Read Online Journey to Empowerment by Maria D. Dowd - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Maria D. Dowd
Ads: Link
trouble in birth, too, and suffered irreparable brain damage, so she was never the true self her personality suggestedâa friendly, outgoing foil for motherâs nature would allow her to take care of the physical needs of her children with great skill while turning on us with a mighty tongue that could rip our self-esteem to shreds. We all felt it differently.
Newly widowed, my mother single-handedly brought her three children from the island to the Statesâone bewilderingly different, a heartbreakingly handsome and burdensome son, and a premature newborn. Back in Harlem, relatives provided shelter as she continued her journey to independence. A hard-won tenement apartment with rooms to let provided a way of making an extra buck for herself and her three children.
In our cold tenement apartment, my mother would listen to her baby girl crying and pleading to be let into her bed for comfort and solace; meanwhile, she needed that comfort and solace herself. Blessings from God and a diligent, watchful mother kept the apartment from catching fire from the oil stove we used for a little heat. Oh, the stress and broken sleep it must have caused.
My motherâs only son, and substitute husband, would provide the catalyst for escaping the tenement with the GI Bill heâd earned after a stint in the U.S. Army. Mother had saved her pennies to make the down payment on a two-family Cape Cod home. We had made it to the Middle Class.
Her journey lasted ninety years. A proud and strong woman to the end, she died from a hospital mistake that left her helpless against a medication that completely cut off her circulation. While her death was unfair, her sacrifice provided for her children and her grandchildren, who would share the proceeds from the sale of that Cape Cod home.
When we retrace our ancestral heritage, it gives us the courage to go on because the nature of things tells us that their journey was usually more difficult than our own. We have the choice to embrace it, to learn from it, to be in awe of it or perhaps to deny it.
My mother was so many things, fulfilled so many rolesâmother, breadwinner, matriarch, teacher, disciplinarian and role model.
Star Angel
B Y C ARMEN C ASSANDRA C REWS
Dedicated to Yvonne Crews
I always said,
âIf God ever put one of His angels on earthâthen it had to be you.â
You always have time to talk, to listen, to understand
With all of your own that you have to do. I donât have enough breath in my body To say how beautiful you are
And when I think of youâmy heart smiles Needless to say, youâre my Shining Star. Mom, you are my saving grace.
When you reach out, itâs always to give Even when I donât deserve,
You make life happy to live.
All that you mean to me,
Whatâs a girl to do
Except fall to her knees
And thank God for you.
Queen Mother
B Y C ARMEN C ASSANDRA C REWS
Silver Nappy Hair
Sparkle Diamond Eyes
Ocean Pearl Teeth
Ruby Red Heart
Black Leather Skin
Cotton Spirit within
Sapphire Solesâ¦A Story to Be Toldâ¦
About Mother
About Queen Mother
About African Queen Mother
About Beautiful African Queen Mother About You
About Me
----
We must love to appreciate our own unique beauty and not let others define or belittle our characteristics. I love being me unconditionally becauseâ¦
----
Writing Ourselves Back to Strength: Part II
B Y J ACKEE H OLDER
O kay, so Iâm a writer, and you think that all of this might be easy for someone like me. Think again. So many times I found the very act of putting pen to paper extremely challenging. It has only been recently that I have been able to honor the writer woman inside me. The preceding years of constantly turning up on the blank page in my journal cleared the space so that she could live.
Iâm feeling really cozy now as I sink myself into the words I am sharing with you. My mind is wandering as I ponder about the relationship between the fingers
Newly widowed, my mother single-handedly brought her three children from the island to the Statesâone bewilderingly different, a heartbreakingly handsome and burdensome son, and a premature newborn. Back in Harlem, relatives provided shelter as she continued her journey to independence. A hard-won tenement apartment with rooms to let provided a way of making an extra buck for herself and her three children.
In our cold tenement apartment, my mother would listen to her baby girl crying and pleading to be let into her bed for comfort and solace; meanwhile, she needed that comfort and solace herself. Blessings from God and a diligent, watchful mother kept the apartment from catching fire from the oil stove we used for a little heat. Oh, the stress and broken sleep it must have caused.
My motherâs only son, and substitute husband, would provide the catalyst for escaping the tenement with the GI Bill heâd earned after a stint in the U.S. Army. Mother had saved her pennies to make the down payment on a two-family Cape Cod home. We had made it to the Middle Class.
Her journey lasted ninety years. A proud and strong woman to the end, she died from a hospital mistake that left her helpless against a medication that completely cut off her circulation. While her death was unfair, her sacrifice provided for her children and her grandchildren, who would share the proceeds from the sale of that Cape Cod home.
When we retrace our ancestral heritage, it gives us the courage to go on because the nature of things tells us that their journey was usually more difficult than our own. We have the choice to embrace it, to learn from it, to be in awe of it or perhaps to deny it.
My mother was so many things, fulfilled so many rolesâmother, breadwinner, matriarch, teacher, disciplinarian and role model.
Star Angel
B Y C ARMEN C ASSANDRA C REWS
Dedicated to Yvonne Crews
I always said,
âIf God ever put one of His angels on earthâthen it had to be you.â
You always have time to talk, to listen, to understand
With all of your own that you have to do. I donât have enough breath in my body To say how beautiful you are
And when I think of youâmy heart smiles Needless to say, youâre my Shining Star. Mom, you are my saving grace.
When you reach out, itâs always to give Even when I donât deserve,
You make life happy to live.
All that you mean to me,
Whatâs a girl to do
Except fall to her knees
And thank God for you.
Queen Mother
B Y C ARMEN C ASSANDRA C REWS
Silver Nappy Hair
Sparkle Diamond Eyes
Ocean Pearl Teeth
Ruby Red Heart
Black Leather Skin
Cotton Spirit within
Sapphire Solesâ¦A Story to Be Toldâ¦
About Mother
About Queen Mother
About African Queen Mother
About Beautiful African Queen Mother About You
About Me
----
We must love to appreciate our own unique beauty and not let others define or belittle our characteristics. I love being me unconditionally becauseâ¦
----
Writing Ourselves Back to Strength: Part II
B Y J ACKEE H OLDER
O kay, so Iâm a writer, and you think that all of this might be easy for someone like me. Think again. So many times I found the very act of putting pen to paper extremely challenging. It has only been recently that I have been able to honor the writer woman inside me. The preceding years of constantly turning up on the blank page in my journal cleared the space so that she could live.
Iâm feeling really cozy now as I sink myself into the words I am sharing with you. My mind is wandering as I ponder about the relationship between the fingers
Similar Books
