Toinyette's Journey

For the past few weeks, I have not written a single word on this blog.

It is not because I stopped reflecting. If anything, I have been reflecting quite a bit. I simply have not felt called to write about those reflections.

I have been distracted.

More truthfully, I wanted to be distracted.

I wanted the noise. I wanted the conversations, the responsibilities, the entertainment, and all the little things that keep us moving from one moment to the next. While I was drifting, I was fully aware that I was drifting.

The interesting thing about drifting is that we often know we are doing it.

Yet the Universe, the Most High, our Highest Self; whatever name you choose to call that quiet inner knowing, has a way of placing reminders along the path. Little signs tucked inside the distractions. Gentle whispers hidden within the noise.

Not condemnation.

Not judgment.

Just a loving reminder:

“Sweetheart, everything is okay. It is time to sit in the silence again.”

Years ago, I made a promise to my Highest Self. I promised that when It spoke, I would listen.

Not perfectly.

Not immediately every time.

But eventually.

And that is a promise I intend to keep.

So today, after weeks of silence, I am writing.

Today, I am writing about my momma.

My momma is preparing for major heart surgery. The surgeons will take veins from her right leg and use them to repair her heart. I know there is much more to the procedure than that, but that is how my non-medical mind understands it.

The reality is simple.

If she does not have the surgery, her lifespan will likely be significantly shortened.

If she has the surgery, there are risks. She could die on the operating table.

But if the surgery is successful, her life may be significantly extended.

And do you know what amazes me?

This beautiful, strong, flawed woman is handling all of it with style, grace, and laughter.

Her positive energy is the highest I have ever seen it.

I am so proud of her.

Inside of me, there is a constant prayer taking place. With all the faith, authority, and love I can muster, I speak protection, guidance, provision, wisdom, and inspiration over her life.

Not only her life.

The lives of the surgeons.

The doctors.

The nurses.

The hospital staff.

Everyone involved in her care.

My momma is the wife of a minister.

She loves her husband.

She loves her family.

She loves the Church.

I grew up watching her protect all three fiercely.

She has spent her life pouring herself into other people. She has encouraged, supported, corrected, prayed for, fed, comforted, and loved countless individuals. She has put so much good into the world.

Watching her over the years, and even to this very day, I simultaneously feel love, pride, honor, and, if I am being completely honest, a little jealousy.

I sometimes find myself asking:

“Toinyette, what are you doing? What are you going to do to put good into the world?”

In that way, I want to be like her.

I am her firstborn and only daughter.

She gave birth to me when she was only seventeen years old.

My momma loves me.

I know she does.

I felt loved by her as a child, and I still feel loved by her today.

However, my momma and I have always had a conflicted relationship.

Our personalities simply do not mesh.

When she spoke to me, it often felt like the conversation began with, “You ain’t…”

You ain’t doing enough.

You ain’t listening.

You ain’t this.

You ain’t that.

She loved me, but sometimes it felt like she did not like me very much.

No matter what I did, I could never quite seem to please her.

I was closer to my father.

My dad was strict, but when he spoke, the message was different.

“You will…”

You will be a good woman.

You will be educated.

You will be a good wife.

You will be a good mother.

You are smart.

You are pretty.

You are capable.

You are enough.

Because I had a better relationship with my father, I believe that displeased my mother as well.

Mother-daughter relationships can be complicated.

I do not know if it is embedded in our DNA, carried through generations of women, passed through family stories, or simply part of the human experience.

What I do know is that women leave pieces of themselves in the generations that follow.

My daughter carries pieces of me.

I carry pieces of my mother.

My mother carries pieces of her mother.

And my grandmother carried pieces of hers.

That is a legacy.

Not just the color of our eyes or the shape of our smiles.

But our strength.

Our resilience.

Our lessons.

Our wounds.

Our love.

This is what I know.

I love my momma.

Period.

I believe she will come through this surgery successfully.

I believe she will recover.

I believe she will be right back to doing good in this world.

But if death comes knocking, I am at peace.

Not because I want to lose her.

I do not.

I want her here.

I want more conversations.

More laughter.

More holidays.

More opportunities to love one another better.

But love is bigger than life and death.

Love does not end.

So, whether she remains here for many years to come or continues her journey beyond this life, she will still be loved.

Always.

And that, perhaps, is the greatest gift a daughter can give her mother.

-Toinyette