The Room

Today is my grandmother’s birthday. She would be 101 years old on this earth if she were still living. I took the day off today to somehow honor her memory. But to be perfectly honest, I spent most of the day curled up in bed, sleeping.

That was until I came into the room. The “room” is the guest room in my home that I furnished for guests…but we hardly have any these days. Especially during this COVID-19 pandemic. The room has, instead, become the room where I previously self-quarantined with coronavirus symptoms from my family and waited for my test results. During that week of waiting, this room became my bedroom, dining room, office and retreat from the world. But there was something additionally special about this room.

This was the bedroom that my grandmother, mother and mother-in-law all slept in when they visited and/or lived with us. Now that all three women have passed into eternity, this room holds a special place for me. While I quarantined in that room last month, I felt a sense of peace being there. I would almost venture to say that I felt God’s presence there with me…as well as the spirits of these “mothers”. I felt them holding me in a way that I would feel no where else.

With the recent death of my mother 9 months ago, I felt a particular maternal spirit in this room. While I worried and perseverated about whether or not my virus test would come back positive or not, I would remember my mom’s words to “stop worrying”. Or my grandmother’s words “Stacey, please don’t worry so much”. Or my mother-in-law’s hands holding mine sitting in our den. Just thinking about them now brings a lump in my throat and tears to my eyes. These women hold such a special place in my heart that can not, and will not, be filled by anyone else. These are my matriarchs. And in my world where mothers led their families, these women…these beautiful Black women of my heritage, fill this room.

Alabama to Harlem. Harlem to the Bronx. The Bronx to PA and Orange County, New York. From factory worker to postal worker. From bank teller to construction flag worker. From renter to homeowner. Unashamedly descendants of slaves. No man to lead, comfort, cover or provide. My grandmother and mother gave all of themselves to my brother and I…to extended family members…to neighbors and friends. Often, so often, used and manipulated. But to the untrained eye one would think they were just vulnerable women. Not so. They knew they were just a game to others, but their heart led their hand, and they would give anyway. One day the game would be over…for the others.

How I miss my grandmother, whose passing 15 years ago seems like yesterday. And my mother? There are no words to describe the pain and grief I still feel from her passing last August. Every breath she took, I breathed with her. And her last breath is probably the last real breath I took, as I watched her leave this earth. I feel her, I see her, I love her so. And yet, I feel her, see her, and experience her comfort…in this room.

My soul loves this room, because it is a room of tears, wonder and hope. Searching, longing, transparency and faith. I think better, clearer, and become my best sense of self, at least I think I do, in this room. It is the place where I am loved and accepted unconditionally. It is the place where dreams are born and nightmares cease. It is the place where I believe my God and the spirits of my ancestors visit me. Reminding me that I am not alone and that I am standing on the amazing, powerful shoulders of my mothers…and fathers. The great cloud of witnesses cheering me on in spite of myself.

In this room.

Happy Birthday, Grandma. And Happy Mother’s Day to you, Mommy and my dear Mom in Love. I love and miss you all so very much!