“Dear Mama”

My friend must have thought something is wrong wif me.
That I’m wired awkwardly, weird like that.

Ok, I told her I write better when I’m sad.
She took a long slow breathe, and hmmmmmm.

She obviously couldn’t connect with that. Absolutely couldn’t relate.
That’s rather strange she must’ve thought deeply.

‘Is this guy alright ?’

That’s exactly how it works for me.
Sadness reconfigures me. Focuses me rightly. Gives me direction and vision.
Sets me on track, the right track.
Like a phone reset.

Strange indeed.


I recall the aftermath of my Mama’s passage.
Between the day of her demise and burial were less than a dozen days – 10 days.

The saddest, longest one dozen less two days in my life.
To say I was devastated is to say the least. Her passage wasn’t in the least expected.
Yeah, she was sick and hospitalised. But she was also recovering and talks of her discharge were echoing the walls of the hospital.

Then the unthinkable happened.

She passed. Crossed over. Left us.

At that point, I knew how so special a Mama she had been and how so much I was going to miss her.

Those thoughts refused to depart from me. They stuck deeply to the bottom of my soul.
I walked, woke, slept, ate and did just one thing – Deep thoughts about my Mama.

That was the stage of my life I wrote most intensely.
The time I wrote most very seriously too.
Humourless, no jokes. Just the loving thoughts of the good times I remembered about her.
The struggles. The victories. The nearlies. Close misses.
Virtually everything and indeed anything.

As the weeks and months rolled by, I wrote and sketched and planned as well as scanning photos of her.
A book was in the works I told myself.
A befitting one too.

I would wake in the dead of night. I would drop my cutlery in the middle of a meal, I would park my car in a corner of a street or even on a sidelane on the expressway, just to quickly put down a line or a thought.

Then slowly and surely, I settled. I got better and better. I was healing.
I wasn’t grieving again.

Then I could write no more.

I could live again, life goes on.

Aluta continua.

It then struck me – I had stopped writing.
I wasn’t pouring out my details about her as much as I would’ve loved.

I infact stopped.


I looked back recently, and realised six years have rolled by and I’m still very far from a finished work.
Time sure heal wounds.

I’m stuck.

The sad truth is – I would rather be happy, but I do wanna write too.

Write about my Mama.
Her BOOK.

——————-

“You always was a black queen, Mama.
There’s no way I can pay you back.
But the plan is to show you that I understand.
You are appreciated.”
– Tupac Shakur (Dear Mama)

——————-

Ain’t a women alive that can take my Mama’s place.
To live in the hearts of those you love is not to die.

We don’t die . . . We multiply.

Rest in Peace Mama !

O’Shine ORIGINAL

#sixyearsremembrance

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86 thoughts on ““Dear Mama”

  1. No one can replace your mom. I am sure it was heartbreaking but what’s amazing is that you anchored your sadness towards something so positive. My prayers and love with you. Hope you do complete the book on your beautiful mama O’Shine:-)

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Your wiring is perfect, a perfect blend of the right mix. In ecstasy, you write well and in sadness, it’s oh so deep. It happens to most writers, I guess.
    Woah! You know one of the things I’m scared of the most is when they leave. I know it’s inevitable but I’m seriously not looking forward to that day. The heartache, the pain, the longing: I’m not made for that, I mean who is?

    You cannot stop the birds of sorrow from flying over your head, but you can stop them nesting in your hair.
    —Eva Ibbotson

    I really hope you do complete this book, I can’t wait to see it.
    Death is the heartache no one can heal,
    Memories are keepsakes no one can steal.
    Beautiful memories are all we have left,
    Of the ones we loved and will never forget.
    Softly the leaves of memory fall,
    Gently we gather and cherish them all.
    Planted deep in memory’s garden
    And watered daily with tears,
    Memory has a magical way
    Of keeping loved ones near.
    ~Author unknown, grieving poem from the 1950s
    She’s alive as long as she remains in your heart and in every heart she has touched, she’s alive.
    May Her gentle soul continue to rest in peace.

    PS: that was a great write up albeit a sad one.

    Liked by 2 people

      1. I am actually SonniQ. Jamie is in prison. He has just a little over 6 years to go out of 17. He’s the father of one of my grandsons who was born after he was locked up for being in the wrong place with the wrong person. I have 2blogs and one is dedicated to him. mynameisjamie.net. That has many posts of his letters and info on the reality of our prison system, music and poetry I’ve written and of a book now being edited on his life. My other blog is a mishmash of topics of whatever affects me that day. I’ll be back. Have a great weekend.

        Liked by 2 people

      1. So true so true! Some people get old so fast and believe they are old, They give up on doing anything new. I will have to live until at least 110 just to finish the projects I have now!

        Liked by 1 person

  3. yinka says:

    This one touched me. I thought I was the only one who feels so. I have faced my most horrible times since my mum, being her only child. 4 years and it still feels like yesterday. All I do now, I do for her, like her.
    Thank you for this. I need to write a book, to tell the world of my angel.
    Iya MI…

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Dooh says:

    O’shine original, what a masterpiece! If the dead could hear,i guess she will be smiling and so proud of you wherever she is. One of the best ways to immortalise her is to live her legacies.

    Continue to rest in perfect piece, IYA ORE MI!

    Liked by 1 person

  5. My mom is getting old. 83 now. Until April 7th she was very vibrant. She had a stroke in the middle of the night and she lost half of herself. I became the mother and do the things she can’t. We started making recordings of the memories she has left. She has so many stories. I have to understand ill lose her sooner than later. I need to hear her voice tell her stories again. No one in my family cares about her stories. They sigh with exasperation when she tells a story one more time, but maybe later they will want to her her voice one more time and I’ll say no. I asked if they wanted to help make a recording and hear about her and my dad when they were teens and only dating and talk about our father who died too young, but no, not interested. My family doesn’t like me.. But mom and I – we are twins born 20 years apart. She is the only one who knows me and understands me. She and I are Buddhist. When she is gone it will be so hard so every day is never wasted when there is still time to say, “I love you mum” I can still tell her that and she can hear me.

    Liked by 3 people

    1. . . . Wow. Your story is so touching.
      Reminds me somewhat about my mum too. Told me several stories over and over again and I unnecessarily got angry . . . To think I’ll give all to sit down and listen now. Sometimes we don’t know what we’ve got till we lose it.
      Your family, sadly would understand that when she’s gone. When it’s too late.
      I sincerely commend you for your show of love and affection for your Mum.

      God bless you.

      Liked by 1 person

  6. I’ve read that in others and felt it in myself – the either/or – either you’re living happily or writing productively, but never both at the same time. How many great writers – Poe, Dylan Thomas — would have chosen happiness but instead became great writers in the crucible of pain. Your writing is a great tribute to your mom.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. . . . Thanks for the kind words Lex.

      Twas a case of when push came to shove for me.
      It became an escape . . . Lol.

      Writing is life, no matter what side of it you find yourself – Good or bad.

      Just live it. Just write.

      Lolololololololol.

      Liked by 1 person

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