Every Sunday since October 30, 2018, has been an extra special day for me. I gets up, sometimes at the crack of dawn, scrub vigorously all cracks and crevices, removing all remnants of overnight funk that may have accumulated during my slumber. Tame the platinum waves (don't hate!), and basically go through the normal routine that I do whenever I hit the streets. Whether it's across the street, or across bridges, proper hygienic practices are in full-blown effect. Anyways, Sundays used to be the days I'd go visit Moms. Whether it was when she was well, or when she was hospitalized. Sundays were for us. Just being around her made those days extra special. Whether she was ill, or not, dammit, I was gonna make sure that I made her smile, and laugh. Even when her hearing started failing, I'd write stuff out on a piece of paper, and we'd converse that way. You can't stop the rain, skillet! I'd drive up there during the wee hours, so as to avoid the George Washington Bridge traffic, which is ALWAYS horrendous, any other time (I'd LOVE to meet the brainchild who thought that it was a grand idea to squeeze 12 lanes of highway traffic into 4, and NOT expect there to be a traffic pile-up! I'll slap him with a wet slave sock!) . It gave me 3 and a half hours to listen to my music, reflect, or pray. Before I embarked on my journey, I'd stop at the local 24-hour friendly neighborhood grocery store, and pick up a bag of popcorn (she LOVED "Pirate's Booty"...odd name for popcorn but, oh well...), and of course, the mandatory 12 long stems. She always loved the long stems. Whether she was feeling well or not, those always brightened up her day. We'd sit, and talk about how she was feeling, her score in Mah Jonng, as well as things going on with the family. When she was home, "Law & Order", iced tea, and sausage biscuits were the order of the day. I remember laughing with her when she'd asked me if I wanted anything to eat. Before she could make any suggestions, I beat her to the punch. "Well BigBoy, if you're hungry, there are some..." "SAUSAGE BISCUITS!" I'd say, making us both laugh. She loved those sausage biscuits. She also made it her business to have some iced tea on deck, knowing that that is my crack! She often told me that whenever my GrandNephew came over, that sausage biscuits would be the first thing he'd look for. She often told me how much he reminded her of me. I guess for most of us, in our parent's eyes, we'll always be that little boy, or little girl. I relish that. I MISS that.
When she started getting ill, and less time was spent laughing together, she'd greet me when I came in, tell me that she just got a fresh box of sausage biscuits, and a bottle of iced tea for me, give me a kiss, and a hug, then retire to her room. "I'm gonna take a nap for a little while, BigBoy. I'm not feeling too well today." . I'd hide my concern, and tell her that I'd be there when she woke up. She smiled, and went on to bed. When her trips to the hospital had become more frequent, spending Sundays with her, whether it be in the hospital, or nursing home, were still in effect. Fatigue, for me, was an irrelevancy. I kept my spirits, and energies high for her. I never brought her any bad news. I left that nonsense at my doorstep. Besides, my brother, and niece put in INHUMAN work looking out for her the other 6 days of the week, and their full-time jobs were NOT easy on them. So, my little fatigue did not compare.
After the Lord called her home for service, my Sundays were...strange. I'd still routinely get up, and go through my routine, and halfway through, I'd stop, look in the mirror and ask, "Bruh...where are you going?" . Then I'd stand there...lost. Then, I'd turn the TV on, and just let it watch me. This went on for awhile, because it had been something to look forward to. Spending the day with my favorite girl. Sometimes, she'd even have me put on the football game, because she was gonna take a nap. I didn't mind watching what she watched, because I was up there watching her. Being her sentinel while she rested.
My Sundays have changed...or been modified, if you will. I still go through my routine, get dressed, go out, jump in the Almighty Gray Ghost, and run out to McDonald's, and bring my breakfast home with me. Sausage biscuits, and iced tea, you got it! I sit by my window, set up my TV tray, watch the sun rise, praise the Lord's generosity for another beautiful day, and have breakfast with my own personal angel. We STILL laugh, and reminisce, while I wolf down the biscuits, and tea, and do like we always did on Sundays. It still seems so surreal, though. I will probably never be able to fully wrap my mind around the fact that, on this Earthly plane, this physical plane, she no longer exists. I can't pick up the phone and call her, and let her know that I'm okay, and that I'm on my way. I can't expect to hear her ringtone whenever she called me (Al Jarreau's "Alonzo" was her favorite...I haven't heard it since her transition, and don't know if I can handle hearing it...not yet...still...), to let me know of her new Mah Jonng high score, the latest Law & Order episode, or other current events. I've stopped expecting to hear that. Never stopped hoping...but definitely stopped expecting.
It's been 365 days, TODAY that she transitioned, and I often find it morose to mark a tragedy. Yet, in this instance, I don't selfishly look upon it as marking a tragedy, because she's still here. With me, and those that she loved. Sure, I still cry. I'm not ashamed of that. Never will be. But oftentimes, those tears of sadness are followed by tears of joy, because the great times, by FAR, outshined the one "bad" time. Easily.
I'm looking forward to this coming Sunday...and every Sunday afterwards. I get to sit down, and have breakfast with an angel. Two sausage biscuits, and an iced tea.
It just doesn't get any better than that, family.
Rest Blessed, and rise wise, Ma.
Winifred Lorayne Harris
5.31.43-10.30.18
Missed dearly, and daily...
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