The Dithering of a District Diva

Sometimes I think my MamaDiva’s life began, on July 31, 1985.  She has been my entire life for so long, my bestfriend, the ever-reliable force in my life, the one who fasts and prays just for me, and laughs at all of my jokes.

It is silly to think that, though, when I know full well that she has been leading an extraordinary life well before I was born.

Growing up in the projects of Norfolk, Virginia, she–as the eldest of seven children–was everything to everybody, a trend that has never changed.  She started washing dishes for her mother at 5 years old, and helped to keep her six younger brothers in line.  She went to school with worn shoes and tattered stockings, but her clothes were always clean.  Her parents taught her to take pride in herself, that she was something to be proud of.  And with no money, a wing, and a prayer, she worked her way through Norfolk State University as a waitress at the Piccadilly to become the first person in her family to ever attend and graduate high school and college.  Someone to be proud of.

She took her degree in Music and parlayed it into a career as a substitute music teacher.  Music and people–her two passions, cleverly collaborating.  But, permanent teaching positions for Blacks were difficult to come by, a sign of the times, and soon, she was off to work for the RedCross, which took her everywhere.

She is the first person I’ve ever known to chase God and purpose unabashedly.  She traveled and lived all over, started a Master’s program in Boston, turned down several marriage proposals, and lived abroad in the Philippines for a time.  Young and beautiful, a citizen of the world with the biggest afro and an undeniable voice, she truly knew how to live and transfer life to others through song.   It was singing in a nightclub on an Air Force base in the Philippines that she mesmerized my father, a young, country pilot stationed there.  They dated for two years and married when they returned to the states.   With my father being stationed in Kokomo, Indiana, my mother made the difficult decision to give up her career to move with my father and start a family.  A wife to be proud of.

When my sister and I came along, she raised us both in the fear and the admonition of the Lord.  She introduced us to Jesus and never stopped praying peace and blessings over our lives.  She stayed home with us while we were young, and when we became older she returned to substitute teaching.  When she discovered that my first grade teacher was frequently grading my papers incorrectly, my mother took a job as my teacher’s assistant, to ensure that I would never be treated unfairly again.  Word spread to the other teachers, and I never had another problem in that elementary school.

She encouraged me to be great in school.  She told me I was a brilliant writer.  She wanted me to major in journalism, but didn’t fuss when I chose Sociology.  She cried when she and my father dropped me off at school and called my sister and I every morning to pray with us and for us.  She prayed me through law school and even now she prays me through living in the city alone.  A mother to be proud of.

When we went away to school, my mother decided to pursue the ministry of wedding planning.  With an eye for decorating, a knack for event planning, and a caring heart, my mother set up her LLC, took courses to become a certified wedding planner, and pursued her passion for people wholeheartedly. Even after she was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma, a cancer of the blood plasma in the bones, over a year ago, she seemed to never miss a beat. Between her chemo treatments, she would travel down to take care of my ailing grandmother, and still kept her wedding planning business alive, completing two weddings that summer.

She underwent a painful stem-cell transplant just before last Christmas, and I cut off large chunks of her hair and held her hands as my dad shaved her bald.  And all praise be to God, she is now cancer-free and getting to healthy.  And when she stood up to give her testimony in church, she removed her wig to let everyone see what cancer had done to her and what God saved her from.  If I ever wondered where I got the courage to speak my heart and be myself with no shame, it became instantly clear in that moment. A woman to be proud of.

Whenever something is happening in my life–good or bad–I want to call her first.  We can talk for hours and she listens to me and finds my quirky wit hilarious.  From rocking an afro in 2010 to being an independent woman who can travel the world with only God by my side, I feel I can do anything because of my superfriend mother who has already done it all and been it all.  And because she thinks I’m funny.

She is everything to everyone and everything to me.  My mother is the embodiment of diva–my soror, and my ultimate Proverbs woman and prototype. I am so blessed that she is still with me and still mine.

Happy Mothers Day, MamaDiva! (Skee-wee my Soror!)

I love you.

xoxo

DD

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