It happens every year, but I think about her all the time. Sometimes it's hard to see other people talk about their mothers, share pictures of their mothers, and have that precious time to spend with them. It's something I wish I had, but not necessarily something I was without. My mother passed away when I was 2 1/2 years old. Although I have no memory of our time together, my father has done his part (in great detail) to tell me who she was, and to tell me about the kind of mother she was to me. It's very hard not remembering her at all, but my life afterward wasn't a lonely experience. I had a grandmother, a paternal aunt, and all of my mother's sisters who were there for me. Not for one second could I ever forget their efforts, their care, and their love.
Still, I miss her. I think about her a lot during the holidays, during birthdays, and other turning points and events in my life. I have a small collection of pictures of her that I've scanned and kept on almost every computer I've ever owned. I post them every now and then on tumblr, Facebook, and Twitter. I open the files just to look at her beautiful face.
I carry her with me every single day--both in my heart, and on my right wrist. Way back in 2003, my father gave me her bracelets. One didn't fit, because I have big ol' ham hands and wrists, but three tiny, silver bracelets slipped on with ease. Worn by years of rubbing on her skin (and mine), but still decorated in tiny specks that look like stars. On some days, I also wear one of her head scarves on my head. A burgundy scarf with a paisley print.
I carry her spirit. Her love of art, her desire to bake, and the warmth of her personality. Although I try to be the rebel of the family, I also find myself in teaching roles--just like her. Tutoring, directing, leading. I guess I have her love of teaching in my heart, too. Depending on which aunt I talk to, I've been told a million times that I'm "so much like her"--from the pattern of my walk, the clothes on my back, and the speed of my speech. She left so much of herself with me that I'm never truly without her. It hurts, a lot, but I'm so thankful for the gift of life she gave me.
This post of thanks has changed so many times since I started to write. I had a long list of thanks and thoughts set up for her. It's funny how it all melted and merged together, swirling until I have to come up with something else to describe the pride, the love, and the admiration I have for this woman. The beauty of her face, her spirit, the elegance of her penmanship, and the wonderfulness of her voice. (I have one tape of her voice, and it is eerily close to my very own.)
I wanted to talk about how inspirational she was to my father, how she became a confidant and super close sister-in-law to my Aunt Lyn, and pretty much touched the hearts of a lot of people. Where are these words? It is so inexplicable. Yet every time I see my dad's eyes gloss over at the thought of his greatest love, or the way my grandma says "that's my girl"--I feel so much closer to her. When I tie my hair up with that paisley scarf, I feel like I'm "channeling her" on that day. When I choose colors like olive, purple, or silver, I feel like I'm bringing in some part of her spirit into my day.
I guess the words fail me because there are never enough to describe how wonderful she was. For every personal memory I lack, someone in my life has something to tell me about her. The pictures she has taken seem to speak a thousand words about an instant in time. Her craft memoirs tell me everything I need to know. Instead of describing, I suppose that I wanted to thank her more than anything else.
I want to thank her for not giving up on having the family she always wanted. Even thought she didn't get to see us flourish and grow, she didn't give up after things didn't work out the first time. I want to thank her for working with me at an early age. Because of her, I was reading a little bit ahead of schedule, and absorbed a lot of children's books. The love of reading transformed into a love of writing. I want to thank her for giving me SO many ideas on how to be my own person. Her fashion is something I mirror. She had her own style; it made her feel comfortable, and she rocked it with an awesome scarf or turban. I have a drawer full of scarves because of her! Don't even get me started on prints, cool and earthy colors, and the magic of dangle earrings.
I want to thank her for being a loving, encouraging person. She is the reason my father decided to keep climbing to the top at Chicago State. She inspired him to become an Engineer, and to study hard and put his natural talents to work. She believed in him. I don't know if I've inspired people, but I try to take an interest in people's lives. I try to encourage them. I get a little maternal and matronly--I thank her for that.
I want to thank her for her posthumous contribution to my education. In my Junior year of high school, the bonds she'd set up for me paid off my tuition and books for the year. It was her idea for me to attend private school, anyway. She wanted me to get the best education possible. I want to thank her for the long, hard journey she took as a late bloomer. It's probably driving my father crazy, but I'm on that same path of lateness as we speak. Many steps behind friends and family, but cultivating good grades and networking like a boss--motivated by her. As my father has told me a thousand times--"she didn't know exactly what she wanted to do until she was about your age. And once she knew, she went for it full force."
Tears are streaming down my face as I write this, trying to compile all the thanks I can think of for this wonderful woman. I can only hope to do her legacy great justice, but I know that she'd want me to be my own person on my own path. This is why she gave me the name Veronica--to break tradition, to start the next generation of awesomeness, and to have a daughter who was destined to build her own path brick by brick. I suppose that when she had that pudgy, pink little girl in her arms, she saw greatness ahead. I want to thank her for having faith in me all along.
Finally, I want to thank her for putting so much love and kindness in my heart. For loving on top of caring on top of having deep empathy. I'm not always the greatest at any of it, but that part of me--her--has gotten me through a lot of hard times. It keeps me centered on this Earth. To Mrs. Margaret Alma Brown-Williams, I owe the entire world. I owe an endless amount of thanks. As a human being going through this life, I am thankful she gave me the chance to experience every single part--even those dark hours. Those are the hours where I gather the strength I inherited from her, and become a stronger person.
Forever thankful to the woman who made everything in my life possible. Happy Mother's Day, Ma. Love you. :)