Rest in peace Sis. Baker Jackson

My mother called me and when I heard her "heeyyy" I knew someone had died. Not died, passed away. I grew up in a baptist church and that's what we say. "Sista Baker just passed." She said.

Sis. Baker, who had gotten married in the last ten years had become Sis. Jackson. And she had passed away. She was a member of the usher board at the church I grew up in. The church my mother still attends. The usher board she still serves on. I've known her since I was a very young girl. In fact, I don't remember not knowing her. I remember her in her usher's uniform. Black skirt, white shirt, white gloves with one fist balled behind her back, the other hand showing a seat to a late parishioner. Her head high, wig fixed just right, slow southern speech. And now she has passed away.

We never outgrow being affected by it. One day a loved one is here and the next they are gone. My mother was just with her Sis. Jackson the day before and all in the gathering knew it would be soon. None, I don't think, thought the very next day.

We deal with it. The here and then the not here. On Friday my mother and the other ushers at St. Mark Baptist Church will march in honor of their friend. Their sister. They will kiss her one last time. Until they see her again.