Being a mother who has lost her child is never a category of joy. It isn’t a badge of honor as a mother of color with a son of color. What is it? Painful, its pain that is unavoidable. Where can I go that does not remind me of my son? Yesterday I was getting dressed and I have an old deodorant that belonged to him. The scent of that deodorant brought something over me. Last month I sprayed his cologne in the air thinking it would be nice. Wham, I fell instantly to my knees and balded my body up.
It has been a little over a year that my son has not been in my arms. Everyday I am not in tears, I’m also not overjoyed. God knows that I am not prepared to feel the full weight of my son not in his earthly body anymore. I don’t always want to hear the updates of someone’s child who is around his age. At least not all the time. I don’t want to hear you complain about your child either.
The depths of the bond I had with my son cannot be judged by anyone but God. I thank God for the family He gave me, I didn’t always show gratitude because of my grumbles. What I did most of all was practice forgiveness with all members of my household. They have all since passed on, but because of the depths of love and reconciliation, I am at peace with where we all stood. I laugh at some of the silly things that would happen. I reflect on my growth, the fears we overcame and naysayers. Through all the loss I have endured I am more than a survivor, I am Martrice. My name in itself is powerful because of who God created me to be. The internet says my name means “war-like” or “noble woman”, “courageous” and “determined” to name a few. God built me to be stronger than I ever imagined. I am doing His Will. Not for the gram but for my LORD!
-Dr. K