The Long Wave Goodbye...
9.21.2014
(Note: This is a diary from an emotionally-tragic time in my life. As such, I feel a great deal of creative license and I reveal a lot about myself. My hope is that nobody feels offended, disparaged or taken aback by my frank talk. To reveal myself in this way, is an exercise of love to my community.)
 |
| On my first visits, I just sat there and held her hand. Sometimes, crying.I think she liked me not talking and just being there. |
Spoiler alert: she died after a long illness.
I remember the day I began feeling that something was really wrong with my mother. I have a terrible memory, but I believe it was in September of 2009.
We were in France, as part of a fantastic Mediterranean cruise she had set up for her immediate family to enjoy; her, myself and my little brother, Jonathan. I forget which stop it was on the cruise. Perhaps Marseilles. Mom and I decided to escape my brother on an excursion to see the city.
At the time, there was a labor protest in action. She knew me well enough to know that I was interested. So we followed the crowds like gawking spectators. That’s when "it" happened. She and I were tracking the protest and we saw that we had go under a gate to follow it. We both approached the gate. I went under and kept going. I thought she was right behind me.
 |
| I think I was 6 for this picture, Taken in Atlanta. The "ugly" duckling with cracked teeth from bike accidents. :-). |
This was the first time I remember my mom needing my help; she was only 55 or so, at the time. I thought she was just being a drama queen. Maybe I should have been more intuitive? But what could I have done if I had known the extent of her illness?
Sure, I remember the brain surgeries every other year. But she claimed it was a successful removal of a benign tumor or a stent. She never admitted to me it was an aggressive form of brain Cancer. Not once. Not even up until the end. And she was very convincing. I had no reason to doubt her.
Maybe it was secret cause she wanted to spare me.
Situations where she asked for my help like that did not arise much. She was stubborn as hell. Like me. Her illness was simply not noticeable. Yes, she slowed her life down, gradually. I noticed, overtime, that she s had no interest in money or working anymore. But then again, I know a lot of people like that who are not terminal.
Then it got worse. She started giving her money away to various charities and churches, which annoyed me to no end. I tried to stop her, but as far as she was concerned her money was none of my business. At all.
See, I thought she would need her money in retirement. I was oblivious to the truth. She was already living for now, or better said, then.
 |
| I was born with so much hair, that the doctors originally thought I was a girl. This is a pic of my mom's greatest legacy. Oh! also my brother too. |
Still, my mom never mentioned Cancer. Not even in a "charitable" sense.
In fact, every time an operation came around, she seemed to be the most upbeat about the outcomes. And nobody else around her seemed worried. I didn't know then, but her aim, was to keep it all away from her children.
I appreciate it and wonder why she never trusted me, at the same time. Did she think I was gonna argue for chemotherapy? Well, she knew her first born very well indeed, then. Why did she turn down treatment, anyway?
***************************
Mom was always a brilliant woman. She never had to try hard to learn. I inherited that, I think.
Having gotten into University of Penn, an Ivy league, while still in her teens (and with me born the year before she entered at 17), she was an overly-ambitious woman. I miss that about her. I will always remember the story of how she helped my dad graduate from college, as an example.
Dad was a college basketball player. Basketball was his dream. But somewhere along the line he had injured himself and lay in the hospital in a back brace for months. Mom took his classes and hers, so that he could still graduate on time. To this day, he remains very humble, and I respect that. At her funeral on July 19th, 2014 was the first time I ever heard my dad admit he was a success. He’s a physician now after many years of struggle, and he gives mom credit for getting him there.
 |
| The King of Spades to my Jack of Spades. Dr. Carson Wright. But I call him D-A-D. And a great man he is, today. |
After college, my mother moved around a lot for work. She had great jobs and traveled all around the nation early in her career as an analyst for the Fed. So we ended up moving everywhere that there was a branch of the Fed. Columbus, Ohio and Atlanta were the spots I was old enough to remember.
I remember also, how much she wanted to be committed to someone. Although my dad is the kindest person I know these days, mom had the desire to get away from him back then.
That was another reason we moved around, I think. But we kinda went from frying pans, into fires, a bit.
In particular, I remember a time I will never forget. We were living in Atlanta. Mom had married my brother’s dad, who sometimes could not control his temper. Things were going rough.
For one, he didn’t appreciate an instant stepson all that much; at least not at first. But I’ve never told anybody about the night we had to run. I'm telling it now, cause it's "one to grow on."
My stepfather was missing one night in the early 80’s. My mom was nervous about his whereabouts cause he liked using controversial substances a lot at the time. We had a beautiful condo to chill in, on a golf course where I used to play football with buddies. But she wanted to go out looking for him. She took me out to find him, with her.
 |
| This picture was taken by a newspaper in Philadelphia, who did a story on mom. We used it for the main obituary pic. |
When he came home there was hell to pay. I remember him pulling the nightgown over my mom’s head in a violent manner. I disobeyed my orders. And as I came out to see that, he looked me in the eye.
I ran.
This grown man chased me out of the house and up the walkway. I ran to a neighbors house and they opened the door. He never knocked. I stayed there all night with the neighbor's kids as they comforted me. I often wonder about them now.
I’ll never forget that night. For the record, I totally forgive James for that evening, even though he’s dead now. I now understand how complex life can be for a Black man in his position, cause I’m older and life is complex for me now too.
Early in the morning, while it was still dark outside, she picked me up from the neighbor's house and put me in the mustang. There was luggage in it. We drove. Back to New York and grandma’s house. During the drive there was the worst rainstorm I can remember. I asked her, “mom, why are you crying?” I don’t remember getting an answer. But, during the trip she asked me my opinion on politics for the first time. I blurted out, "I know you can't wait to vote for Jesse Jackson!"
She pulled the car over on the highway.
"Why do you want me to vote for Jackson?" She asked.
"Because he's Black." I was trying to impress her.
"If I vote for Jesse because he's Black, and we all vote for our race, what do you expect White people to do?
I don't remember having a good answer for that.
Incidentally, the music that she played during that drive, is still the music I listen to today. It’s our music. Me and hers. Bruce Hornsby. Prince, Handel Royal Fireworks, Stacy Lattisaw, etc....
After she separated from James, she decided to go to Law School. I remember being excited about that. She even took me with her at first, to Missouri.
At the University of Missouri-Columbia, my mom was very well-received. By the faculty and students. Not necessarily by me.
 |
| Near the end of her career, Mom worked for some Philadelphia rappers. This pic is of her in front of Beanie Sigels's car at Charlie Mack's Celebrity Weekend in 2009. The biggest name she worked for is a fella named Meek Mill, who she got out of jail so he could work. |
She was attending law school full time, working, living in a dorm with kids, and participating as a member of the AKA Sorority.
While she did all that, I got bored as a New York City Street kid in Missouri and promptly got put into Missouri juvenile detention by creating mischief. Sucked for her.
Still, She was a fighter. All the way. And anyone could find themselves opposite her in a ring, if she felt someone crossed her. Me too.
She graduated from Mizzou and immediately became a prosecutor in Philadelphia. Great thing for a young scofflaw like me to brag about to cops I interacted with in the streets. Her name got me out of a lot of trouble at the time.
***************************
I remember the day she told me she was gonna run for judge of the Philadelphia Municipal Court. I didn’t take it too seriously, but I was excited to be from a lineage with balls enough to try. She lost. Then the second time, she won. That was a rare, and perfect, day. But I had no idea how her success would change my life.
I was having trouble in my marriage at the time and was a little bit "preoccupied." When she saw the problems I was having, mom wanted to take me out of it. She suggested that I should go to law school in her footsteps. I didn't know it, but she was trying to give me a distraction.
“Impossible!” I said. I couldn’t afford law school and was already behind in my loan payments from undergrad. I didn't know that she had already talked to her alma mater (Mizzou) about admitting me. To please her, I hastily threw together an application for Mizzou law (and some other schools), never really thinking I would get in.
After all, I’m a high school dropout with no GED. My LSAT scores were 6 years old at the time. Way too old to use for any law application and there was no way I could retest before school started. Furthermore, Many people have to try more than once to get into professional school.
 |
| Me, mom and Jonathan on the Mediterranean Cruise. At the time, we were in France, where I first noticed her illness. She spared no expense. I should have known something was up. |
So I was surprised when one day, a few months later, I got a call. It was the Admissions Dean of the Law school calling. August 19th 2002. A Monday. She said, “Hey Jamal. Can you get here in a week?”
“Does that mean I got in?”
“Well yes, but school starts in a week. Can you be here by then?“
I could not believe it. I was excited, But I had no idea how I would get there. That’s when I heard a knock at my door.
It was my uncle Mark, now deceased but at the time, always a little bit aloof. He never appreciated my close ties to the city streets. I'm glad for that.
“I have a ticket here for you to fly to Baltimore in 3 hours. From there, you go to Missouri. We have to leave now,” he said. “I’m driving you.” I was reluctant.
“what about all this stuff in my apartment?”
“You mom knows about it, and is working on a ticket for you to come back and take care of it on Labor Day. Until then, I’ll check on it for you regularly. Pack a bag and let’s go.”
I went to Columbia, Missouri, and got to the law school, only to find a few days later that I was ineligible for loans. I just knew I was headed home. I called mom with the bad news.
 |
| France again. My favorite adult pic with my mom. Circa 2009. |
Whenever I felt misplaced as a City kid in Mid-Missouri, she told me that was because I was an "enigma." I didn’t know what she meant then. But I know now.
When I graduated, much to my own surprise, she was allowed to "hood" me due to my legacy status. The hooding ceremony is symbolic in law school graduations, usually performed by noted professors, where a black scarf is placed around the graduate's neck. When mom hooded me, she whispered in my ear.
"Do better than I did," she said.
At the time it sounded ridiculous to me. I didn’t know what she meant. She was a judge. An elected official. How could I ever eclipse that?
I understand now. She expected me not to be afraid to be an agent of change. That takes balls. And she knew, all along, I had them.
**************************
My mom called me, out of the blue, early this year.
She wanted to have a family dinner. With all the young ones in the family. It seemed odd to me at the time. She went around with my brother as her driver and she was adamant about getting everybody there. She came from Philly to New York City and it had the feeling of a last supper. I guess it was, but she never told me that. Later that week she called about another operation. She didn’t seem as upbeat as usual. I was on an NYC bus, but I immediately blurted, “Do you have a will?” I felt bad about that at the time, because I didn’t actually think she was gonna die. But lawyers are taught that wills are important. It was reflex. Sadly, I must note that this was the last real communication we ever had.
So perhaps in late May 2014, in the evening, I get this call. Out of the
 |
| My grandma is still alive. All her kids were successful. I believe this photo was taken in Jamaica, but I have to check on the details and date. |
I had come to find out that not only was she terminal, but she had refused all treatment. She opted to die naturally.
After her last operation, she left instructions to go to a hospice. She did not consult me about it. She did not want to be rehabilitated. Her best friend had become her power of attorney. Karen, was trained as a nurse, and knew the whole system of medicine in Philly like the back of her hand. I had to make no difficult decisions. Mom made them all previous to me knowing. And when she entered the hospice, it was the first time I began to hear rumors that she was ready to die. Seeing her in hospice for the first time was my first moment of real grief.
I was informed of where she was. I went to the sixth floor of this beautiful hospital (thanks Karen). The 6th floor was the only “hospice” floor. For those who don’t know what I didn’t know then, hospice is a place where people make you as comfortable as possible, to die, probably within 6 months. They don’t encourage you to eat, or drink liquids. It’s perfectly fine for them if you stop eating completely. They will not feed you through a tube, even if to save your life. In fact, mom's nurses told me at one point that my mother’s lost appetite is a natural part of dying at one point. But I digress.
 |
| My mother's second inaugeration in 2008. She was sworn in with Mayor Michael Nutter. This Picture has my brother and my son in it. Jhalil is her only living grandchild at this time. |
I went into the room crying. Why were they doing that? Was she on her way out? They apologized to me, but they didn’t owe me that. I thanked them.
What a shock. She was only 60 years old. I was told I can come whenever I want, and stay the night. I remembered an old moment from the movie patch adams and asked the nurse if I could take her outside for fresh air. “Absolutely not until she stabilizes.”
Who stabilizes in a hospice? Why did she choose to come here?
Mom could only speak, sometimes. The Cancer had attacked her speech center of her brain, they told me. They had to tamper with her ability to speak to try and save her life. That’s a terrible situation for a judge to be in. I could see it in her face that she hated not being able to enunciate her thoughts.
I loved her.
But could I expect my beloved mother to be confined to a bedroom, sometimes suffering from convulsions just so I could say she’s still living? Sometimes I would visit and her arms would be stiff, clenched against her chest. I would stretch them out. Nurses told me that was from brain damage. After a while, I began to let go. That's what she wanted. I told her tearfully, one day that I was sorry for every time I didn’t make her proud. And that I loved her. She summoned up all of her energy, and blurted out, “I know. I love you too!” I know now, that the statement went through the emotional part of her brain, which is why she was able to say it. From then on, the visits featured only me talking.
I got the final call on July 10, half an hour after she passed, and my first feeling was relief that her
 |
| Mom was a brilliant lady as a teen. She entered Universityof Pennsylvania at 17, after she had birthed me.Later she would attend Mizzou law school and Oxford. All from The Lexington Projects in NYC. Where she even needed food stamps at one time. |
This was my experience. Perhaps you may grow from it, but even if you don’t, tell your mom you love her for me. It’s important.
I feel privileged to learn important lessons from both my parents. But the most important lesson from my mother's life is, Don't forget to live for now.
Sure we need retirement money. And what if it rains tomorrow? But if you forget NOW, you aren't really living. Or rather, you're living in preparation. Preparation has it's place. And it's important, as my dad would say. But It's still second to remembering that today is your day, as well, to enjoy.
Don't miss it. Please, don't prepare so much for tomorrow, that you miss the beauty of today.
The Obituary.
What I said at her funeral.
