Friday, July 10, 2015

Morning clear - from Women in The Village

When I was four my mother died. Everything happened so fast. Seemed like she was fine one day and the very next day she was dead. I still don't know what happened. Every time I would ask, Papa would just tell me that dead is dead. Two weeks after she passed I was sitting in the front row of her funeral.

So many people kissing and hugging and crying over me, telling me that I didn't understand but one day I would and that they would keep me and Papa in their prayers. I didn't wanna be in their prayers. I just wanted to understand what was going on. All I knew for sure was that all of a sudden I had a new home. In the house with Papa. Just me and Papa without Mama.

But my own house was fine. I didn't have to be old enough to know that it wasn't fancy. But it was fine. If it was mine to choose, ten I wanted that back. but I guess I didn't get to pick after all.

Papa had one of the oldest houses in The Village. It was big and a little bit scary, especially way up in the attic. mama would go up there when we would visit Papa and Grandma Jean. Sometimes I would hear her crying. She said that it was because she really missed her mother, my grandmother. JeanMargie Gibson. I don't remember her because she died before I was even walking.

The Sunday after my mother's funeral was Easter Sunday. I had head the story before but that day it didn't make no sense to me. On the way home Papa asked me how I enjoyed being in my class. I asked him "If God raised Jesus from the dead then how come He didn't raise my mama?"

He didn't answer me. We just listened to the radio and I looked out the window all the way home. When we pulled up in the driveway he turned the car off and looked at me.

"Your grandmother up in heaven needed your mama to take care of her and I need you to take care of me down here."


All I knew was that God was playin' favorites on who got to come back hand who had to leave allof a sudden, even though she promised to put long braids in my hair on my birthday coming up. Jesus didn't even have any kids. At four years old I had the perfect plan and didn't understand why God couldn't see it. Jesus could take care of Grandma Jean up in heaven and my mother could come and take care of me.

Maybe Papa could get married or get a doctor if he needed someone to take care of him so bad. It seemed like to me that made sense all the way around. But I guess not.

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