In 2007, I needed to take my healing and channel it to another place. I was going to have a knee replacement. My knees gave out on me as I applied at the malls and several teaching institutions and when crossing the street, I found myself in the middle of it without the strength in my legs to take me back. Even though I lost the elasticity in my legs, I would find solace in my bedroom, a place where I did most of my rationalizing and sorting out things. It became home to my thoughts. One day, I picked up my mom’s and dad’s portrait that was hanging in a frame up on my small bedroom wall. Behind the frame, encased in glass was a young woman with a black kinky pompadour with a white veil attached to the back of her head. She wore golden whooped earrings. There was a twinkle in her eye: The twinkle that set off the spark in my heart when I was two. An off white satin wedding dress caressed her petite figure: Her left arm around a soldier’s waist. He was the army man who was to wed my mother in his army suit with his short wavy black hair and a gleam in his smile and eyes. His slender right arm was placed around my mom’s tiny waist with his long fingers spread from his large right hand holding onto her wrist.
I found a letter tucked beneath the portrait and read it trying to remember when it was last written. It said,
I was so sad to hear about your death. How you had a heart attack pruning a cherry tree. I never knew you well, but I did love you. You saved my life in California and for 3 months of my depressive state from college, you took me in and let me live with you and your new wife, Mary Jo. I felt so special, and the time I spent with you was tender and sweet.
I wished I would have kept better contact, but I didn’t, and I am sorry. I just wanted to let you know I forgive you for leaving mom when you did. You and mom seemed so destructible when you were young, I’m sure you couldn’t help it. We all have been there, made mistakes and moved on. Today I celebrate the union of you two and my life, for it took two of you to make me.
Take good care. I caress the loving moments we had together. Signed, “Sherry”
In a couple of weeks, I had my knee was operated on, and I began walking at my own pace. I couldn’t bear weight on my knees anymore but with the help of my sister, husband, doctor, family and friends my emotional scars healed and my psychological health improved. I found a second reason to live.