Chapter 10
TEN
LYNETTE
“Hey, middle girl, hey! Care to take my daily walk with me?”
I looked from my next day’s lesson plan to find a beautiful, mature woman with sass and class peeking her head in my open doorway.
“Mama, what’re you doing here?” I sat back, surprised but pleased, as she sashayed into my classroom at the end of my workday.
“The front office didn’t call to tell me you were on campus. ”
“That’s because I have privileges. Plus, those front office folks were too busy eating my fresh-from-the-oven carrot zucchini bread to follow protocol.”
“You mean bribes not bread.”
Mama laughed and kissed my head. “A wise woman knows how to work her wiles, even when they’re fresh-baked.”
I worked my wiles last night for the first time in forever.
Mama was not “one of my little friends” with whom to confide that Paul and I had been intimate. I hadn’t even divulged it to Nichelle during lunch break.
That didn’t keep Bestie from staring me down, talking about how I looked different as if a flashing neon sign advertised the interruption of my situational celibacy. I credited the new Fenty lip gloss I’d splurged on before redirecting the conversation and keeping it moving.
“Did you get to see Paul again before he left?”
I would’ve choked had I been drinking. First Nichelle. Now Mama. Deep in my business.
I did more than see him. I kissed him. Licked him. Made hot sweet love that left me shuddering. I trusted my mother, but discussing busy-ness between my sheets was not shareable tea. “We had Fisher’s. Pecan praline. Not that I’m not glad to see you, but why’re you here?”
“Bert and Ross are back and I was in a baking mood so I made bread.” My aunt and uncle’s return from Houston meant the changing of Granny’s guards, and a reprieve from elder care for Mama.
“I know not to keep baked goods in the house when it’s only me.
So, here I am ‘cause there’s always somebody at your greedy little school ready to eat.
” She handed me a small bag from which mouth-watering aromas escaped. “Speaking of greedy, where’s Nichelle?”
I laughed and informed Mama my bestie left already while unwrapping and pinching off a delectable corner piece of warm carrot zucchini bread. I popped it into my mouth and tasted heaven on earth. “Lawddd… I feel my hips spreading.”
“Blame them there Terracina hip genes, not my bread. Come.” She grabbed my arm and pulled me from my chair. “I know you’re wrapping up your day but take a quick break. Let’s walk a bit. And stop licking your fingers like you were raised by Minions.”
I chuckled as she took the bag and placed it on my desk. “Lemme text J.’s resource teacher so they know where I am.”
My son’s afterschool special resource class met twice weekly.
I didn’t mind being on campus an extra forty-five minutes those days.
It allowed me to work uninterrupted while Justus benefited from skill-building exercises and activities.
I was grateful for our on-campus services, but they were limited in scope due to budget restrictions and paled in comparison to what Thrive Time offered.
I headed out the door with Mama, texting and intent on finding a way to make all Justus needed and deserved available to him.
Enjoyed EVERYthing!
I stuffed my phone in my pocket to minimize blushing at Paul’s incoming text as Mama and I walked the school track.
“So, Miss Ma’am… what’s really happening?” We’d gone halfway around the school track chit-chatting about this and that before I posed the question.
Mama was correct about not being a stranger to campus.
She picked Justus up from school if I stayed late for meetings, was that grandparent who brought treats to front office staff and attended school events regularly.
Her daily walks were typically at her neighborhood park.
In the morning. Something was off. I needed to know what that something was.
“I’m tired.” For an inherently positive, uplifting person like LaVeda Stanford, that two-word sentence was a virtual dissertation.
I stopped on that dusty track, instantly on high alert, remembering how my father mentioned being tired one day only to be deceased the next.
“What’s wrong? Have you made a doctor’s appointment?
” Shame on me for falling under the illusory spell of her current health and fitness.
She was so beautiful and vibrant—even after suffering a stroke—that I sometimes forgot Mama wasn’t indestructible, was aging—albeit gracefully—and still took high blood pressure medicine. “Do I need to get you to urgent care?”
“The way your eyes are bugging out I may need to take you instead.”
“Mama, stop downplaying—”
“I’m fine, Lynette. Medically.” She inhaled deeply. “It’s grief… Mama’s condition…”
Granny!
I resumed walking alongside her, wanting to apologize for my insensitivity, for seeing yet not fully comprehending the extent to which Granny’s disease weighed on Mama mentally. Emotionally. Physically.
After Granddad died, when Mama and Aunt Bert announced their plan to co-care for Granny the family had been ecstatic to have retired medical professionals equipped for the task.
My siblings and I voiced concerns about Mama doing so after her own health scare, but she and her physician had assured us of her healthy state.
That silenced concerns. Garnered our support.
Granny’s daughters would be with her in the trenches, preventing her possibly being shuttled to some dank, dark, understaffed facility where neglect killed residents faster than health issues.
Granny would be safe at home in her daughters’ loving care.
Between Mama, Aunt Bert, and our extended family pitching in Terracina Braxton would want for nothing.
Noting the shadows of fatigue playing about my mother’s eyes, I decided we hadn’t counted the cost and were short-sighted.
Both caretakers—vibrant or not—were in their sixties.
Sixty might be the new forty, and Black might not crack, but that didn’t mean Granny’s day-to-day care didn’t exact a toll on them.
Perhaps we’d erred in supporting this new reality of two middle-aged daughters caring for an elderly parent with a neurological illness.
I felt as if our roles had reversed as I took my mother’s hand. “Are you overwhelmed?”
The mother–daughter bond we shared prior to my father’s passing strengthened even more when the five of us became four.
A widowed woman, fighting like a tigress to ensure Bria, Shay, and I had what we needed, Mama relaxed a typical guarded mother stance, fostering intimacy that steadily increased as her daughters became women.
Even so, Mama wasn’t one to burden her children and held her cards close to her chest, disinclined to put her issues on us.
That made her earlier two-word confession even more impactful and important.
“We promised Daddy before he passed that we’d take care of Mama and not let her wind up in a home somewhere. Every day I praise God my body allows me to uphold that vow…”
“I thank God for your recovery and strength as well,” I agreed when her words tapered off. “The fact that you can do what you do doesn’t mean it’s easy. The family appreciates you and Aunt Bert, but maybe we should reconsider—”
“I’m not sending my mother off.”
I gripped her hand when she tried to pull away. “That’s not what I’m suggesting. And don’t you always fuss at me about being too independent and that I need to accept help?”
“And do you?”
“We’re discussing you, Mama. Not me.” I sidestepped conviction. “All I’m saying is more may be needed. If not from us, from others. Like an in-home health aide to relieve you and Aunt Bert. Or adult daycare with social opportunities. And activities for cognitive abilities.”
Even as the words left my mouth I was struck by the similarity of need between Granny and Justus, but couldn’t dwell on it while in the middle of a mother crisis.
“We can contact reputable agencies or Granny’s insurance for referrals and interview prospects.
We can also make a family help schedule rather than relying on the random ‘when I can’ that we’ve been doing because clearly, it’s not enough.
And if insurance won’t cover additional help, we know how to pitch those dollars in and get it done. ”
I offered that knowing my budget was tight but also knowing I’d reevaluate and find places to cut back, if necessary, all for the love of Granny.
Mama responded in true mama fashion, as if intuiting the anxiety creeping about the edges of my conscience for allowing my elders to bear a burden I could’ve helped alleviate.
“Bert and I don’t judge you or your cousins for what you can or cannot do.
You have families. You work. Everyone’s ‘do as you can’ is much appreciated.
” She squeezed my hand before releasing it.
“Your Aunt Pauletta’s a few years from retirement, but baby sis plans on taking FMLA and coming back to Austin so she can help as well. ”
That provided a sense of relief. “Y’all don’t trust Uncle Mitchell and Uncle Thad and their big man hands?”
Mama’s shoulders relaxed as she laughed. “My brothers are loving but clumsy. They can save all that fumbling strength for the heavy lifts. You’re my blessing, baby girl. I appreciate your loving spirit.”
“I appreciate you, too.”
“Now… enough of old folks’ issues. What’s up with grad school? Any word yet?”
“No, ma’am… but let’s check.” We slowed as I pulled out my phone to access my email.
“Hey, Mom. Hi, Nana!”
I smiled at my son running across the field.
“Hey, Baby J!” When he reached us, Mama hugged her youngest grandchild and did their little hand slap-shake-dap routine. “How was your resource class?”
“I had to do quiet reading ‘cause Ms. Julia said me and Trevor were too loud at the computer and weren’t doing a good job listening.”
That truth meter of his worked even to my son’s own detriment.
I cocked an eyebrow at his confession. “Was that a proper way to behave in class?”