You Again

The day we buried her it snowed. The ground was stone cold frozen beneath our feet. I held my daughter’s hand tight as we approached my mother’s casket. I looked up at Reverend McDonald’s face. Time had deepened his brown eyes. Tears formed in them as he looked down at us. I watched as Aaliyah placed her white dahlia on the casket. Dahlias were mom’s favorite. I placed my flower and took a deep breath. This day was now over. I waited by the mausoleum as my father showed off his beautiful granddaughter to those who remained. “I snuck something special for you,” Ira said as she handed me a thermos. I took a sip. It was strong whatever she put in there. I coughed as it burned my throat. “What the hell is that, Ira?” “It will keep you warm. Don’t ask that again.” I knew she mixed up something that will make me forget my name. Death was hard. Your loved one gets to transcend to the great unknown, while you’re left behind forced to pretend that you can go on. Even though you are one minor inconvenience away from losing it. A screw short of sanity. Grief was something I had become accustomed to. But this… Her… My mom was like Wonder Woman in my eyes. She had always been invincible to me. She battled cancer when she was pregnant with me. My parents suffered three miscarriages before her diagnosis, and still she had me. She battled cancer the first 3 years of my life. After that she went back to school. She wanted to give back to people that struggled most in the world. That led her to the world of addiction. She was the only addiction’s specialist in town when we first arrived. Her business was slow at first, no one in this small tight-knit (All White) community trusted the new Black family in town. Not to say they were racist, just very slow to trust. Wholesome folk never wanted to admit to being in need. Especially, to admit to drug use. It was far too taboo. My mom eventually came to help many people here. And all came crowding in to the church to pay their respects to her. People reminisced my whole time here about how she changed their lives, or tried to help their loved one until their end. My mom was great at her job, but she was my mom. I wanted her back. I needed her back. We all did. I cried hard as Ira held me. I wrapped my arms around her neck and I cried like a child, unafraid of who could see or what they’d think. I wanted my mom and there was no way to get her back. When my husband Bobby died. It hurt and God was it hard. But this… this was unbearable. My mom was truly my best friend. I told her everything… not gory details. She was perfect. I love… loved her. Ira took us home and stayed with me. She had been my closest friend most of my adolescence. Those were the hardest years here. They were what made me leave my parents. It was hard to come to terms with it, but I had to let go of the life I thought I had here. The love I thought I had here.