I must admit that I have purposely avoided joining a host of groups and organizations because I learned early on that such association often leads to unnecessary strife. Now that I reflect upon my life, it is obvious that I have purposely avoided getting too close to anyone, primarily because I learned somewhere along the way that people will inevitably disappoint you. Trust me when I say that such disappointment is bound to occur sooner rather than later.
From my earliest memories I discerned that people are human and humans are not perfect so one had better be prepared for either sporadic or routine occurrences of disappointment from them. In time I came to learn that all humans were fallible, that is except for one, my mother, Kathryn V. (Young) Jones.
From the moment that I was born, my mother was there, I mean literally always there. From my perspective, she was so much more than a parent; she was actually my care taker, spiritual guide, and life coach that loved me enough to mold a world filled with books and ideas, my personal ticket to a reality that stretched far beyond the stifling, if not suffocating confines of Mansfield, Ohio.
Unbeknownst to anyone, there is a steep, yet to be paid, price that each of us blessed enough to have a Mother who is so present in our lives will eventually have to pay when they transition to be with the ancestors. That price is an unyielding pain that occurs by separation. Just as we took for granted that their omnipresence would never end, we will likewise be made aware that the alluded to separation is permanent. Put simply, they will never return, at least in human form, to nurture us through the emotional pain that their absence has wrought.
I am absolutely certain that each and every member of what I consider the most unfortunate club of all, Motherless children, will tell you that if we are not careful, Mother’s Day can actually be the saddest day of the year.
I know for myself that the alluded to sadness can flow from a host of spaces: (a) feeling cheated by God as there is no satisfactory explanation for why my mother was ‘taken’ so soon, (b) seeing others who have been blessed to have their mother neither recognize nor cherish the blessing of still having their mother in ‘the land of the living’, this list can go on into infinity.
Unfortunately, I have experienced enough motherless Mother’s Days to realize that the aforementioned sadness is a choice that we each make at a ‘fork in the road’ that has two paths of travel.
One path leads us down a rocky path filled with blinding regret, discord with siblings/family members, and a soul draining wail that only Lucifer Morningstar himself could be pleased at.
The other path is paved with memories and recollections of a beloved mother that is a renewal of her comprehensive greatness.
On this Mother’s Day, I pray that you choose the latter road and receive comfort from the memories and recollections that you and your Mother created. I pray that you remember her smile, her laughter, her voice — during moments of comfort and chastisement — her touch, her ‘healing hand’, her love, her unique consideration for you that carved a path for you to develop in a hostile world; put simply, I pray that you remember your Mother, Mommy, Ma Dear, Madea. Trust me when I say that it would be pleasing to her and I hope that you agree with all that she gave you, it is the least that you can do on this joyous day.
Reclaim your joy on this day.
Keep in mind, the choice is yours and there really is no logical reason to be saddened about your Mother’s absence when she meant so much to you in her presence. Sadness will prevent you from realizing the true awesomeness of your mother who is now in possession of ‘supernatural powers’ that allows for her to reappear in spiritual form to visit you, care for you, dote over you, and guide you in ways that you cannot imagine.
How could she not do these things? She is your mother after all. And you know that not even death would deter your mother from ‘seeing bout you’.
Dr. James Thomas Jones III
©Manhood, Race and Culture, 2016.