Skip to main content

Jamar's Song

The universe smile upon me. Unexpectedly.

Wishing my oldest living son a very happy 28th birthday.

I told him it was absolutely meant that he would interrupt what I thought was my life path and plan. He became the only son of his father, a third generation look-alike. He is a renaissance man, a man that writes, draws, raps, and thinks, thinks, thinks  He is a self-made man, an unconventional man who decided that while the producers came knocking at his door, he didn't want to pay their price to open it.  Instead, he produced and marketed his CD himself, the old fashioned way.

My son was my rock when I was a divorced mom in Chicago with him and his little brother trying to make it in the early 90s.  When I close my mind's eye and remember how mature and grown up he was at five, I shed a tear and want to give him back his childhood. He was so protective of his mama and his little brother. They were my world, I closed out the chance to date, focused on them, finishing school, and working full-time in the Loop. He was strong for a short little guy, carried the box of Tide up the bus steps like a champ while I held his little brother and the duffle bag of laundry. We made it work.

Remembering his love of reading, his advanced conversations, his love of God, his view of the universe, his endurance, his pain, his choices, his bubbly dancing eyes, remembering him coming back from death to life. He did not choose the path I wanted for him, but he chose the path meant for him. He is my heart.

Life has a funny way of giving you chances to adjust and decide how you will navigate. You journey one step at a time.

Today, I'm  honoring the steps of my much loved son.

Happy Birthday Jamar!

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Hannah's Song

We came together last night and sang Hannah's song. Family from California was in town, it was the night before Aunt Hannah's Home Going Celebration. We met at my house late in the evening to fellowship, remember, hug, eat, and laugh. Thom felt the love in the room and I'm sure his mom would've appreciated us doing what she did all her life - love. Aunt Hannah was a gracious woman. Her gentle spirit, sparkling eyes, and constant smile will be remembered. She has left us physically, but never spiritually. The laughter was like music in Thom's ear. For the first time in weeks I saw my cousin relax. He has been in a tornado for the past four weeks from his mother's diagnosis to her death. Even in her final stage, Aunt Hannah was granted her desire. She asked to not suffer long when it was her time to go, she had been a caregiver her whole life and I'm sure her prayer was for her son. In the last days of her life, she still greeted well wishers with a wa...

Brothers, Can we Talk?

 I'm a Black woman, born of a Black woman and a Black man. When my mother died, it was my father who nurtured me and instilled in me a sense of pride of self, of my race, of my abilities to do whatever I put my mind to do. He never imposed limitations on me as a Black woman. The only caution he ever gave me was to not burn my candle at both ends and to be mindful of my health, I am an asthmatic. He never stopped me from trying anything and always encouraged me. Daddy was a strong Black man who introduced me to Shirley Chisholm when I was a little girl. He reminded me of the fortitude of my late mother's quest for gender equality in the workplace and of the namesake who marched at Selma.  He is the one who gave me my pseudonym, TayĆ©. Daddy was a strong tower of empowerment and fought all the way to his last breath for social, gender, and racial justice. It is in remembering my father this morning that I'm asking the brothers, can we talk? What is it, especially those of my g...

Ashes to Ashes

 This is Ash Wednesday. For a lot of Catholics and Anglican Christians, it begins the holy season of Lent. We remember we are but dust and to dust we return, ashes to ashes.  It is a somber reminder of our humanity and the finality of life. We are a mere breath. Today, as a Hospital Chaplain Resident, I am imposing ashes on patients, family, and staff. It is a visible marker of a shared faith and belief. We look with anticipation to the finished work of salvation on the cross and in eager hope of the resurrection. As my day progressed, I noticed how much hope was in the eyes of the ones giving and receiving this reminder of our existence. It was both a somber moment and a joyful moment. Two things can exist at the same time. Like the world we find ourselves in. Even as it seems like the darkest, certainly the darkest I’ve known in my six decades on this earth. Completely imperfect as a nation, there was still a glimmer of light until the nightmare became reality. We wonder abo...