Miss Mama Dee

When you look at her, you may see an aging woman with a round smooth skinned face and silver gray hair. You may see that she walks very slowly with the assistance of a cane, dragging the right side of her heavy body. There are scars on her right foot, and her right arm dangles like a limb left frozen in time, from the many years of being impaired and paralyzed. You may see a lady who doesn’t say much, and when she speaks, her words are slurred and barely understandable, this all from a body stricken with strokes. Her mind and body ravaged by a deafening stillness. You may find her often draped in colorful materials, sometimes with her head wrapped in elaborate coverings of her own design. There is no shame in her smile, it is the most genuine. 

When I look at her, I see her story. I feel the memories of her. I see a young mother holding tightly the hands of her two baby girls on a night walk, telling them about the moon. Telling them about how alive it was. Telling them that it was powerful and present. I see a young woman who loved to take long hot bubble baths, and fill an old worn bathroom with lit candles, making it a magical place of calmness. Taking the time to oil her dark chocolate skin and dress it in the finest clothes. I see a young woman who loved her Africanness, and lived to dance to the heartbeat of her lover’s drum. I see a woman who walked a mile through a blizzard, walked three miles to and from work in dedication to her work as a cosmetologist and drug counselor for adolescents, because she put her whole self in everything she did. I see a woman who turned her deepest pain into strength and allowed her voice to be an instrument in helping everyone who could hear her music. She loved hard and true, lacking not one bit in creativity and craft. 

And when they said she would die, she lived. When they said she would die, she lived. When they said she would die, she lived. Her mother is gone, her father is gone, a daughter is gone, a granddaughter is gone, her brothers are gone, her lovers are gone, the closest friends are gone, and she is still here. She sits quietly, writing down her thoughts, keeping her emotions close to her, observing and preparing for the day that she can dance freely once more. Silently pouring all of her love and goodness into those who will carry her forward.

I am so blessed to have come to earth through the portal of this woman’s womb. My forever love, supporter, prayer warrior, compass, and shero. My Mama Dee.