”My Mother was a wonderful, kind-hearted, beautiful, energetic woman…but she had a pained life.”

Marjorie Catherine Whindleton was born in Albemarle County, Virginia on June 21, 1929. She was raised there and went to New York at the age of eighteen where she lived out the rest of her life with my father, James Alexander Freeman, whom she married on March 2, 1946.

Mom birthed three children. I was the first born, followed by my brother James Jr. and another brother, Alexander. When I was a little girl, growing up, my mom used to sing a lot. We would dance and sing as she walked me to school every week day morning. It was a wonderful time. I was an only child until the age of six. My brother, James Jr. was born right after my sixth birthday, but not without complication, serious complications. During labor, my mom's appendix burst and for some odd reason the doctor thought she was in labor for thirty three hours! A little too long for a second birth in my opinion.

Because of the appendix bursting, oxygen was cut off to my brother’s brain and he was born with complete brain damage. He and my mom were in the hospital for a long time. She was there for three months, and he even longer. After coming home, she could not rest for she would go to the hospital twice a day to feed my brother because the nurses didn’t want to take the time to deal with such a challenge. He couldn’t swallow by himself. He couldn’t do anything, except cry. My mother had to work his jaws in order for him to swallow his milk. It was quite sad and it changed our household tremendously.

Mom felt extreme guilt for having birthed such a child. My brother Jr. was the first born son, a handsome boy, but quite handicapped and she never forgave herself for not having a perfectly functioning child, yet she did her best.

For three years my brother lived and cried most of the time. Mom dealt with this pain of an imperfect and demanding child with every ounce of her strength. There was a time when he almost died in the house, and my father suggested that he be placed in a facility that was better equipped to handle him. It was off to a hospital on Staten Island where he died after a few months.

Drinking became the norm for my mother after that - trying to drown her sorrows in a bottle of scotch or vodka. Those were her two favorites. It didn’t help. Escapism never does. When my mom was sober, she was one heck of a woman. A lively little lady she was. Laughing, playing pranks, telling jokes, helping others, being the near perfect mom. Yeah, she was some kinda wonderful when she was sober. Now mind you, even when she was drinking, she would still make sure that the dinner was cooked, the house was cleaned and the family well taken care of before she went to bed to sleep off her latest episode with that bottle of scotch or vodka.

There were months when she didn’t drink at all, and of course those were the best. She was not abusive when she drank, just sorrowful. She released some of her pain and anguish through tears. We would talk about things sometimes, mostly superficial - the pain was so great in her heart that it affected us as a Mother and Daughter team. We didn't talk about the pain. We didn‘t know how.

I loved my mom's energy and her Spirit. She had a strength at times that was awesome! A certain strength in Spirit. Yet she was weak from the birth of her first born son. She never got over that.

There were those times when we'd bake cookies and cakes together and I'd lick the bowl clean. She taught me how to cook and to respect my Elders. She enrolled me in Girl Scouts, dancing school and charm school. The relationship we had was good, but it lacked the closeness that is so very important between Mothers and Daughters.

I’ll always remember the time when I had become a militant and a vegetarian at the age of fifteen, and the poetry I wrote reflected that. My mother couldn’t understand how her nice, middle class daughter could revert to such things - and when I cut my shoulder length hair into a short afro, she had a fit. I stayed with another family for a couple of weeks until my actions were explained to her by another Elder. It was the year 1965 and black awareness was on the rise. Those were some interesting times.

Since she didn’t like the poetry that I had written back then, she did not hesitate in throwing them out. Needless to say we were both truly upset with one another…but I loved my mom. She had a way about her. My mother even with her challenges, was the type of mom that recognized all holidays. We celebrated often. Every major holiday, we had the works - big dinners, homemade desserts, creatively made punch, family members and friends to share in the celebrations - all this whether she was drinking or not. I wished I could have helped her to understand her feelings of guilt, but I didn’t know then what I know now. The agreement that she made before coming to this planet could have been no other. She was balancing her karma.

Marjorie Catherine, better known as Kathleen Marjorie was the kind of woman who would run into a burning building to save a child. She sewed a lot and knitted a little, attended PTA meetings, was involved in whatever church she was a member of at the time, as well as other organizations, helped whomever she could, whenever she could. My mother was well liked by a lot of folk, she had that type of personality.

Mom had done some professional dancing as well. She loved dancing and when we danced together, I'd learn some new/old moves. She taught me how to do “Around the World and the Shimmy" with a flair that is ingrained in my being to this day. I loved hearing about her dancing exploits - letting me know that as a young woman her body moved 'like a fish with no bones' - sharing with me how she would slither down and around her partner's body in some exotic dance routine. You go girl! We didn't know about the healing power of 'moving like your mother told you not to.' It may have helped her to really heal if she had been taught the secrets of the Ancestral Mothers. Whenever we danced together, we’d turn up the music and the world was ours. That was exactly how we felt, alone in the world, dancing to the sounds of Aretha Franklin, James Brown and so many others. We were two women doing our 'thang'.

Mama Kathleen helped to raise my daughter after my first husband and I separated. Her granddaughter, had nine years of knowing this awesome but troubled woman. The ups and the downs. The good times and the not so good times. My mother and my daughter, they were some pair.

I was thirty one years of age when my mother made transition. She was sixty and she was tired. Tired of searching for the right church. Tired of feeling guilty. Just plain ole’ “sick and tired of being sick and tired.” On Sept. 24, 1982 Kathleen Marjorie Freeman, as she was known to the world, passed from this earthly existence. She was home in her bed when she made the journey. That was the way she wanted it.

It hurt me that I hadn't mailed off her birthday card. Remember, her birthday was in June. I had wanted to say something really meaningful and special - searching for the right words to express just how much she meant to me - especially since she was quite instrumental in helping to raise her granddaughter, with my father's help.

My brother, Alexander called to tell me of her death. I was stunned. I couldn't believe it. Not mom, she was the strength of the family, no matter what. She was the one who kept everyone together, no matter what. I rode out to Queens, not aware of anything around me - upon arriving at the house, I walked up the stairs to her room where she was lying in her bed covered from head to toe with a pink and blue crotched blanket. I cried and laughed all at the same time. I was in shock. My mom was dead. She was gone. Her Spirit had left her body. Mom used to always tell me that when she died, she wanted to be buried in her orange dress. Per her request, I did just that. One must do what is requested of them, so that the soul of the dearly departed can rest knowing that their desire was fulfilled.

As she lay there in the funeral chapel, surrounded by friends and family, the look on her face was one of complete peace. It appeared as if she had a smile on her face. She was finally resting, free from guilt and pain. She was ready for the next stage of her evolution. I didn't know exactly how many friends my Mom had until she made transition. They all came to see her off. It was a beautiful sight to see and a beautiful day as well. The sun shined brightly that day. A calm breeze was blowing. It was a perfect send off.

I have a Mommy Memorial Basket that I put certain things in, her many citations and awards, some of her favorite jewelry, her sexy long gloves, the flowers from the funeral, a piece of the dress that she was wearing on the day she was given back to The Great Earth Mother, pictures of the family, letters that I’ve written to her since her passing and the birthday card I never mailed.

Mom if you are reading this, I want you to know that I miss your earthly presence, but I understand why it had to be the way it was. You have helped me to be the person that I am today. The love and the strength of conviction that you gave me was food for my soul. I pass it on. Thank you for being the Sacred Womb Vessel for my journey to this planet.

About The Author: Fellow YMIB Circle Sister Dr. Tonya K. Freeman, affectionately known as Diva Mama Tonya is a dynamic woman who is passionate about women embracing all of their magnificence. For over 30 years Tonya has inspired women to transform themselves by awakening their bliss factor. She is a Diva Advocate,  Inner Growth Consultant, Womb Shaman, Keynote Speaker, Author, Certified Aromatherapist, Reiki/Karuna Ki Master and Ancient Femi9 Wisdom Keeper and host of Tonya and Friends . Visit her website at: TonyaKFreeman.com.