The Swirl World

Celebrating and Elevating Black Women - mind, body, soul and spirit!


Sibling Revelry

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I had a pretty weighty post all set to go today, yet I decided to forgo it because of all the heaviness resulting from my Aunt Bert’s demise. (There’s plenty of time to be melancholy and morose; today is just not going to be that day).

Instead, I realized that yesterday’s post included a photo of my older brother and me at ages 3 1/2 and 2, respectively. My baby brother had either just been born or was about to come on the scene. 

Either way, no post about my siblings and me is complete without including a photo of the three of us:

Keith, Michelle, and Tony - Christmas morning, 19??

Keith, Michelle, and Tony – Christmas morning, 19??

I remember this photo; it was taken in Germany. We were happy and bursting at the seams because it was Christmas morning and we were about to open our presents.

I look at this photo, and thankfully, I’m still happy. My siblings are yet with me, and I recognize that I am profoundly blessed.

 

(Am I rocking that hair roller, or what???)

Join in the Fray: What childhood or sibling memory still makes you happy?

I’m blogging every day in the month of January in Blogher’s NaBloPoMo Challenge. Thanks for reading, and feel free to comment!

Copyright © 2013 Michelle Matthews Calloway, ASwirlGirl, All rights reserved.

 

The Last Sibling Standing

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My older brother Tony and me when we were three and two, respectively

My older brother Tony and me when we were 3 1/2 and 2, respectively

Last night we received some very unsettling news: My Dad’s sister, Alberta, had passed away.

There are very few times in my life that I can recall seeing my Dad visibly shaken. After all, this is a man who faced the horrors of the Korean and Vietnam Wars. Last night he told me that his Mother died while he was in Vietnam. He was able to come back to Louisiana for her funeral, see his wife and their three small children, his Father, and his other family members. His respite from the war was brief, because shortly thereafter he had to go right back and continue fighting in Vietnam. I marvel at the fact that after his Mother’s death, my Dad was able to go back in such a hell-filled environment and stay focused enough to survive.

Death and carnage were all around him, and when he returned he developed a pact with my Mother and the other adults in the family: Don’t ask, because I won’t tell.

I won’t go into those few times that I have seen my Dad’s composure take a serious hit. I’m pretty sure you can understand that because my Dad is so stoic and such a soldier, those occasions had to be extremely critical times in our family.

And yet, last night, Daddy was shaken. You see, with Aunt Bert’s demise, my Dad is now the Last Sibling Standing.

My paternal Grandmother and Grandfather; Mama Daisy and Papa, as we affectionately called them, were married fo 59 years. They were just a few months shy of their 60th wedding anniversary when Mama Daisy passed away; Papa lived 12 more years and remained a widower.

Mama Daisy gave birth to 14 children. She didn’t give birth to any twins, which means my Grandmother was pregnant and gave birth 14 times.

Fourteen. times.

This, my friends, is the reason why you will always hear me say that if I can be half the woman who my Grandmothers were, I will have truly accomplished something in my life.

My Grandmother was 52 when she had my Dad. He was her “change of life baby.” His nickname was “Nookie,” and he was very much-loved, adored, and spoiled by his eight older sisters and five older brothers, most of whom were married and had children by the time my Daddy rolled around.

 

I remember how, at my Dad’s family gatherings, my Grandmother and my aunts would laugh and tell stories about how cute my Dad was, and how they all thought he was so precious, they wouldn’t allow his feet to touch the ground! My Dad was literally always in one of their laps! My Dad was a “late walker” because of this. He had to learn to walk when Papa finally put his foot down and dared anyone to pick Daddy up. Mama Daisy and my Aunts (and even my uncles) would howl with laughter when they described how my Dad would crawl from person to person, whining and begging for one of them to pick him up. My Aunt Della (the oldest sister) would always deliver the punch line:

“Nookie got so mad when we wouldn’t pick him up, till one day that boy just stood up and walked!”

I didn’t know all of my Dad’s siblings; a few of them died before I was born. I did get to know most of them, and I reminisce on how much joy and laughter was present at their gatherings. My Daddy’s family is loud, boisterous, and demonstrative in their affection for each other. (My Mother’s side is almost the polar opposite; quiet, conservative, and very restrained).  

My Dad was the baby of his family, and yet when Papa died Daddy became the family’s leader. He was the one selected to transact all the family business; the one all his siblings – and even his nieces and nephews – turned to when they had to make major decisions.

He was the one his brothers-and-sisters-in-law called when they had to make funeral arrangements for his siblings.

And now, he’s the last sibling standing.

I can’t begin to imagine what that must be like. My immediate family is small; I only have two brothers. Thankfully, even my Mother and Father are still living. My love for and need for them is as essential to me as the air I’m breathing. I absolutely cannot fathom living in a world one of them is no longer a part of. And yet, my Dad has had to do this 15 times – not only for his parents, but for each of his 13 siblings.

I’ve said it before; I understand the inevitable nature of “the circle of life.” I had two miscarriages during my marriage; the second time with twins during my second trimester. My husband died five years later. So, I’ve dealt with the reality of death; the sense of pain and separation that intrinsically accompanies it. Death is an inescapable reality that stretches forth its cold, grasping hands into our lives one way or the other. It leaves us no choices; we have to deal with it until, at last, its hands touch us.

I don’t know what the future holds; I don’t know which of my two brothers and I will be “the last sibling standing.” I can only borrow from my Dad’s example. I can hold he and my Mother close to me, and enjoy the gift of the present moments that we have together.

I can love out loud; boisterously and demonstratively, the way he and his sisters and brothers did, so whenever it comes time for one of us to be the last sibling standing, why, it really won’t matter.  

 Join in the Fray: In what ways can you “love out loud?”

I’m blogging every day in the month of January in Blogher‘s NaBloPoMo Challenge. Thanks for reading, and feel free to comment!

Copyright © 2013 Michelle Matthews Calloway, ASwirlGirl, All rights reserved.

We Live We Love

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Mrs. Gloria Dean Garner Jones

We live, we love, we forgive and never give up
Cuz the days we are given are gifts from above
And today we remember to live and to love

                                     ~From We Live by SuperChick

Approximately six or seven weeks ago I cruised down the freeway to an early morning meeting. For once, traffic flowed smoothly and the ride was stress free. Suddenly, from seemingly nowhere, a scene flashed through my mind, that of the funeral of a classmate’s Father, a popular coach and activist in our community. In that split second, I was transposed back in time. We were standing for the recessional. I could see my friend Judith, affectionately known as Cookie, and her family sobbing on the front row. That day, tears fell freely from my eyes, those of our other classmates, and of the countless adults in attendance.

Coach Jones’ funeral is stamped indelibly in my mind because it marks the first time I recall gaining an understanding of death: Its finality and the sense of utter separation it inflicts. My own family was (and for the most part, still is) blessed with longevity on both sides. Sure, we’d experienced the deaths of a couple of loved ones, but up until that point the losses had occurred via unexpected accidents, when we were away living in some foreign country or in another state. In hindsight, I know those deaths touched and hurt my parents, yet I realize they failed to affect my brothers and me in the same way.

We live, we love, we forgive and never give up
Cuz the days we are given are gifts from above
And today we remember to live and to love

 

On this day, the visual of my friend and her grieving family suddenly seared into my consciousness. I was startled, and taken aback. I felt the grief as fresh as I did the day of the funeral, and my eyes clouded with tears. I immediately began to pray for Cookie, her Mother, and her brothers and sisters. Thoughts of my friend and her family came periodically throughout the rest of the day, and I paused to pray for them each time.

Later that evening, my cousin Janelle called to tell me that Mrs. Jones had suffered a massive stroke, and her status was grave. Would I pass the news on to my Mother and other family members to join in prayer?  I managed to finish the call, and this time I could no longer hold back the tears. I thought of my own Mother and Father, still alive and doing well. I remembered the fear and despair I’d experienced just last year when both of them were hospitalized – my Dad on two separate occasions. I tried to put myself in Cookie’s place and imagine my Mother laying in a hospital bed fighting for her life – and I just couldn’t. The thought was much too painful; I couldn’t breathe.

But with life we never know when we’re coming up to the end of the road
So what do we do then
With tragedy around the bend?

I prayed for Mrs. Jones that night; we all did. We prayed, and continued to pray for Mrs. Jones and her six children; our friends and classmates. It seemed for a few hopeful days that Mrs. Jones was going to cheat death, yet eventually her body was unable to resist the onslaught that had come against her.

Mrs. Jones’ home-going celebration was held today at 1:00 p.m.

We live, we love, we forgive and never give up
Cuz the days we are given are gifts from above
And today we remember to live and to love

 The service was beautiful; filled with dignity and quiet joy. Heads nodded in assent at recounting of Mrs. Jones’ religious, professional, and civic service. She was a woman who was filled with grace and marked by a quiet, yet loving demeanor. To know her was to indeed love and respect her.

Laughter ensued as her grandchildren shared some of their memories and lessons learned. We prayed quietly for their strength, and then sat in awe as two of Mrs. Jones’ granddaughters sang “His Eye is on the Sparrow,” her favorite hymn, and as her firstborn son, Rev. C. Terrell Jones, brought a stirring oration and gospel message.

In Psalm 90:10, the patriarch Moses declared, The length of our days is seventy years–or eighty, if we have the strength; yet their span is but trouble and sorrow, for they quickly pass, and we fly away. We celebrated my Dad’s birthday on the 21st; he has achieved the “fore-score” years that Moses spoke of. With each passing day, I reflect on the fact that so many of my friends no longer have their parents with them. I feel like I am cheating, somehow. Yet, I understand more, and more, and more, just how very blessed I am.

In that same Psalm 90, verse 12, Moses prays, Teach us to number our days aright, that we may gain a heart of wisdom. I pray this ancient prayer, and thank God for His divine providence, and His gift of life. I’m doing my best to make the most of it – how about you?

But what would it take for the clouds to break
For us to realize each day
Is a gift somehow, someway
And get our heads up out of this darkness
And spark this new mindset and start on with life cuz it ain’t gone yet

 

Join in the Fray: What are you doing to “number your days aright?”

Copyright © 2012 Michelle Matthews Calloway, ASwirlGirl™, All rights reserved.

I’m blogging every day in the month of November as a participant in NaBloPoMo. Thanks for reading and feel free to comment!

 

Just An Old Fashioned Love Story

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It was August 1956, and an Army soldier who had recently fought in Korea now faced deployment to a war in Vietnam. His best friend Charles (more commonly known as “Bully”), a guy he’d known since infancy, had been married for a couple of years to a very pretty girl that he was obviously crazy about.

Bully had told him that his wife Marie had a younger sister who was just as pretty – and single.

In the meantime, Marie had been telling her sister Helen about Bully’s best friend  Columbus (more commonly known as “Nookie”). 

“You need to meet him!” Marie gushed. “He’s nice looking, he’s in the Army, and Bully thinks y’all would really hit it off.”

“What grown man has a nickname like ‘Nookie’?” Helen scoffed. “And I don’t know if I want somebody in the Army. I want whoever I’m with to be here, with me.”

Helen was more than a little skeptical, even put off – yet she was intrigued. She agreed to meet this “Nookie.”

Plans were quickly set. They would all go out for a late dinner that Friday night after attending the wake of one of Bully and Nookie’s classmates.

Later that night, Helen pondered an incident that had taken place a few months before. She’d been on her way to work, and her Mother stopped her.

“I had a dream about you last night, Girl,” her Mother said. “I saw your husband.”

Helen literally had trembled. Her Mother was a God-fearing, church-going woman and very spiritual. Mother Zora was known for having dreams and a keen insight into people’s character and motives. When she had a dream about something, all you had to do was wait for it to happen, because whatever she dreamed was certainly coming true.

“The dream actually wasn’t so much about you as it was about the man you’re going to marry. He’s on the short side . . . dark, and extremely intelligent. He wears very nice clothes, and . . . . . “

Helen listened with rapt attention as her Mother described the man she saw in her dream. Mother Zora described the man’s physical and intellectual characteristics, and then moved to the most important part: His character.

“He’s straight as an arrow, this man. He’ll be a good provider, and you won’t have to worry about him at all. He’s gonna want your children to do well in school; want them to be somebody in life. Family comes first with him. He does right by his Mother, and he’s going to do right by you.”

Helen had met a gentleman since that fateful morning, a tall, extremely handsome guy named Ralph who was being very persistent in his pursuit of her. For some reason, she was never completely at ease in his presence, and Ralph’s pushiness bothered her instead of drawing her. It also didn’t help that he didn’t meet her Mother’s physical description at all, and he wasn’t close to his family.

Helen sighed. Marie had tried to tell her what Nookie looked like based on Bully’s description, but she still couldn’t get a good grasp of him from Marie’s words. She’d just have to go to the wake and see this guy Nookie for herself.

Marie and Bully were already at the wake, seated at the front of the church when Helen arrived. Her heart pounding, Helen made her way over to them. She spoke to Bully, then sat next to Marie on the pew.

“Well, where is he?” Helen asked.

“He’s running a little late; he had to stop by his Mother’s before coming here,” Marie whispered.

HMPF! Helen thought. This Nookie person was already starting off on the wrong foot.

They sat for over an hour, until the end of the viewing period. Still no Nookie. Bully had periodically turned in his seat to scan the room for his friend. Helen refused to turn around;  she was not desperate! Even so, she had to admit to herself that she was a bit disappointed that Nookie hadn’t shown up. Whether she met him or not, the good thing was that she’d made up her mind to tell Ralph that she wasn’t interested. She’d tried to give him a chance, but her uneasiness around him and annoyance with him were two huge red flags she knew she couldn’t ignore. Helen felt a weight lift off her mind. Just the thought of telling Ralph to move on greatly improved her mood. 

Bully, Marie, and Helen stood for the benediction, then turned to leave. Looking toward the rear of the church, Helen’s eyes locked with that of an expensively dressed man – a man who perfectly embodied the description of the man described in her Mother’s dream.

In that moment, it seemed that they were the only two people in the room. In that moment, she felt no reservations about his person or his character. She had no sense of uneasiness; instead, it was as if she had known him all her life. She had never met him, yet knew deep in her heart that her destiny was tied to his. Whoever he was, she loved him on sight. She felt in her heart that he was “The One.”

“There he is!” Bully exclaimed. “Hey Nookie – over here!” 

Nookie barely heard Bully, because his eyes were still locked on Helen, who would find out later that when their eyes locked, Nookie had experienced the same thoughts and emotions about her that she’d had for him – he believed she was “The One.”

Three months later, Helen and Nookie  married in a modest ceremony at Mother Zora’s home. The date: November 15, 1956.

Happy Anniversary, Mom and Dad!

Join in the Fray: Do you believe in love at first sight? Why or why not?

Copyright © 2012 Michelle Matthews Calloway, ASwirlGirl™, All rights reserved.

I’m blogging every day in the month of November as a participant in NaBloPoMo. Thanks for reading and feel free to comment!

 

 

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