Who Am I?

Am I my mother’s daughter? I aspire to be the profound version of her.

Am I my mother’s daughter? The woman who reads, who exercises self-control, who practices kindness, who never imposes- and who keeps her word. The things that rattle her are unusual and abnormal. She loves her many friends, she pleas the fifth often, she sympathizes. I don’t know if anyone has attended more funerals and not just in person. I don’t know of another who has provided physical care for more people when they needed it most, outside of a health care setting. My mom is not afraid to face the terminally ill, the bedridden, the forlorn. It makes me realize that even as she didn’t get to pursue her dream of becoming a nurse, God gave her the gift of compassion. He helped her realize that dream in a meaningful way, so much so, that she has cared for and mothered many others, not just me. Her parents, Golyn, Shubba, Aunty Hazel, Ms Princie, Uncle Clas, Chun, Ackee Bud, Marlon, Jackie, Lloydie, Dino, Malachi, Javad! I also think of total strangers who she has taken in and loved as her own-Wayne, Troy, Richie, Lloyd, Blue Eye come to mind. When I think of her taking on motherhood at the tender age of 19, to Lully and Audrey so that their mom could join the throng of Windrush Jamaicans. I ask myself, could I do that?

Am I my mother’s daughter? The woman who speaks her mind with clarity and discernment. She keeps her cards close to her chest; she is analytical- a rare species who somehow is able to befriend and develop her own relationship with my friends. She drinks her porridge cold, and lives in the present- she knows way more than you imagine and my favourite thing about her is how she dispenses aphorisms when you least expect it, but when you need it most. I remember an especially bad heartbreak, I went to her, told her what happened and these were her words. “They come, and they go.” I think of how I wanted her to visit me, and she said No- when I asked why not?? She said you just spent some money on this or that, “you need to build up your reserves first.” I remember when we had an electricity problem, and I was worried sick about It – contemplating the negative and over analyzing- her words to me were….. “I am thinking positive”. And the time when My uncle and aunt came to visit for the weekend and wanted to leave her all their extra cash. She refused them, “Don’t leave yourselves broke as you travel on the roads” was her rationale.

I have found that these days I crave her input and resourcefulness, as she always knows the best way forward when I am in a quandary. I remember the day I woke up weary of work and decided to work from home…she called and knew instantly something was wrong. She sympathized but then went straight to telling me why it was better to go to work. Winter was the bane of her existence, she feared it. But she came and she stayed, she was my trooper. She was at every doctors appt, all my hospital visits, she listened to all the diagnoses. And when I was diagnosed with GVHD, I told her I was tired, emotionally exhausted, I was a wreck. She stood tall and strong when I broke down, and ignored me when I was in rage and took it all out on her. My mother hugged me and said with complete conviction that she knew that God would see us through, that she knew we would get through this. She knew. My mom watched my entire bone marrow biopsy, stoic and without tears. Could I do that?

And she was that vanguard, not only for me. Nancy has many many stories too of how my mom was the one she ran to in confusion, distress and pain. She always knows what to do, what to say, which bush and home remedy to recommend and who to call. I think of my mom working in the home, which for so long in my sight was nothing, something without value and virtue. I ponder now, how I watched her care for her elderly parents, do domestic chores, spoil a sibling and nephews, manage the financial affairs of the household, raise a daughter, be a stellar friend, care for other relatives and friends-all single-handedly and many times all at once and thought this was nothing. Yes, work outside the home is very important but so is work inside the home. Her entire life revolved around everyone else, she placed our needs above hers and she never complained. I thank God for opening my eyes, and for his dry sense of humour.

Am I my mother’s daughter? She is frugal, lives within her means, is grateful and contented with what she has. I have never heard my mom ask for anything except to visit the doctor, buy medication and food. She is an independent woman, refusing to give up bammy baking. She loves her personal space and craves connection all at once, so much so that during my cancer journey she stayed close to me albeit it was so hard for her to not be in her comfort zone and happy place. Hats and dresses, sweaters (she never has enough of those). She loves her coffee, breadfruit and salted mackerel, popcorn, apple juice, fish, lobster and ice cream. My mom has never visited Mandeville without going to the Mandeville Food Market and does not go to Junction without searching for Ira, always returning with a story about the taxi driver who took her home.

I hate clutter but I can de-clutter all I want, I am not allowed in the inner chambers of her space, and sure enough she reminds me of this when I cannot find something- and then she produces it. She has an impeccable memory, especially with numbers. My mom has never taken away from me the right and power to choose. For her, I am the captain of my soul and the master of my fate….I chose the schools for my Common Entrance exams, and I chose to leave for Canada. I couldn’t reconcile for a long time why she was so free with some choices yet so strict a mother. I didn’t realize until later….I believe it is because she was never given the option to choose, to become who she wanted to be. I firmly believe she decided never to hold her child ransom that way. I thank her for giving me wings to fly and I know that I have to do the same for her. Hence, I will not ask her to do what she doesn’t want to do-even when it is uncomfortable for me, not only because I owe her that autonomy but also because she wouldn’t listen anyway.

Am I my mother’s daughter? She finds comfort with her life and in her own company. She always has something to do (puzzles, read, plait, garden, goats and more recently adult coloring books and YouTube) …..She listens to me, she critiques me, we disagree, we learn from each other. I speak with my mom every single day and I can never imagine a time when I won’t be able to-neither do I want to. Here is the irony, she is not clingy or needy…..she has her own life with her own activities, drama and stories. My mother finds happy without me. She doesn’t need me to to be happy. I look forward to each day as I know she is storing up the gory details to share with me. We synthesize, argue sometimes, always say a proper goodbye and never malice each other. Suffice to say, when my mom holds a theory it’s hard to convince her otherwise, my friends will tell you I am the same.

My mom has taught me so much with her life, not so much via words. The virtue of kindness, hospitality, contentment, sacrifice, commitment, silence, independence, friendships and the power of choice. These things protect me in so many ways, I could never repay her for these gifts, and my education.  I have watched her lose so many people who were dear to her, but God has always filled the void and empty spaces for her. I think of her close relationships with Aunty Hazel, with my Godmother Pam, Ms Chubby, Nancy, Del, Lloyd, Lloydie and Sharon, Ms Herma, Aunty Merille. He, I believe has also endowed her with mastery over letting go and adjusting to the changing scenes of life……Some days I wonder how she learnt these things so well; given there was no internet and social media, not many books, no television, no formal higher education…….not many role models and certainly no external experiences.  But then I say there was always the Bible and people……and God uses these a lot. A word about her friendships. I realize they are all so different from her, my mother did not choose carbon copies of herself in her friends. I wonder if that was deliberate. The lesson for me in that was how she stayed true to herself and did not change parts of herself to fit into their lives. I find it cool that she knew to stay true to self, nowadays we teach that in seminars, on TV shows and podcasts.

My mom has lived a spectacular life, a rich, full, simple life albeit she never left home. In many many ways I am her and in so many ways she is aspirational for me. She is a woman of strength, character, wisdom and grace. Hers is a life, marked by the transforming Grace of God. Hers is a life I want as my own.

I am my father’s daughter. He doesn’t neglect or abandon family but doesn’t always want to be around them. He gives only what he can afford, hates to confront but will find a way to deal with it. He knows how to maintain boundaries but needs to know how to ask for help. He is stubborn, oh so stubborn and he too when he holds a theory you are just wasting your breath. I am doomed. My dad thinks before he acts, you can tell, and he too knows a thing or two about keeping his friends.

I have his physique and his eyes; my mother’s toes, voice and walk, but I am also me, totally and purely me.