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My Mother's Cries-A Reflection of My Experience of Witnessing My Mother's Pain

This is a very personal journal entry that I decided to post because it is a different type of writing for me. I probably won't even post a link, so whoever sees it, sees it.



So I awoke Saturday morning at my parents' house. I opened Facebook while still lying in bed to see a picture of my great aunt and uncle. My eyes scan the picture and I thought, "Oh, it must be Uncle Sherman's birthday." But as my eyes scanned up, I saw the letters R, I, and P. My eyes looked back down at the pic, to remind myself of who I had just seen in the pic and back up to read the caption from the beginning. My heart dropped. Although I hadn't spent much time with him, I was always fascinated by Uncle. I saw my MoMo, my mother's mother when I looked at him. But as I laid there in shock, my thoughts immediately went to my mother. I listened, but I didn't hear a sound. Too many times over the last few years, I've been alerted of the death of a family member by the sounds of my mother's cry. I remember standing in her kitchen when she got the call about my Nanny and I heard her cries from the bedroom and knew something wasn't right. Only a few months prior when I visited home from DC, a middle of the night call could be heard from my parents' room to the guest room, where I lay and heard my dad respond to the news that his big sister, my Tee Sandra, had passed away. A couple of years later it was multiple calls from my mother's friend and coworker while I was at work and when I finally did answer, I could hear my mother cry out in the background for her brother when my Uncle Darrel died. Later it was her cries over the phone telling me of my favorite uncle's heart attack and two weeks later her phone call telling me of my cousin's death. I've gotten accustomed to the sound of her cries of disbelief and pain, but as I laid there in the bed, all I heard was silence. It was then that I began to feel terrible sadness because I knew that this time it was my turn to provide my mother with the news that would lead to me once again hear the terrible sound of pain and disbelief in her voice. I got up, walked to her room and looked at her lay there peacefully. After standing there for a minute, I said "Mommy!" When she opened her eyes, with no emotion at all, I said "Uncle Sherman died," then I braced myself and attempted to block what I knew was coming. No one should have to hear the sound of pain and disbelief so many times from someone they love so much. At that moment, all I could do was go in the bathroom and cry. I cried for the pain my mother has felt year after year. I prayed for her. I prayed for my Uncle's wife, children, grands and great grands, his sisters, his brother, his nieces and nephews, I prayed for all of them, because I knew that just like my mom was now again suffering the feeling of pain and disbelief, they all were suffering from the gut-wrenching feeling of unexpected loss of a loved one. I prayed for the strength of my family. I prayed for my mother's heart, as I had seen it broken too many times. I showered, dressed, and shuffled pass my mother as quickly as possible to get out the door, as not to get a glimpse of her pain. As soon as I sat in the car, the rain began to pour. And through the sound of pouring rain, the sounds I attempted to avoid could be felt as my mother's tears were being wiped from my windshield.

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