the third or fourth time, Mama expected us to navigate on our own and make sure we weren’t cheated.” Missy, who had been listening intently, reached for some sandwiches, poured herself a full glass of juice, and took a long sip before speaking. “Mama is one of themost incredibly strongwomen I know. Her unwavering faith in God is something I admire most and try to emulate. I remember when she was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2021—she was the one encouraging us, certain she would pull through. She has the utmost faith in God, and He always comes through for her.” “That’s absolutely true,” her siblings agreed, pulling Missy into a group hug. “Now that I’m with her almost 24 hours a day,” Missy continued, “she always reminds me to take my time, to be content with my lot, and not to race with anyone—because we’re all running our own race.” “Don’t forget her love for wrestling,” Junior cut in, grinning. The group erupted once more. “She knows all the wrestlers’ names too. She’s such a happy person—the only time we really saw her sad and broken was when Mama Emma passed. Her aunt as well.” Awo, who had been listening quietly, smiled as the spotlight shifted to her. “I love Mum’s sense of humour—she can turn even the most serious situation into something that makes you laugh, and I think I’ve picked that up from her. I also love her devotion to God. “I remember all the church retreats Mum took us to—the ones where we had to sleep in classrooms and manage without proper facilities for almost five days. I also remember how she took over teaching the children in church about the Sacred Heart of Jesus. Our home became the go-to place after Mass. And Mum never missed a school program—she was the parent chaperone for my class on the only external excursion I had in primary school. Mum has always been there.” “Yes,” her siblings echoed. “She was like that with all of us.” “Mum always tells me I’m a gift from God to her,” Awo went on. “She says I was a very good baby and toddler, too. She’s always quick to tell me how proud she is of me. She gets very happy when she sees us serving in church—it makes her feel fulfilled and proud. And she takes such joy in our life achievements. But she also feels our pain; when any of us struggles, she carries that sadness too.” By now, the basket of goodies was nearly empty. Awo and Junior—the lastborn, the man of the house—both eyed the last crispy chicken thigh. Junior stretched his arm toward it, but Awo raised a playful warning. “Don’t even think about it, my guy, that piece is mine.” “Eiiiii!” everyone shouted. “You, this woman!” But Awo only grinned, grabbed a tissue, carefully placed the chicken on her plate, and—ignoring the stares—poured herself one last glass of sparkling red grape juice, downing it in a single gulp. The sight was so comical that the whole Johnson clan collapsed into laughter again, bumping into each other before pulling into yet another group hug. “Okay, you win!” James Paulinus Kobena Kwansa Johnson, Junior, said at last, clapping for her. Then, of his beloved mother, he added warmly, “I agree with everything everyone has said about Mrs. Jay. It is my desire that we have her around for many more years.” Raising his glass, he declared, “Cheers to Mrs. Jay—and to many more years with her!” “Cheers!” The rest of the Johnson clan hollered, glasses raised high in a joyful toast to their matriarch. The Birthday Journal 31
RkJQdWJsaXNoZXIy MTAyMTM3NQ==