My Day One Chick: Granny

I was discussing my loyalty for my sons' grandmother with the man I love. "If she called in a favor," I said, "I'd deliver." And he was insulted because my sons' grandmother is also my ex's mother. And his concern was that I didn't feel that way for his mother.

When we really got into this conversation, although I realized he was angry, I was actually really excited that we had discovered a topic we felt so differently about. . because we tend to agree on everything.. so this was an opportunity, at least I thought, to create some alignment on yet another topic.. Well, we never got there. I don't know if we ever will.

Here's the background.

ON MY SONS' GRANDMOTHER:
There are not enough words to express how deeply I love this woman or the many, many, many reasons why. But I can definitely scratch the surface with the things that are most important to me.

When I met Granny, she welcomed me into her home and her life so freely. . so completely. I felt a bond with her from the first moment we met. She's so generous with her love, it rains down on you so hard, you can't NOT love her. And then, the fact that I love to eat, and she loves to cook and bake. . and does it SO well.

Maybe what just sealed the deal with me and Granny was our connection to my mother. When my mother came into town, I brought her to Granny's house when I went over there with the kids. And my mother just LOVED Granny. They talked and laughed and Granny showed my Momma, the center of my world, the same love she showed me. . The same love she shows everyone. Then, when my momma died, and I felt so orphaned and alone, Granny accompanied me at the funeral - the hardest day of my entire life - and has been my rock since then. Because the loneliness I felt that day always creeps back up on me. And somehow, Granny always knows when it's just completely unbearable because she calls me and tells me she's thinking about me just in time.

Granny is my Day One. And she's been by my side for TWENTY years. Me and her son broke up over six years ago, and she and I are still close. Yes, if she calls me, I'm going.


ON MY BOYFRIEND'S MOM:
The love I have for my boyfriend, spilled over to his Mom way before I met her. This woman is gorgeous, classy, smart, and loving, but she is a Momma Bear. She's not gonna let any old thing be with her son. So, when she thought I was any old thing, she did what a Momma Bear does.

Thank God for understanding, time, and my boyfriend's IMpatience, she and I have come full circle. I love her. I do. And I make sure she knows it. And her love is deep, and boundless, and true, so to be in her favor, truly makes the whole ordeal of getting to know her and earning her respect, well worth the process.

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I guess the issue I have with my boyfriend's unhappiness is that he's trying to apply a One Sized Fits All mentality to a situation that really doesn't fit. I can love them both. They're so different that I have to love them differently. My relationship with Granny is 20 years in the making and my relationship with his mom is still pretty new, but forged in fire.

My relationship with Granny at this point has nothing to do with her son. . or even her grandchildren. She is my friend. . and to be honest, the closest thing I have to my momma who is no longer here. I will NEVER forsake her. You just don't do that to someone who's been so true.

We probably won't ever talk about this topic again because it generated so much fire. And it's one of those things that I think my boyfriend has to see in action to understand.

What I'll Never Know: The Last Lesson My Heroine Taught Me

Every now and then I hear myself saying, "My momma taught me that. .," or "My momma would always say. . " When I do, I always take a little pause after that sentence to let the sadness pass. . and to blink through the tears that rush to my eyes.

I've pretty much gotten over the fact that my momma is now in heaven, so I will not have the luxury of hearing her voice or seeing her face on the tough days. But what I can't seem to get over. . the one thing I can't seem to shake is that when my momma left this world she took with her some really amazing sayings and some helpful lessons that I now will never receive.

I feel the greatest loss because of that.

It is NOT true. You CAN miss something you've never had. . especially if the other things you've received are SO beneficial that you know that the best is yet to come.

Elizabeth Ann Francois just taught me SO much. She gave me all the tools that have gotten me this far in life.

- Thank God for the good and the bad. Oftentimes they serve the same purpose; to build your spirit.
- You can't love all your children the same. They are not the same. Your job is to treat them like the individuals they are; and love them the way they need you to love them.
- People will use you, abuse you, and confuse you. LOVE THEM ANYWAY. But when they hurt you, do it from a distance.
- Being rich has nothing to do with how much money you have in the bank. It's about how able you are to help others.
- Always forgive. Not to help the person who hurt you; but to help yourself.
- When you can help someone else, do it. You never know when you are going to need someone to come through for you.
- When you do your best you never have to brag on yourself. People will take notice and spread the news about your awesomeness.
- A no good man is just that. You cannot change him. That's God's job.
- Being Christian has nothing to do with your church or how frequently you show up in your best Sunday attire, it's about allowing the spirit of Christ to shine so brightly within you that people can see him in your walk, talk, and act.
- You have to be IN LOVE with yourself before you can fall in love with anyone else. Once you build yourself up you don't have to look for someone else, they will find you.

I could fill a blog directory with all of the lessons my momma taught me. I was blessed for 32 years to have her in my life, and if I try hard enough I can probably recall a thousand nuggets of wisdom she placed with me.

So, I'm sure you're wondering why I now feel like I left some cards on the table? Well, at the end, I just didn't take the time to sit at her feet and allow her to add to the wisdom she started planting with me..

That has to be one of the most painful admissions ever.

My momma was SO strong and so unrelenting in the most difficult situations. Honestly, I thought she'd kick cancer's butt, and we'd have a laugh about how the Devil tried to take her out again.

That's just who she was. She was a conqueror.

So, when I learned she was sick, I asked her to be straight with me. "How sick are you, Momma?" As always, she said, "I'm OK, baby." So, in my mind I thought, " I'm gonna take the next few months to wrap up these work projects, and bring Momma to stay with me this summer." Even after I went with her to chemo and saw how tired she looked, I just KNEW this was just one of those tests she had to endure so she could impart upon me the lessons she had learned.

Well, I'm sure you've read her obituary. She passed November 6, 2007.

That's the day I learned the lesson people speak on, but don't really understand unless they LIVE it. Tomorrow is not promised: not even to the strongest of warriors.

So, my life has changed. I don't let a day go by without telling my children I love them. I call my siblings as soon as the thought crosses my mind. Work is work. There's a time for it; but I'm not consumed by it anymore. And I've decided to be the best friend to my best friend. . not only in words, and cards, and on holiday. EVERY DAY.

I can only be grateful for this final lesson my momma left me with: the reality of my own mortality. It's been a hard pill to swallow, but still I have to say thanks.

My Running Buddy

I think that may be one of the sweetest expressions of affection I've ever heard from a human being.

"When you run, I wanna run with you."

Yes, I love to run. . not just in marathons. . Many times in life in general.

From childhood, when something really upset me, I'd run. . with no particular direction. . just away. . I'd run and run and run until I literally ran out of air. Then, I'd remain wherever I ended up until I thought the stress had passed, or until I had conjured enough strength to deal with it. Sometimes I fell asleep wherever I ended up; in the yard, at my aunt's house, at the park. As a kid, it worked.

Once I became an adult, the whole running thing evolved. As a young person, my stress lead me to road trips. . usually home to Momma. She would talk to me, love on me, and Lawd - feed me, until I had the energy to return home and fight the brave fight again.

Then at some point, my running away became jogging. When I felt stress, I would jog for 5 to 10 miles until I felt better. On my really bad days, I'd run up to three times a day. I knew when I got home, the stress would be there, so I'd make myself so tired, funky, and out of it, that by the time I got home, I was gone. . into a sweet shower and slumber. But that stress is now EX stress. . and I put that kind of running behind me. The body does not respect or support that level of need for de-stressing when you're deep into your 30's (and beyond) anyway, so all of that had to go.

These days, there's still stress. Living is stressful even though it has so many rewards. I jog sometimes. I drive sometimes. And it does not have to be because of stress. It can be due to boredom, nervous energy, need for new scenery. . or whatever. . I make arrangements for the kids, and then I go. . to wherever my mind and my heart leads me. I'm always alone. That's the part I've always loved the most about running. I'm out there in my own world. . free to just be me. . with no one judging, complaining, pulling, pushing, demanding, trying to capture or trap me.

About a year ago, I ran smack into someone just like me. . I hit him so hard, the sheer impact knocked me off of my feet. . I didn't even apologize. . I stood up, brushed myself off, and continued running. But this time, there was someone there who ran with me. .

And now, he wants us to run away together. . Let's just see if he can keep up.

God's Love for Me, My Love for God

Here's how I see it. I have this personal relationship with God that started way before I was born; or my mother was born; or my great-great-great grandmother was born. It started when I was only a figment of God's boundless imagination.

He loved me first. He loved me so much that when he looked down generation after generation, and saw that one day I would walk this Earth alone, and be disheartend by the fact that I was not quite sure if there was a place for me, he decided that he would do something over-the-top, completely amazing, and not even deserved. He let his ONLY begotten son die on the cross for me, so that one day, when my days on this earth were over, I would not perish. Instead, I'd be able to return to glory. . in HIS house. . and enjoy eternity with the people I love: My Momma Lizzie, My Dad Joe, My Uncle Austin, My crazy cousin Murray, and all those people that he placed in my life from day one that I somehow fell in love with - who somehow make it over there before me.

So, why would I worry about what I owe to the US on taxes? Why would I lose sleep over the cost of replacing the roof in this old house? Why would I sob about how hard it is to be a single parent of 3 kids? Why?

He's already given me the ultimate gift? I do not doubt for a second that all of these other desires of my heart will be taken care of.

And even if he does not take care of all this little stuff, I still benefit from the overflow of love God shows me because one day I won't have to worry about all the worries of life. I will not have to cry or feel alone. One day I will wake up on the other side in glory, and spend eternity showing God the love he has shown me.

But until then, I have an amazing opportunity. I can share all of this love, and joy, and contentment God has given me with those around me. I'll start with you.


GOD loves you. . and SO DO I.

She Taught Me to Breathe

As a child, I suffered with asthma. The strangest things would set off an attack: overheating, anxiety, exhaustion, among other things. Since I was also a teeny tiny thing, all of the Aunts in my family basically just referred to me as sickly, so I tended to stick close to Momma because she was the only one who knew how to help me through my attacks.

And if I have not mentioned it before, we were really poor, so Momma very rarely had an inhaler to offer, so she tended to try to prevent attacks by forcing me to avoid the causes. All the other kids would be running, jumping, playing, fighting, and I'd be sitting right at my Momma's feet; listening to her and the neighbor ladies gossip. But I was hard-heated, and a natural-born tom boy, so there were plenty of times when I'd slip away right after I heard the signal, "Oooooooooooooh, chile, you ain't gonna believe this." That meant something juicy was about to come out, and Momma didn't want me to be in ear shot anyway.

As soon as the speaker took that first deep breath, I would be gone.. . running, jumping, fighting, falling, and the most predictable. . crying. And plenty of times, I can remember that right in the middle of my spurt of running wild, I'd have an asthma attack. It would come on all of a sudden.. not really. I would start wheezing and coughing maybe a full 30 min's to an hour . I could feel my chest tighten up.. but when you're a kid, you kinda have to lose a limb to slow down.

I don't know how she knew it, but right at the moment when I'd find myself falling into a bush gasping for air, there would come Momma. She'd grab me up like a rag doll, and hold me in her arms. She'd look down at me with those calm eyes, and very softly, she'd whisper, "Breathe, Tesha." Then, she would inhale and exhale so deeply my body would rise and fall with the ebb and flow of her chest's movement.

Yeah, it's that easy, right? Well, no.

I'd start crying because I knew that I was taking in my last breath. . my chest would be hurting.. and my face would be tightening up. . I could hear her praying. . I didn't want to scare her.. I just wanted this whole predicament to be over, so I'd always try.. but nothing would come out.

She'd push down on my chest, which hurt like hell - I wonder if she knew that - and much louder, she'd say, "Deeply, deeply breathe. You don't have to be scared."

Well, I was, but this is the woman who NEVER let me down, never gave up, and always pulled me through so I knew that if she was saying that it was as easy as breathing there was something to this thing..

I don't know how it would happen. Somewhere in between her grabbing the rosary out of her bosom, saying a Hail Mary, pounding my chest, steadying her breathing.. somehow my breath would come back.. My chest would still hurt.. and my breathing would not steady for hours. . and the wheezing would last all night long.. but air would seep into my chest at least to the point to where I did not die.

I truly think that in those moments of panic, when I'd be laying there watching my short life flash before my eyes while watching Momma regulate her own breath, she was literally teaching me how to breathe. . which in those moments, was a Herculean task. She taught me over and over again, that even when it hurt, I had to keep on breathing. Even when I thought the last breath was indeed the last breath, I had to keep on breathing. When noone cared that I was over there dying in the bush but her, I had to keep on breathing. When I knew that even if I started breathing, at some point, I'd find myself helpless again, I still had to breathe.

My last asthma attack occurred the day my Momma died, November 6, 2007. I received a phone call with the news, and literally stopped breathing. I don't know if it was an attack, or while I was trying to cope with the news, I just lost the will that she worked so hard to inspire. But as I laid there on the floor, gasping for air - almost wanting it not to return - I felt the ebb and flow of her chest against me. I heard her demanding me to breathe.

And here I am. The daughter of Elizabeth Francois Scott, still breathing.

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.

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.

A life-changing lesson brought to you by Mr. Bear

I was outraged last night when I saw my 6-year old J punching Mr. Bear in the face. I felt physically sick and became more upset than he could possibly understand.

I barked at him, "Put Mr. Bear in my room where he belongs!" He looked at me like I had lost my mind. I'm sure he was thinking to himself, "It's just a stupid stuffed animal!"

I really wanted to tell him what that little yellow bear means to me. I'm not smart enough to describe on a 1st grade level how that stuffed animal continues to impact my life. However, we're all adults, right? So, I figured I'd just tell you, instead.

For my 10th birthday, I wanted this really cool Schwinn bike and a pair of baby blue and pink Pro Wing tennis shoes for my birthday. I only told my Momma a gazillion times what I wanted - every detail of the color, brand, smell, feel, everything. So when I went to bed the night before my big day, I just KNEW I had my gifts on lock down. It was just a matter of waking up. I just KNEW it!

I woke up the next morning, which was a Monday, and got ready to go to school. I put on my nicest pink shirt that I knew would compliment my new shoes. Everyone needed to see the coordination, the planning, the final result.

I was in my Momma's room about 2 hours before I even had to be at school. The entire house was still dark. But of course, she was up. She was sitting in a chair in the corner of her room reading her Bible.

I walked in with a big smile. "Good morning, Momma." "Happy Birthday, baby," she said, and gave me a big hug. I peeped behind the chair while Momma was giving me the hug to see if I could get a quick preview of my gifts, but did not see anything. No worries. We had an awkward moment because I never had to actually ASK for my gifts before. Usually, when I woke up, they were on my bed or in the doorway of my room, or in the living room or the back porch. I had already checked those places and come up empty, so now I knew I would have to show my 10 years of maturity with an extra level of patience.

Keep in mind, I have not mastered the whole patient thing to this day. But I did not want to explode and lose out on my gifts, so I gave Momma about 45 seconds to up the loot, but still got nothing.

Finally, I just had to ask, "Momma, where are my presents?" She bit her lip for a second, and left the room. For the 30 seconds it took her, my heart was beating so loudly, I could barely contain myself. I start hopping and spinning in circles, singing, dancing. I had a mini-party going on for awhile. Then she returned.

She came back into the room with a half-smile. She was holding this pitiful yellow bear that I had seen earlier in a bag of second-hand clothes we were given that she sat on the back porch to wash. She held her arms out and said, "Here you go. Happy birthday, Baby."

What? Happy Birthday? Huh? What just happened? Is this a joke or something? No way!

I felt like Momma had betrayed me.

"Where's my bike? Where are my shoes?!! Where are my presents?" I asked.

Really quietly.. really slowly, she said, "Momma just did not have it this time!"

Before I could even think, I had thrown the bear to the other side of the room, said something disrespectful, and stomped out of the room. The house was still quiet, noone but me and her were even up. My 5 siblings did not really care what day it was. I did not expect them to. It was her job to make me happy on my birthday.

I gathered up every ugly thing I could say to make her pay for ruining the most important day of my life. I walked back into her room to let her have it, but never got to say them. When I walked up, I saw the one thing that would force humanity onto a spoiled ten-year old. I saw my Momma cry.

No, she did not have tears falling right and left. My Momma was proud and strong. She had been through A LOT, but I had never seen my Momma cry. Up until that moment, I did not think she ever did.

She had one single tear caught in the corner of her right eye. But when she looked at me, she smiled. Her smile reminded me of a lot of what I'd seen in my 10 short years. I had seen that smile when I was 4 and my brother kicked me in the face (by mistake) so hard it split the side of my mouth open. I passed out when I saw the blood, but when I recovered, I remembered seeing my Momma's beautiful smile. I had seen that smile on many of the days when the little boys in my neighborhood teased me for having nappy hair, big lips, and skinny legs. Out of the lips that held that smile, I always heard, "They don't see it now, but you are beautiful. You are so beautiful, and even better, you are smart." I had seen that smile after waiting at the door for 12 hours one time waiting for a dead-beat Dad that never showed up for a promised visit. I would not eat or drink while I waited because I did not want to get anything on my pretty dress. I was too weak and disgusted to even get up and walk away from the door when I realized he wasn't coming. Momma smiled when she picked me up and carried me into the kitchen to sit me down to eat.

I took in that single tear and that beautiful smile, and in that moment I grew up. I learned that in life you are not always going to get what you want, but if you have someone in your corner that loves you. . that really loves you, that's a gift in itself. . one that you will never outgrow.

I thank God that I learned how to love and recognize love so early on. I thank God for Momma. I thank God for Mr. Bear.

Christmas brings back dear memories of Momma

I've erected a Christmas tree, added some lights, and even some colorful ornaments, but I cannot seem to get it like Momma's tree use to be.

We could never afford a large tree, but neither of us was much taller than 5 feet, so that was never a real problem.

She would add ornaments that she had collected over the years - ones we'd made, ones she bought, ones that were given - there were generations of people represented in that little tree.

That poor Goodwill tree that she bought for $4 after haggling the cashier down from $10. I can hear Momma now. "Isn't this a Goodwill. I don't have $10. That's my whole Christmas." I knew she had more, but the poor cashier fell for it and let a pretty decent tree go for really cheap. So, from the age of about 7 until I can remember, we loaded that little $4 tree down with glass, ceramic, paper, and every other ornament you could imagine. Then added on a layer of heavy lights.

It was beautiful!

So, what's my tree lacking? It's actually a very expensive tree with some pricey ornaments on it. Yeah, one of the string of lights is flashing - which I hate - but it's a pretty nice tree. Why is it not giving me the same satisfaction as the Goodwill tree.

Well, I can try adding more lights. I could go ahead and put a few wrapped gifts under the tree. I could even move it to an opposite end of the living room. But I know that it won't work.

What's missing is what use to be the reason I rushed to the living room on Christmas morning ,even though I often did not have any presents to open. Even my tree is missing Momma.

Boy, what I would give for her to be here. What I would give for one more chance to give Momma a gift. I would make it really fancy, too. Something that would be the proper thanks for all the sacrifices she made for me and my 5 siblings as she worked her ass off as a single mother.

I'd spend my last to send her on a cruise. I'd take out a loan to buy her something shiny. {She liked shiny things.} I'd stay up all night laughing at one of her funny stories. I'd cook her favorite food. With every sentence, I'd tell her all the reasons she was the best Mom in the world.

I'm spending a lot of time in the glow of Christmas lights missing Momma.

I'm not going to ruin Christmas for everyone by moping around. Momma would hate that.

Since I can't be with her this Christmas, I'm going to enjoy her grandbabies instead. I'm going to put our difference aside and invite my sister to share the holiday with my family. I'm going to tell each and every person that comes into my home how much I love them.

Momma passed away in November of 2007 of lung cancer. I know she's in a better place. She was a woman of God and is getting her just reward. She will never again will experience pain, loneliness, sadness or fear. But man oh man, I cannot get through a day, especially not during the holiday, without wishing she were here.

If I could have one thing for Christmas. . well, you get it.