Entry Fifty-two: Save Me, Black Jesus

[A story in many parts: Part Four of Thirteen]

Chapter Two

Mom? Well, that’s a surprise. She hasn’t been to see me in a while. Man, she looks rough but, honestly, she should. A lot hasn’t gone her way since my father died and she’s done the best she could but, sadly, she’s come up short. When all you’ve got isn’t enough it’ll wear on you. She ended up being not near as strong as she’d put on for us when we were growing up. I’d always watched her and assumed she could take on the world, especially when I was a kid. Hell, even as an adult I’d believed it. But when my father passed away the real mom got exposed. She was petrified, scared like a turtle on the side of the road. She shut down, hardly left the house, quit taking care of herself and, if it hadn’t been for my sister intervening, she might have gotten evicted or jailed for not paying her bills. She just gave up. Even though she’s doing some better now, the way that whole scenario played out shocked me. My sister said it shouldn’t have and she swears she saw through mom from early on. I don’t know. Maybe I’m naïve but I think dad’s passing sucked some of the life out of her and even she was surprised by how much it crippled her. Maybe if it’d been a slow, drawn out death she could have been more prepared. But, it being so sudden, it shook her deep. It’s hard to say. Either way, when she shows up it always does me good even though most days she looks so sad. I hope I make her feel better but I can’t tell. She always starts each visit strong, smiling, telling me stories about her day, but she eventually ends up in tears, repeating my name over and over. Every now and then she’ll slip up and say my dad’s name but I don’t mind. I miss him too.

All words and images ©2005/J. Colle

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