Read Online Chicken Soup for the African American Woman's Soul by Jack Canfield - Free Book Online

Mama never had the opportunity to get a college degree, and she couldn’t have been more proud of me for following my dreams. It’s not surprising that her gentle, nurturing spirit and compassion for others helped inspire me to pursue a career in nursing. While sitting by the bedside of a frightened or lonely patient, I sometimes hear Mama’s soothing words coming out of my mouth. Her ever-present influence on me always makes me smile.
    There are lots of mother-in-law jokes, but my husband felt blessed the moment he met my mom. The two quickly formed a mutual admiration society that warmed my heart. Like the rest of the family, my husband was devastated when Mama was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.
    With my medical knowledge, I was keenly aware of the seriousness of her condition. Fortunately, though, Mama was still relatively young and in pretty good health otherwise. Plus, she had always been a resilient person, physically and emotionally, so we had no doubts that she would beat this challenge, too. Stoic as ever, Mama never asked, “Why me?” But that was just her character. She rarely talked about the difficulties she endured growing up as an African American female before Dr. King and others began the civil rights movement, but I knew that her very birth and early life had been far from easy. Mama didn’t dwell on the past or complain about the torment she was going through in the present. She took care of business, did what the doctors told her to do, made the best of every day, and eventually returned to work. Through it all, we never stopped praying. After that horrible scare had passed, life was finally good again.
    Shortly thereafter I received some fabulous news that I couldn’t wait to share. “Mama!” I gushed excitedly the second I saw her, “We’re going to have a baby!” Well, that announcement was better medicine than any radiation or chemotherapy in the world. Even though she already had several other grandchildren by then, Mama’s love always multiplied with each new birth. What lucky little kids to have her as a grandmother , I thought. I thanked God for creating this amazing woman because I couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to experience the miracle of new life without her around. I couldn’t even imagine what motherhood would be like without her close by as my role model, my inspiration, my guide. All during my pregnancy, I told my baby how much he would love her and how much she would love him in return.
    I suspect that people thought I was crazy when I called out for Mama in the delivery room. “Rashad,” I later whispered to my newborn son, “you’re such a lucky little boy.” Since that day, I’ve had two more wonderful children, Brandon and Eze. They, too, have grown to know and love the remarkable person who brought me into the world and taught me how to be the best African American woman I can be.
    I’m happy to say that I’m still as close to my mom as ever. In some ways, she’s my best friend. I still talk with her endlessly about raising my kids, maintaining a happy marriage, coping with stressors at work, dealing with
    Dad’s worsening health. She listens patiently to every boring detail about my household chores and incessant errands. I seek her advice about my smallest fears and biggest dreams.
    â€œMama,” I gently confronted her one day, “I sure wish you had told all of us sooner that your cancer had metastasized. Did you think that we couldn’t handle it? Were you trying to protect us? Don’t you know that you taught us to be strong, to focus on the positive, to be grateful for all things, to trust in God’s divine plan?”
    I close my eyes and wait for a response, but get none.
    She is sleeping, Anesia, I tell myself, then say aloud, so she’ll hear me, “I’ve gotta get home to cook dinner now—and I’m making your special pound