Chicago Moms Blog

Feeling My Father's Pain

I have never lost a sibling.

My father has. He's lost a baby sister and an older brother many years ago. I think it has been 10 years since these siblings went their way.

Then on May 30, 2009, Dad lost his "almost" twin.

They were almost one year apart. My Dad was born two days after Uncle's first birthday. Many in the family often joked they were twins but stubborn Dad refused to come out. 

The transition of life without Uncle has been rough on all of us, but hardest on my dad. My beloved uncle passed away unexpectedly, shortly after turning 79 years old.

He and Dad were best friends. 

From the stories I've been told, they followed each other closely when they were little tots. Little boys from big families fighting their way, as many did, who survived during The Great Depression. Raised penniless in Chicago's now famed Bronzeville, my dad and his brother paved the way for many of today's seasoned political insiders of color by being driven and goal oriented and social butterflies. By the time he was in his 40's, Uncle was the first Black Deputy Commissioner of Chicago's Fire Department.

Loss can been devastating in so many unspoken ways.

I Think I've Overbooked Him!

My mother asked about her grandson today. She tends to do this every day, a few times a day actually, almost ad nauseam. I am usually on auto-pilot and respond "Mom, he's fine".

Crazy daughter that I am, I automatically think my mom is accusing me of hanging my child upside down at night to paddle him, or worse, selling him into child-labor without telling anyone. 

Asking "How" always seems to scream "what have you done to him now".

I know he is her world. We both know that he is mine. So, today when she asked, I had to carefully consider because the poor kid has been rather "tired". "He's tired Mom, I think I've over booked him!"

Having actually said the words,  I now need to react and carefully consider what I've done to my child.

From infancy I have meticulously carved out for him a legacy of honor and fortitude. He has been enrolled in activities since he was 18 months. Swimming, mommy and me, second languages infused with music, tae-kwan-do ... basketball and the list goes on.

We're Not Kids Anymore

I just had one of my biannual fights with my oldest sister.

Every since I turned 16 we've fought.

As children, she was the moon and the stars. She was Eve, Ester, Rachel - and then something changed.

Always one for adventure and experiencing life, I wanted to live. I still do.

She, being more subdued and characteristically dependable, never got out much. She still doesn't.

She has never seen the fire-red of a sun setting in Jamaica, the hills of Kentucky or the palm trees in Miami - and I have never begrudged her about that.  

Yet, we fight. We fight because I talk on the phone. We fight because I fly to New York City at a moment's notice, or attend a White Sox game. If invited, she will not go. 

If "she" is not in the ingredients - not that she would want to be - we fight.

When He Looks At Me

My cousin warned me 18 months ago, but to be honest, I thought she was losing her mind.

She intimated that her son, now 15, was "going through" something.

I gave her that look you give someone after you smell their feet!

This could not be something I need to consider because at that time my baby was only 13.

As the year moved into summer, I slowly began to see how she was right.

My heart bled, and my eyes teared each time he answered me with an inflection that was much deeper than the one before.

"Yes, Mom" grew into tones that James Earl Jones and Denzel deliver, not my beautiful, baby boy!

Then the inching up started.