A mighty tree fell – Ma When they told me that Ma was gone, a long searing pain wrenched at my heart. It was as if someone had reached into my heart and forcibly tugged my heart out. I knew her time would come. The doctors had intoned this based on the prognosis. But. I trusted my hoarse prayers to God. And I was not ready ? Hmmm. Is anybody ever ready for a Mother’s death? Showing Up Two young men wearing pristine white shirts moved through a crowd of black-garbed people. Their heads glistened due to the sun’s lazy stare hitting them at oblique angles. It led them to lower their heads to avoid the eyes that sought them out to welcome them, instead keeping a focus on me. Finally, they got within inches of me. I said jokingly, “Did y’all kill my mom?” Quick laughter from them followed; “We didn’t quite get the information. We thought ‘black and white’.” A wry smile followed, and a shrug. Never mind. “Thank you for coming.” My heart leapt in its cubicle. But the somber atmosphere made me remain calm, a shadow of a smile dancing around my lips. These two. One who would wait confidently for me at the altar, a year on. His bosom friend, who would become his best man on that auspicious occasion, had traveled some 100 plus kilometers to come mourn with me and my family. I had not been living in my native Ghana for some 5 years. I had not kept in touch with many folks. So, I didn’t feel the need to invite my mates, et al., to my mom’s almost sudden death. So, to see these two make it to a rural community warmedmy heart. Thus, I couldn’t be bothered about the “inappropriateness” of what they wore. After all, they had on black pants! Who cared? They showed up. They were there when it mattered. The other day, I showed up at the funeral of an octogenarian in a bright orange shirt and denims. Their prescribed attire was black and white. The voice of reason that knew my proclivity for showing up right suggested I stop and mourn, regardless of what I had on. Uncomfortably clad, I strode into a church singing soulful songs with everyone wearing traditional black and white garb, even children. She, for whose reason I was there, came out. Looked beyond what I am wearing and drowned me in texts of gratitude. “Wow Aunty Amma, just seeing you here tonight..means so much to me. God bless you.” Suddenly I felt included. Suddenly, I felt as if I was clothed in “black and white” and a part of that solemn occasion. Love on the Accelerating Road to Adulthood 24 The Birthday Journal
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