My Momma's Obituary: There are not enough words

Elizabeth Ann Scott (Francois)

PORT ARTHUR- Mrs. Elizabeth Ann Scott (Francois) of Port Arthur died Tuesday, Nov. 6, 2007. She was born in St. Martinville, Louisiana and was a resident of Port Arthur, TX for 43 years. She was a graduate of Lincoln High School in 1961. She spent her life taking care of the elderly as a Home Health Provider. Her remaining life was devoted to Jesus Christ, constantly testifying to others of the wonderful things GOD does and to turn their life over to Christ.

She leaves to cherish: her four daughters, Jedda (Anthony) Brantley of Georgia, Camalita (Dwight) Snowden of Port Arthur, TX, Kitina Meeks and Anasthia Johnson, both of Sherwood, Arkansas; two sons, Willie Gray III of Houston, TX and Alex Gray of Port Arthur, TX; six sisters; four brothers; close friends, Hattie Morgan and Jacqueline Ford of Port Arthur, TX; sixteen grandchildren and a host of loving nieces and nephews. Visitation in scheduled from 6pm-9pm on Friday Nov. 9th at Gabriel Funeral Home. Funeral services will be at 11am, Saturday Nov. 10th at Barnes Memorial Methodist Church, 749 West 17th St. in Port Arthur, TX. with early viewing before the services.



I miss you, Momma

Getting Back to Where I Belong

For the first time in many, many years, I decided that instead of spending 4th of July weekend with someone else's family, I'd brave the trip to spend time with my side: the Francois family - my relatives on my mother's side. This was the first time since I was a teenager that I went to visit family when I was not grieving, so the entire experience felt new, but extremely familiar.

Me, my sister, and my teenage daughter divvy'd our time between Cade, Lafayette, and St. Martinville Louisiana.

Here's the quick and dirty about the entire trip.

During the 5.5 to 6 hour drive, I started to get nervous because I began to remember how cliquish our family had always been during the many summers and holidays we spent together in Louisiana (and Texas), and I was not sure if I'd be able to find a place where I belonged in the whole structure. I wondered if I even knew these peoople anymore. I mean, I had not seen or spoken to them in almost 20 years. Would I even recognize all of them?

But once we arrived. I just cannot explain to you the feeling of belonging that fell over me. It was as if I had returned home.

My mother is gone now, but I could see her eyes, her cheekbones, her mouth, her hips, her ass in every one of my Aunts. When they were all together at the same time, it was a little overwhelming because I felt like I was back in my mother's presense. I had so many memories of Momma come back to me in their presence. It felt so right.

I heard my mother's laugh when my Aunt Cynthia got tickled. I saw my mother's disapproving glare when my Aunt Stephanie heard us talking in church. I winced at my mother's sarcastic sneer when my Aunt Brenda was not impressed by something we did (or wore). I smelled (yes, smelled) my mother when I gave my favorite Aunt Sharon a long hug. While I spent time with my mother's sisters, I was in her presence. I don't mean virtually. I mean, she was there; everywhere.

But not only was she there, but the people I had grown up to love, respect, and cherish were all there too. There were cliques in the Francois family, but they were overshadowed by shared love; a lot of love, hugs, tears, kisses, and family sharing. This was truly the best holiday I've had in my entire adult life. Now, that I've found where I belong, I hope to re-create the time we had much more often.

Who can I run to?

I pride myself on being the person that others can turn to when they've been backed into a corner. I'm Ms. Bailout. But after awhile that's a really exhausting position to play. Not because being there for someone else takes a lot out of me, but because it sets me up to look for that person that I can turn to in times of need.

Basically, it's me and Jesus. Me and Jesus. Everyone else is just hype.

I'm frustrated. SO frustrated. I just feel like I spend all my time thinking, "What can I do to make life better for the kids?," "How can I make things easier for Baby Beast?," "How can I encourage my nieces and nephews to go farther."

Well, today it's Baby Beast. How's he gonna just back out on me again. . as usual?

Aaaaaaaaaaaargh!

So, now I'm a Mother's Day Scrooge

I've been in my room for most of the day with my cell phone off, my shades drawn, my door closed, laying across my bed going through cycles of crying and laughing, sleeping and awake. I'm just in here meditating on my memories of momma. Before you even guess it, I'm not depressed - according to the clinical definition. I really just want this fucking day to be over.

The nerve of people to continue to recognize Mother's Day after my mother has passed. It all seems unfair. . insulting. disgusting. I don't need a day to mourn my mother. I do that every day, every hour, every second. . always. At this point, I can't even appreciate what other people do for their mother's either. . It's never enough. Nothing will be enough. Your mother is the most obvious expression of the first gift God gave you: Life. And when she's gone, it's the most obvious representation that Life is coming to an end. . for everyone.. and righ now, I'm ready for it to be me.

Again, I'm not depressed. I've just lost the best friend I could ever have. So, people ask me why I don't try to make friends now? Well, why?

I look forward to the day when I have come to the end of this fight. I have helped everyone God sent me to help. . when I have been the example to those God meant for me to be the example to. . when I have praised him in every way God put me here to praise him in.. and then I close my eyes. . and wake up on the other side.

I look forward to walking through the Gates of Heaven, and seeing my TWO best friends, because my Dad will be there too.. I know they will open their wings, we'll embrace, and I'll hear what I've waited a lifetime to hear. "Well done. "

Until then, I'll continue to function.. on every day but today. Today I'm going to chill in my room, reflect on what I've lost, meditate on my memories of momma, and endure being the Scrooge that I've become.

I can do ALL things. . almost

My Mom used Philippians 4:13, I can do ALL things through Chris who strengthens me, as a daily mantra to keep herself going.

Well, I'm growing, and learning, and drawing closer to Christ. I've even adopted my Momma's daily mantra (or at least most of it), "I can do ALL things. ."

But God has a sense of humor, especially when you've decided to only adopt pieces of his Word. That much I know. So, he's put me into what I now consider a hilariously funny loop.

Here's how it goes:

1. I have car trouble.
2. I pull over to inspect car, and resolve car trouble.
3. Good Samaritan comes by and resolves trouble.
4. I drive off with working car, but feeling that if only I had a "few more minutes" I could do all things MYSELF.

This scenario repeats iself about 4 times a year, at least, since I first bought a car 13 years ago. . It ALWAYS happens.

Soooooooooooooooooo, this morning, I was headed into work when one of my dashboard lights came on. [I get nervous when I see those things.] They're yellow and red. . and to me, they are on the same level as "Danger, Will Robinson!" from Lost in Space. Well, anyway, while driving on the access road, I reach into the dash and pull out my trusty Nissan manual and look up what the issue was. AIR PRESSURE.. Well, that's an easy one.

I actually drove for a bit to find the most out-of-the-way gas station, so I could "pull over, inspect, and resolve" in peace. I walked around the car about 3 times to inspect when I realized that I had NO CLUE which tire was low. . OK, how the hell do people do this stuff?. But I can still hear the mantra in my head. "I can do ALL things. . I can do ALL things. . "

A really nice guy wearing a wedding ring comes by in a Jeep and pulls next to me. He says, as they all say, "Ma'am, please let me do that for you."

"No thanks," I reply. "I've got it."

I walk around one more time, and determine that I'd just decide by eenie-meenie-minie-moe which tires needed air, and topped off two tires. Well, guy in the Jeep is still trying to help, "Ma'am, if you'd just let me take care of it, I will. I promise, I'm not trying to flirt with you. I just want to help."

I inspect my work. Feeling really good that for once I was able to take care of my own car. I nod to him, smile, hop in the Altima, and drive off. But Dude continues to follow me and beep until he gets my attention.

I'm a little freaked out, so I looped around the access road, so I could return to the same gas station where at least the attendant last saw me alive. I locked my doors and rolled down my window. "Can I help you?," I asked. Obviously annoyed.

He looked at my back passenger tire, and said, "When you added air, did it fix the problem?" I looked down at the dash, and admitted, "No. So?"

"Well, if you'd stay in the car and give me 15 seconds, I'll take care of it," he said. Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Fine! I graciously nodded and rolled my window up.

After about 10 seconds, he tapped on the window and said, "This tire was probably about flat. I'm glad you let me help." I looked at the dash, and the light was off.

I unlocked the doors, introduced myself to this really kind man, and against his will, shook his oily hand.

It takes God to step into my life first thing in the morning and remind me that I can do all things, but only "though Christ who strengthens me."

OK, God. I got it. You (and Momma) are right.

Claiming a Happy Ending for My Own Fairy Tale

My favorite part of the Cinderalla fairy tale was never Cinderalla -- with her spoiled self. It was not the handsome prince. He was a little too perfect for my taste. It was not the wicked step-mother.. Who treats their kids like that anyway? It was the BEAUTIFUL step sister, Anasthia.

The tale says that Anasthia was mean and made Cinderella do her work. But I happen to intimately know an Anasthia. Hey, I'll fess up. I AM an Anasthia.

I am beautiful. I am very caring and pleasant to be around. I am super hard-working. If anything I work in a Cinderalla fashion each day.

I'm claiming a happy ending to this story because one day I will meet my prince, fall in love, and ride into the sunset -- Or something like that -- and live happily ever after.

Why Try to Ignore the Elephant in the Room?

We've been down this road before. . this very same road. . and arrived at this very same spot. . and what happened? I let go.

But now I'm back with a renewed promise to try to see this thing through against all odds, but what do I do about the elephant in the room?

No, I'm not calling your Mom an elephant, but damn, she won't forget. That was mean. . but surely you get where I'm going, right?

She hates me.. She HATES me.. I almost can't believe someone hates me. . I actually don't think I've ever been hated before, especially without knowing the reason why.

Because I did not speak to her when I walked into a room full of people that looked alike and did not know which one was her? Really? I guess I could have admitted from the very beginning that I just had not memorized her face, but damn. . How could I know that my omission would lead to this?

And then, after that first mistake, I made a lot more. I was nervous. I felt out of place trying to get to know a lot of strangers under a very high expectation. .I just don't think this situation is fair.

I don't want to let go. . I really, really don't. . because I love you. . I'll always love you.

But right now there's an elephant in the room that I know will eventually make her move and stomp all over me and our relationship. What is a girl to do?