Amid the darkest night, the brightest star.

Mischievous humor and twinkling eyes,

A smile to rival brightest skies.

Nor can I forget that rapier wit,

Enough to chop you down to size, or make you stop—and ponder life a bit.

Will I one day be someone like you? Strong and wise, in control and caring, even when from afar.

Someone who can learn and teach, maintaining dignity, joy and pride when the lessons of life are unfair and hard?

On the daily I think about you, and cherish the part of you that lives and thrives in me.

Maybe I don’t tell or show you enough, but I’m grateful for who you are—thankful to you for the gift of my heartbeat.

Expressions like these, they’re just mere words—hardly enough for the woman who is a large part of why I live and breathe.

Author’s background on MAMA NEWSOME:

I miss my grandmother. As I wrote this on October 9, 2009 I realized that a month from the previous day, she would have been gone for 3 years. The time flew by. She was an amazing woman. Mother to 11 (do the math folks—pregnant for 8 years and 3 months). Brilliant woman.  She was bedridden the last 3 or 4 years of her life, and yet somehow always knew what was going on with everyone before anyone else.  What kind of person does it take to call from her bed and say, you need to check on your cousin/aunt/sister? I’ll tell you. It’s the kind of person that would listen in to Bible study faithfully via phone and be able to tell you who was new or visiting based on voice recognition. I have no grandparents left, and each of my parents is the oldest child in their respective families. Someone said to me, “Your parents are the oldest people in your family now.” Intellectually I knew that. But I hadn’t quite thought of it that way. It’s a sobering concept.

So what brought on this wave of nostalgia? My mother—she has so many of her mother’s mannerisms. She’s the new incarnation of my Mama Newsome. So I went to kiss her goodnight that night, and it was the way she turned her head and blew kisses at me. My grandmother used to do that. She called it “fish kisses”. When my Mama craned her neck toward me, she looked just like my grandmother. I was transported to 3.5 years ago and Woodlawn Drive in Jackson, MS, so much so that I started crying right then and there because I miss my grandma. All that made me think of the poem I wrote for my grandmother. I was supposed to give it to her at a mini family reunion we were going to have at her house. The weekend it was planned was the weekend Katrina hit. So we never had it, and I never gave her the poem. Instead, I put it on her obituary. Enjoy it.  Reminisce with me.

Your predilection for deception is no way to gain my affection.
Though you think you’re beyond detection,
I see through you with my well-honed skills of perception
And thus no warm reception.
All you’ll face is rejection.

Are you actually in my face? Screamin’ I’ll be back, that I need you?  Oh please, Boo-Boo, how dare thee?
See, cuz the being alone thing, that’s something that just don’t scare me.
Particularly when I’m such a lovely vision of prosperity whilst wrapped up in my singularity

I do believe this look works for me; I’m rockin’ it like it’s a mink.
You’re so superfluous to this equation so go ahead shoo! Off you slink.
I have but one regret, and that’s that it took me this long to wake up, to take this moment stop and think.
But I’ve got my bearings now, both feet solidly beneath me instead of teetering on the brink.

So listen closely and please take note
I have no time for you to brag and gloat
This player mentality don’t get my vote.
I don’t pander and I don’t dote
On a boy playin’ at bein’ a man and who just missed the boat.
So I’ll grab my keys, grab my bag and coat

And—wait a minute—this is my place, you walk out the door.
Stop looking so hurt and confused, that act is such a bore.
You’ve been playing the same, tired role so long and you’re rotten to the core.
What? What’s that you say . . . you’re sorry and you want more?
Can’t do it. I’m not a naïve little girl, and I already know the score.

You’re so pitifully, painfully pathetic; you actually believe your own hype.
But it’s great for me to be able to shake it off instead of grudge and gripe.

You’ve given me pure hell, and you still expect my gratitude.
You need to rein it in and check yourself; I will give you no more latitude.
I’m finished—y’ hear me? Done. With you and your stank attitude.

See, this is all about me, and my joy you cannot rob.
I can’t rely on you for my bliss, and I won’t allow you to bring on the sobs.
I’ve learned this lesson very well – happiness is an inside job.

So I have nothing left to say to you—just a wave and a shrug and a sigh.
Oh wait, there is on last thing . . . what was it again? Oh yes

GOODBYE.