she was doing well, yet she couldn't help but wonder why her mother never did the same. My maternal grandmother wasn't known for her warmth. In fact, her lack of affection puzzled me. Despite this, my mother consistently showed her love and care, though it was rarely reciprocated. She'd share tales of her mother's mistreatment when she first moved to New Jersey, leaving scars that made it difficult for me to embrace my grandmother fully. But what I cherished most about being Georgia’s daughter was her unwavering respect for her mother, even when it seemed undeserved. She'd often remind me, "God said, you must always honor your mother and your father."