I Called Her Mammy
I called her Mammy. She was not my mother, yet, in very real ways, she was my Mammy. Her home in Grenada I considered my home. Whenever I was in Grenada I went there and stayed with her. She cared for me, in my mind, as for one of her own children. When I lived in Grenada and I wanted to get away for an evening or a night Ruth and I went there and stayed with Mammy. After I got the news of Mammy's death I had to talk to someone and called Ruth at work. She remembered it was the first place I took her when she went to Grenada.
I first met the La Mothe family when I went to Grenada with a group of students from St. Andrew's Theological College in 1956. When I led a mission of the Penal Presbyterian Christian Endeavor Society to Grenada in 1957 I spent a lot of time at the La Mothe home. After I returned to Trinidad from my studies in Canada and was ordained I returned to Grenada for vacations every year and spent time with the La Mothe family. And when, a few years later, I was appointed to serve as minister in Grenada, the La Mothe home was home to Ruth and me whenever we wanted to get away.
Mammy had many children. In addition to her four girls she took her nephews and nieces and raised them as her own. She was widowed while her children were still quite young, but she worked hard and kept it all going. What an amazing woman! She was a leader in the church and in the community, too. How did she find the time and the energy?
I kept in touch for a long time, even after we moved to Wisconsin. But, like almost every one else, my correspondence lapsed. I lost track of the family. When I got word that Brenda and Aloma lived in New York, I made contact, and made several visits there by myself; and with Ruth and our daughters one summer. In one of my first visits Mammy was there. She was visiting after having been in Canada. That was the last time I saw her. But I still see and hear her in my mind.
Mammy was 94 years old. When I talked with Brenda a couple of weeks ago I learned that she had been having health problems and had been to Trinidad earlier in the year for surgery. I wanted to write Mammy in Grenada. But I never did. How I wish I had! How I wish I had told her how much she meant to me over the years! How I wish I had told her that she had been a mother to me and that she had made me a part of her family!
No one lives forever. Yet when Brenda called with the news of Mammy's death it came to me as a bolt of lightning. I couldn't restrain the tears. I still feel a hollow pain deep inside of me. But I do not weep for her; I weep for myself and for my loss.
I first met the La Mothe family when I went to Grenada with a group of students from St. Andrew's Theological College in 1956. When I led a mission of the Penal Presbyterian Christian Endeavor Society to Grenada in 1957 I spent a lot of time at the La Mothe home. After I returned to Trinidad from my studies in Canada and was ordained I returned to Grenada for vacations every year and spent time with the La Mothe family. And when, a few years later, I was appointed to serve as minister in Grenada, the La Mothe home was home to Ruth and me whenever we wanted to get away.
Mammy had many children. In addition to her four girls she took her nephews and nieces and raised them as her own. She was widowed while her children were still quite young, but she worked hard and kept it all going. What an amazing woman! She was a leader in the church and in the community, too. How did she find the time and the energy?
I kept in touch for a long time, even after we moved to Wisconsin. But, like almost every one else, my correspondence lapsed. I lost track of the family. When I got word that Brenda and Aloma lived in New York, I made contact, and made several visits there by myself; and with Ruth and our daughters one summer. In one of my first visits Mammy was there. She was visiting after having been in Canada. That was the last time I saw her. But I still see and hear her in my mind.
Mammy was 94 years old. When I talked with Brenda a couple of weeks ago I learned that she had been having health problems and had been to Trinidad earlier in the year for surgery. I wanted to write Mammy in Grenada. But I never did. How I wish I had! How I wish I had told her how much she meant to me over the years! How I wish I had told her that she had been a mother to me and that she had made me a part of her family!
No one lives forever. Yet when Brenda called with the news of Mammy's death it came to me as a bolt of lightning. I couldn't restrain the tears. I still feel a hollow pain deep inside of me. But I do not weep for her; I weep for myself and for my loss.
posted by cornelius @ 3:32 PM
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