My earliest recollection of my mother was of her sitting at a sewing machine with a measuring tape hanging around her neck or needles stuck in the bosom of her clothes, yes! As I grew I observed with fascination, the ability my mother had to transform a square piece of fabric into a beautiful dress. Such was the one she whipped up for me in less than an hour, so I could accompany Ms. Mable to the opening ceremony of the new general hospital in my town. I must have been 10 years old. There I was perched on the hillside surrounding the new hospital, with thousands of town folks in my “Muu Muu” (Shift) or so we called that straight fitting mini dress with the four darts, at that period of fashion history. All I did was run down town to collect those covered buttons and buckles from Mrs. Benjamin’s shop and voila!, upon my return mother had completed my new outfit.
Mother was the epitome of industry. The term “stay at home mom” is brandished about like a golden trophy these days. Well mother was a “stay at home mom” just like the mother of many of my peers. But as they made their homes and cared for their children, they spawned numerous entrepreneurial ventures. They contributed financially to their families’ income. My stay at home mother managed a dress making business that ‘turned out’ brides and beauty pageant contestants. Her skill extended to mini interior design projects like drapes and upholstery. Terms like buckram, bias, box and dice and seersucker were a part of my vocabulary.

My world turned upside down when mother switched gears and moved to the USVI to work for a couple years. Those were some of the saddest days of my childhood. We were left in the care of Momma (grandmother) and my father, but for me, that was no substitute. I was in high school then, and shuddered each time my best friend brought her mommy stories to school. I silently died listening to her stories, cause there was no mommy waiting for me at home at the end of my school day. Thank God, after two years, mother was a back to see me through high school and my early work life.
Then it was time for me to leave and go overseas to college.
Me “I’m not gonna have any mommy to soothe my scrapes and bruises.” – a euphemism for other issues. (ha!)
She: “I’m going to lose my right hand, what am I going to do with you gone?” I was my mothers’ admin assistant, co-budgeter, babysitter, errand girl and assistant business manager.

As I flew away from home, I remember mother proudly introducing me to Pastor Allen Turner who we met at the RLB Airport. He gave me his mother’s contact information in Boston, hoping it would help me create a sound network quickly. Mommy would never know that this simple act was setting me up to be introduced to another family who would literally ‘adopt’ me during my years in Boston. But that’s a story for another day. No, mommy would never hear my college-life stories. That image at the airport is etched in my memory, but little did I know it would be the last image of her standing beautiful and vibrantly healthy.

I knew my world was ending that day I got the news of her injury. Mother was in hospital for four days already, before I knew, and she did not want to worry me and my older siblings, in the States. Back in St. Kitts, we did not have a phone in the house, no cell phone powered by FLOW (local telephone company) no Facebook, no WhatsApp, no nothing. But certainly, there was the Cable and Wireless Telegram. I received a birthday card with a monetary gift from her for my 20th, with a note from Mommy telling us of her injury and consoling us that she would be all right. This she dictated to one of my sisters from her hospital bed and sent by international mail. My last precious piece of communication.
A few days later the story changed. “Not now, not now”, I sobbed in my room, “not now mommy, please don’t go; I have so much to tell you still. I need to hear so much from you still. Please hold on.” My older sister and I hurriedly arranged our international flight back to St. Kitts. Our fear-filled journey was eased by the company of Esther Rolle, from Good Times who was travelling from New York to Antigua. We enjoyed an hour chat while waiting for connecting flights. The next time I saw my mother, she was lying and groaning in a semi-conscious state at Joseph N France Hospital. I remember they had to put me in one of the hospital beds because I passed out from the emotional stress. In less than 12 hours after reaching her side, mother was gone! I had just turned 20. I had been gone from home for less than 8 months. Within that short time I had lost my grandmother too. But certainly, I was too young to be motherless.

Over a year ago as Christmas  approached, I had this overwhelming need for my mother. The recent death of one of my brothers just conjured up such inexplicable nostalgia. It was a dull teary ache that I could not shake. So many poignant memoires flooded my mind. Then I remembered her best friend Ruth. Ah, Ruth was just two hours away from me in New York. I called Ruth’s daughter, a dear childhood friend, to ask her if I could borrow her mother for a day. Ruth graciously agreed to be a surrogate mom to me. I took the day off, rode the bus to New York and spent some hours with my mother’s best friend; just chatting and reflecting. If Ruth could only perceive what that visit did for me; somehow, I think she does know. She filled the mommy prescription that just soothed my dull ache.
As you reflect this Mother’s Day, think of the gift that you have in mothers of all categories: birth, adopted, surrogate, substitute, whatever. Think of what they have passed on to you that push you to keep being your best. Today I honor the entrepreneurial spirit of my mother, my aunts my female neighbors, that helps  me to be courageous on my entrepreneurial journey. So whether  you’ve had your mother for twenty or forty years, I hope that as we celebrate Mother’s Day you willl find some inspiration in those reflections that helps you to push through to be successful at whatever you choose to pursue.

Happy Mother’s Day!