Mama
is dead.
They found her Saturday, on the kitchen floor of her home in
Memphis. The
window in her bedroom was open; the back door unlocked and a lamp was knocked over. Her little dog, Mimi, was missing. Had Mama been the victim of a
robbery gone wrong? Detectives were called in. They found her purse; her credit
cards were intact. The TV was still there, her jewelry. They found Mimi in a
spare bedroom, starving, dehydrated and clinging to life. The detectives did
not suspect foul play. Then how did she die?
From
a picture, I see she looked fine on Thanksgiving—in good health for a woman of 77.
But she was taking heart medication. Had she missed a dose–or two? There were
pills strewn across her bed. Maybe she had a heart attack and went quickly. It
even crossed my mind that it could have been suicide. It was almost exactly the
same time right before Christmas that Daddy was killed in a car accident many
years ago. Not knowing is excruciating. An autopsy has
been ordered, but we have yet to get the results.
My
mama is dead. The mama I never truly had, and yet, now that she’s gone, I am
filled with sorrow for the loss. I cried when the news sunk in. Why, after the cruel way
she treated me—after the abuse I wrote about in the book? I wondered
myself. Just how is a victim of child abuse supposed to feel when her abusive parent dies? I think I would have cried hearing that anyone passed in such
a sad, lonely way. I think. Or maybe I cried simply because she was my mother,
my flesh and blood and because I know with her died any chance of the two of
us ever having a relationship. That truth is now painfully stamped into my
heart.
My
mama is dead and I am sad. I write this through tears. But wait, should I be
sad? In the many private hours she spent alone, by choice, I know hers was a
soul in turmoil. Now it’s at peace, and I should be relieved for her, right? Relieved that her burden has finally been
lifted.
Her
funeral is Thursday. She will be buried beside Daddy in her
home town. And I will be there. After the funeral my brothers and I plan to go
back to her house and go through some of her things. In her personal effects
and private papers, I hope to find some traces that she loved me after all. I
will need your prayers.
