Mortality

Less than two weeks ago, my wife was given the news that her father died in the Dominican Republic. She is still grieving. Albeit not as solemnly as in the beginning, but I know it’s a pain that will never dim, and will forever be a moment of sadness and perhaps even tears.

Today, I was given the news that my mother was admitted to Jacobi Hospital. She fell out of bed and fractured her vertebrae. She’s moving her extremities and after speaking to her doctors I am confident she will recover.

My mother ‘s name is Juanita Turner, she was born January 3, 1947 to Christine and Arthur Early in Miami, Florida. She is the mother of two sons, a widow, the oldest of nine siblings, a former New York State worker, an alcoholic, and HIV Positive.

My father died when I was year old. He was struck by a D-train on 167th Street in the Bronx in February of 1974. Since that time, my mother has not known a day with struggle. Since that time, my mother has not known a day of rest. Every man she linked herself to since the death of my father has systematically done his part to destroy her. Men have beaten my mother’s eyes shut and have tried to hold her captive in Soundview projects. Men have stolen 1st of the Month Christmas for her Kids money from my mother. Men have raped my mother both emotionally and physically. Men have paid my mother, and fed her children for sex. When I was nine, I watched my mother for 8 hours straight go back and forth into a room with random men and at the end take me for ice-cream and French fries.

Over the years people have tried to convince me that somehow my mother deserves this fate. No one deserves such a fate. In fact the only source of bitterness in my heart is that my mother has had to suffer for so long. No one loved to see people happy more than my mother. Juanita Turner wanted more for you than perhaps you even wanted for yourself. Juanita Turner will give you her last on a bad day. She has a wit that is sharp and cutting. She is politically saavy and has had an opinion on just about every issue. You know when they say, such and such “knows the issues” JUANITA TURNER KNOWS THE ISSUES! Just recently she told me I was crazy for supporting Obama, because “He has no realistic shot of getting elected”. Hilarious.

My mother is required to take a regimen of toxic pills, and to live a life not much different from a cripple. I wish somebody would say that shit again to my face. She deserves it?!? I wish someone would minimize my mother’s presence and importance in my life. Lord help that person. This woman found time to teach me all the values I have today. Even in the throes of alcoholism, where I watched her go through the “DDT’s” from alcohol withdrawl, she found time to read with me, show me what real love is, and keep my little ass safe. She could have given me away at any time. Surely, it was a hard enough taking care of herself, let alone two bad ass boys. She was single woman dealing with the death of her beloved husband, who was her, everything. Instead, she dared to take care of me. They had to take me away, because there was no way she was giving up on being my mother. Eventually, I ran away though, it’s a source of guilt that haunts me to this day. I remember the day I ran away and was picked up by the cops...I immediately wanted to say...take me home. But I was too scared. Eventually I ended up in a foster home for the better. My recent move though was not guilt filled, just very difficult. I wondered whether I was running away from her again? Leaving my mother to come South was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever had to make in my life. She made it easier by giving her blessing and telling me to go and be happy. I will always love her for that and so much more.

My mother needs to know that I am so proud of her. I am so proud that she gave me life, and that I am able to call her “ma”. I need my mother to know, that, I know how hard she worked for my brother and I. That she should be proud of herself. Her sons have grown up with a healthy respect and appreciation for her. When people called her a drunk, my brother and I whooped their ass. When people asked if I had eaten, even if I hadn’t I’d say, “Yup, Hamburgers!” She used to tell me that when I was little whenever I got scared I picked up a pencil and start drawing. I’m scared right now and that’s why I’m writing all of this. I need my mother to be okay. I really, really do. I’m not sure how I’m going to respond to the inevitable. However, right now, fuck the inveitable. I need her to be okay. I knew something was wrong this morning when I called and there was no answer. She's always home, trying to do something good for somebody. Or just enjoying this time of year. This is her favorite time of year. Mine too. I can’t wait to see her at the end of the month.