The Last Night...

October 30, 2018....That marked the day that my beloved QueenMother, Winifred L. Harris was awarded her wings.
   Devastation, and disbelief don't aptly describe the feelings I experienced, and STILL experience, almost 2 weeks later. The week before that, there were family and friends in her hospital room in Coney Island Hospital, giving her words of encouragement, and love. I marveled at her fortitude, and strength as she, even with her hands bloated, and swollen from the water buildup in her body, strained against her restraints to try and snatch the breathing and feeding tubes from out of her throat. Moms wanted pizza, and her beloved mints!
  After everyone had left, I stayed for a few more hours, and because she had a shared room, the nurses had to turn out the light after a certain hour, so as not to disturb their rest. I was okay with it, as there was a certain peacefulness in the darkness that I believe both our spirits needed. The silence was only broken by the beeps coming from the machines that she was attached to, and an occasional nurse, coming in to check on her and read the machines.
   I sat and watched over her, like a sentry...just watching her breathe, and sleep, and whispering encouragements to her. "We're gonna make it, Ma. Keep on fighting...You'll be as good as new, real soon..." "Hurry up and get better! We have a standing Target shopping date, and you'd better not stand me up, ya bum!".
   I also talked to Yah...
   You see, Moms needed 20% lung functioning in order for the docs to feel comfortable with her breathing without the machines. The only way that she would be able to survive without the machines would be through a tracheostomy, which meant that her way of life would be changed...impaired irreversibly. She would've been able to breathe, but she would never eat solid foods again, which is something she enjoyed. She needed 20%. I asked Yah for 20%. During the time that I spent that evening, I asked Him to heal her. Strengthen her. Empower her. "Please, Father..." Not ashamed to admit that I shed tears, as no one wants to see a loved one in such a state, especially someone who's sole existence was based around making others happy. It just didn't seem fair, but sometimes, certain things happen, and one has to firmly believe that Yah has a plan. We may not think that it's fair, but it's not our places to question the Lord, and His workings. I don't. Won't. Never will.
   At about 2am, I felt that it was time for me to go. I bent over her, kissed her on her forehead, which stirred her. She opened her eyes, and mouthed, "Where you going?" "Gonna go home, so you can get your rest.", I replied. "You coming back?", she asked. "Yep! I'll be back this weekend." She smiled, and I said, "I love you.". She replied, with a sleepy smile, "I love you, too.". I then, kissed her on her forehead, and reluctantly left.
   Driving through tears, is a foolish, dangerous endeavor...especially when exhausted, and doing 80+! But, being a bit of a fool, Yah looked out for His child, if you understand the adage.
   A couple of days later, I received the news that the tube was removed, and her lungs were operating at 40%! FORTY PERCENT!!! I asked Yah for 20, and He gave me 40! I had a chance, through a friend to have a brief video chat with her. Gone were the tubes, and replacing them was that award-winning smile! Her voice was raspy, and her throat was sore, but I still saw that fire, and spunk. We ended that wondrous call with our mandatory, customary "I love you"'s, and I told her that I would see her in a few days, as I intended on spending my birthday weekend with her.
   A few days later, Yah made a call...
                    … and Moms answered.
  The morning she transitioned, my beloved brother, Kyle, sent me a text... "Mom passed." One of the hardest hits I've ever received. I'd just gotten off from work, and was getting the oil changed in my Mighty Grey Ghost. I literally stood still. As if receiving a jolt from a taser. It resonated, but I still could not fathom, if that makes any sense. All I know is, suddenly, I felt totally alone.
   Everything else that happened after that, was truly an outer body experience. My shell was there, working on auto-pilot, but the rest of me was in a box...restrained...tethered...controlled. From the planning, to the Homegoing Celebration, my shell, my physical representative was there. While I was extremely elated by the outpouring of love and support that the celebration provided, there was still a part of me that was locked in that box. Even as I helped carry her casket to the hearse, I whispered to her, "It's gonna be okay, Ma...We've got you...". As I watched the door of the hearse close, and it pull off into traffic, I could feel the restraints on the box start to weaken. I reinforced the restraints, and kept it together.
     Until today...
      I had had my moments, as I assume we all do, whenever we lose a loved one...but THIS, as Fred G. Sanford would say, was "Th' BIG one!" Got in from work, went to use the restroom (T.M.I., I know...), and it's as if my soul had come out through my eyes, and mouth. It was one of those voiceless cries that happen when the level of pain is so intense, your vocal cords are paralyzed. Remember Al Pacino/Michael Corleone's cry, when his daughter was gunned down on the steps of the church that they had exited? Yeah. THAT type of cry. BEYOND grief, BEYOND pain. I didn't quite understand that type of pain, or the magnitude of it, until it was my turn.
   I'll be honest. I'm never gonna be "alright". Not with this, and in truth, I'll never be the same, as a loss of this magnitude sticks with you. There's a huge void left behind, and it will take some time before it could be filled, if EVER. I'll be okay, in general, because I have things that need to be done, and Moms wouldn't be too happy with me languishing in sorrow. She'd kick my natural ass, from the beyond, if I tried to go out like that. Yeah, I'm not too old, too big, or too far away to get a good old ass-whuppin' from Moms. What I DO tell myself, is this; Do NOT let this moment of sadness and grief, eclipse countless moments of happiness spent with her. As I had stated at her Homegoing Celebration, I've had the privilege of spending 54 years with the greatest woman I've ever met. Her whole mantra was love, and making others happy, even to her last breath. It's truly an honor to have been her son. If I do anything else of significance in this lifetime, THAT alone will be my greatest glory.

                                         I love you eternally, Ma.
Rest blessed, and rise wise...💖💖💖