Today, I'm just gonna repost something I wrote about my mama in 2005. If I were to write something now about herre, it would be the same as this. For all women out there, Happy Mothers Day and bless you all.
My mother's name was Sara Elizabeth Gordon. She was born here in Savannah, Georgia on October 18th, 1932, the oldest girl of the Jackson family. She had tough life as she grew up, but found happiness in her first husband, Willliam Gordon and the children they had together. He had a cab company and she even drove on occasion, to make sure that their family would survive. That would not last, as William passed away from lupus in 1963. Soon, Sara would have to take of the family herself and that's what she did.
Sara would do her best to take of a brood of children: her own seven and three from William's first marrige, which meant that ten heads of kids needed to be clothed and fed. Soon, after awhile I and my brother Martin was born. But no matter what, Sara did what she had to do. She worked at the local restaurant, took up a nurse's assistance duty, and still had time to play the hell out of a piano at our church, all while putting up with bums trying to upset her role as THE BOSS. She didn't need a man to take of her. Her second husband, William Thompson, was over 65 years old when she met him, and although he said he could solve may problems, he also has many excuses. The marrige ended in 1980. Let's not even get into my father, who was loud and abusive and care for more women than he cared for Sara.
Sara-mo, as we nicknamed her, had one rule for making it though life. Do what you can 'til you get what you want. We lived by that rule forever. We never had anything new, except clothes. It was hand-me-down furniture, cars, whatever and we made the best of it until it wore out. We lived on a budget, but we were always fed and kept on the straight and narrow on her watch, doing her best to make sure that we repected everything and everyone that came our way, no matter what.
We lost Sara after a battle with cancer on October 25, 1982, just a week after her fiftieth birthday. When they held her funeral, the church was packed to the rafters to send her home. I never attened.
Years before, I talked to Mom about death and dying after a relative had passed on. I told her if I were to ever die to please don't go to my funeral, I thought that a parent should never see their child that way. Sara told me that she'd do it on the condition that I don't go to hers and I should remember her that way she was and cherish her memories. Two years later, I went to funeral home and saw what was the shell of former life for at least 10 seconds and walked away, holding on to our promise and keeping her alive in my thoughts and dreams.
The only photo I have of my mama is her driver's licence that I only spirited away from my brother Anthony, who along with the rest of the family, has dozens of pictures of her, after years of asking them to let me have at least something that I could remember by. It is now the most precious thing I have. I keep it in my wallet and look at it everyday to see that smile of hers. That woman was the anchor that kept held me down without going astray for sixteen years. Anyone else who would try to have me raised any other way would learn different. There was no one like Sara in my life since.If your mama's still here, or if she isn't, wish her a happy Mother's Day and tell her thank you for all she's done. You wouldn't be ther person you are today without her.
Miss you, Mama.
Labels: my life