Is there a member of your village that you'd like to celebrate for Mother's Day? Share your thoughts in the comments below.
I started off the new year listening to the audiobook Women Without Kids: The Revolutionary Rise of an Unsung Sisterhood. One of my friends and I began reading it together, as we try to discern what a purposefully childless life could look like in a world that worships motherhood.
As I walked and listened to the first few chapters, I realized that author Ruby Warrington, a popular British podcaster, seemed too far away from my experience as a Black American woman. I turned Ruby off for the rest of my walk and instead thought of that conversation I had with you, Eunice, not too long ago.
I asked if you regretted not having children. You looked at me in amusement, a crooked smile on your face and hands on your hips and said, “What do you mean? You are one of my children, so is your sister, your daddy, your aunt, and your cousins too. I have a bunch of children.”
Happy Mother’s Day...to every woman...who has nurtured others and created a beautiful life.
Well, I guess you told me! You asked me whether I regretted not having children. I said no. We both laughed. You said “Hell, I have more children than most people – I’ve fed and loved all of you.” Indeed, you have, Eunice. Indeed.
The second-to-last time I visited, you were still in the nursing facility after that fall you had. Danielle and Suzette were there too. As your physical therapist rolled you in, you said to her, “you see here, these are my children.” I smiled with my sister and aunt as we agreed. The therapist replied, “this one here is popular, not only with the staff but she has a lot of visitors.'' Sure enough, another visitor came while we were there. You are known and loved by many because you opened your heart and home to others so freely.
At your apartment, usually my first or second stop on trips to New York, visitors were always plentiful. Folks that you have loved, cooked for, partied or played spades with, attended church with over the decades. Or others that stopped by for some food or to give you rides.
So much going on, always! Your years living in a studio apartment, in subsidized housing, seem rich to me. I delight in recalling your stories of trips to Atlantic City, going to some dance or party or just sitting with friends and having a good time over drinks. Well into your 80s, Eunice?!
At Sizzlers, you stuffed our leftovers into one of your big bags. You brought us fried chicken from your job at Roy Rogers. Memories of your homemade turkey wings, smothered pork chops and fried chicken, nourish me to this day.
Sometimes I’d call and you wouldn’t answer. When I finally got you on the phone, I’d say “Eunice I called you earlier, where were you?” Your reply “I had a late night,” still makes me laugh. I’d say I was on my way. We would sit, talk and laugh. I appreciate that hour or two we’d share each time I came home as much as I do the hours you sat with me so many times when I was growing up.
Back then, kids were supposed to be “seen and not heard.” I don’t think you subscribed to that, did you, Eunice? I will always appreciate you both seeing and hearing me, perhaps the only adult who talked to me like I was a person. We fried eggs. Cleaned the kitchen. Swept floors. Cleaned up the backyard. We fed dogs and stray cats. We made wine.
At Sizzlers, you stuffed our leftovers into one of your big bags. You brought us fried chicken from your job at Roy Rogers. Memories of your homemade turkey wings, smothered pork chops and fried chicken, nourish me to this day.
When I was growing up, you stood in the gap as an affectionate, patient and kind adult, generous with your time.
Do you remember how we used to collect cans and redeem the deposits that would fund my relaxer kits? You permed and styled my hair for a bunch of years. That pageboy was a bit old fashioned for the 90's, but that was fine. I can tell, when looking at my old elementary school class pictures, those for which you styled my hair.
You’ve been at every family event I can remember as long as I can remember. Barbeques and Thanksgivings, birthdays and weddings, funerals and graduations. Although you aren’t a blood relative, you have been family since the 1960s.
Was it Grandma’s sister Bet who knew you first, Eunice? Like a sister, you came for a sleepover at 34 Allen Street and never left! You helped raise my father and Aunt Suzette there. Spending time in your room when I was growing up, you stood in the gap as an affectionate, patient and kind adult, generous with your time.
I am sure there is a different sort of life you might have lived if you weren’t present for me and the family. I am sure there were many reasons you chose not to marry or to not have children of your own. But I am glad you have been a place of home for me, and to many others, with your food, your laughter, your smart mouth and your presence.
Dearest Eunice, when I heard of your passing the other night, I said a quiet “rest in peace” before I went to bed and turned over. I was resting in the fact that you are now at peace. Having seen you last, a mere 90-pound remnant of your usual self, and heard of your increasing decline in health, resting and peace are what I wanted for you. But as I turned to rest, images of you flashed through my mind and floated in and out of my dreams. I have forty years of memories, of laughs and of love with and from you that I can rest in as well. I have the peace of knowing that you have loved and been loved.
I am sure there were many reasons you chose not to marry or to not have children of your own. But I am glad you have been a place of home for me, and to many others, with your food, your laughter, your smart mouth and your presence.
As I wrestle with questions of what it means to have a good life, to leave a legacy, especially one that does not center on having biological children, I think of you, Eunice. My entire life, I have been looking for role models who could pave the way for the kind of smart, independent, successful woman I wanted to become. I never thought I had any role models for that kind of life, so I charted my own course. Perhaps I was looking in the wrong places. I was looking at graduates of prestigious schools, millionaires, PhDs and published authors with hefty bank accounts and lavish vacation homes. I was looking for these women, and never really found one I could sit with, put my arms around and talk with at length in person. But most recently, my mind came back to you. My “aunt,” and bonus grandmother.
You lived, you loved, you laughed, you impacted me and others, and for this I say thank you. Because of you Eunice, I know that I can indeed do the same.
Happy Mother’s Day, to you and your loving memory and to every woman who is not a mother or a wife, but who has nurtured others and created a beautiful life.
Is there a member of your village that you'd like to celebrate for Mother's Day? Share your thoughts in the comments below.
