SHOULD DEATH BE NOT PROUD???
Did you know that the Bible states, the day of your death is more important or better than the day of your birth? You can read this in the book of Ecclesiastes: Chapter seven, verse one. It’s at this point that God assesses how you’ve lived and used the precious gift that he bestowed upon you. It’s when your life account has its final audit. Your deeds be they good, or bad, righteous, or unrighteous, inform whether or not your name will be written in the book of remembrance. How are your ledgers being kept? Are they so tattered, and unkempt that even H&R Block couldn't decipher them? Since I discovered this particular scripture, I have often wondered why people put so much emphasis on celebrating birthdays, never taking into account that the opportunity to have more years of life means that God is giving you multiple chances to show that you appreciate this awesome gift.
These thoughts have led me to remember my dear mom. (Madea)
Growing up I always thought that she was overly strict, inflexible, and very demanding. That strictness saved me from many bouts of unnecessary heartache, and it was most definitely instrumental in my becoming the person that I have come to be.
She possessed a quiet strength, standing a mere five feet tall with a petite frame, her stature was not in any way equitable to the giant heart that she had, or the intestinal fortitude that she showed the world every day. She was kind, tenderly compassionate, with the most forgiving spirit that I have ever seen in a person. However, you probably wouldn't have wanted to be caught on her bad side. She could spit fire when provoked, and in spite of her size she feared no one. Madea was a child of the depression era, so she knew hard times, struggle was a major part of life for her growing up. Growing up in the Jim crow south was no picnic either. She had little formal education, but don't think for one moment that she didn't know how to count her money. My Madea assured that her children were properly schooled so that they could live a better life than the one that was afforded to her. During my early adulthood I realized how much her influence was crucial to my being a decent human being.
My Madea, my Madre, my mom passed away in the fall of 2011, at the young age of eighty-five. Before she passed, I wanted her to experience some of the things that she never had the opportunity to be a part of before. She walked on the beach and marveled at the Atlantic Ocean in Clearwater Florida in 2003. She had her first airplane ride in 2005, and she was alive to see the first Black president elected in 2008.
My Madea although having lived a hard life with many hills to climb, and many rivers to cross was full of hope. I have and will always miss her library of idioms, euphemisms, and sayings of wisdom. My favorite has always been, “every dog has his day.” As a child I would sit at her feet and ask why we didn't have this, or that, why we couldn't do this, or that, and she would always say; “every dog has his day.” I realize now the true meaning of those words today.
I miss terribly how she would sometimes speak in third person. I would ask, how have you been, and she would reply, with a soft giggle, “she been alright.”
The day of her burial was glorious! The sun illuminated the sky with the most amazing hues of blue. It was a brilliantly clear day, and the air was crisp and clean, a perfect Fall kaleidoscope! The trees showed their splendor with leaves of crimson and gold blowing in the soft breeze.
Most people dress their female loved ones in flowy chiffon garments, and pretty pastels. When we were growing up and wanted to use the home phone she would say, “my phone is a business phone.” Well, in keeping with her style and spirit my Madea was dressed in a grey pinstriped suit to pay homage to the “boss” that she truly was!
People often say that you should live your life so as to have no regrets. I find this concept difficult to reconcile with. It seems to me that in order to do that you would never take any chances or pursue a leap of faith; that idea feels tragic to me.
My biggest regret concerning my Madea now is that I didn't ask enough questions or, explore more deeply into who she really had been in the past. I found out after her passing that she had so many other life experiences that I had no knowledge of; a veritable treasure trove of information that I was never privy to because I never asked. I will add this to my “things to do list” when we are reunited in the future.
Everything was so perfectly arranged on her burial day, as if God were saying; “Welcome into my rest my beautiful daughter; Well Done!” That day was truly a proud day for me, because I know she lived her life well, with the utmost of dignity, and integrity. I could feel the presence of God welcoming his dear daughter into his rest. I can hardly wait to see her at the resurrection of all souls, my magnificent Madea, when the hole in my heart will be filled with the sight of her once again.
We must all prepare ourselves for the journey that my Madea took that day. So, to that end I believe what we really should be focusing on is not the counting of the number of years that we get to celebrate, or live through, but our ability to make those years count.
I can only hope that just as on the day she was welcomed into God’s presence, and the last enemy death approaches my door that I too will be greeted with the words; well done my daughter, Well Done!
