Recently, I was informed that there was to be a hearing regarding Anthony W., the man who murdered my mother in 1985. I was visibly shaken, because I had been mistakenly informed that he had died years ago. I really didn’t know how to respond. So many years had passed and I had reluctantly adjusted to life without my mother, as had our entire family. No more family gatherings or phone calls, no more lunches sitting out on her deck having long, lazy conversations about our family, and everything else long ago considered insignificant but fun to peruse with silliness and hindsight. I loved the way my mom laughed at herself and her friends. A laugh so full of life and sarcasm and caring. She had a certain way about her that made you feel instantly at ease and seen by her. Her eyes of deep black onyx were her gifts to me as were her kindness and the loving way she held each person she came in contact with.
I realized that after all these years I had forgotten Anthony’s last name. Strange how I could have forgotten such an important fact… and yet, I think it was out of my need to move on; to protect my broken heart; to leave the painful remnants of that day where they belonged – in the past.
What most folks don’t know, not even my siblings, was that I was planning on visiting my mom that morning. I would have been killed had I not been called away to a special ed. meeting at my school that morning. I have often thought about that very fact all these many years. What if I had been killed that day, then all these children I had taught… I would never have been able to help them. All my films that have transformed folks’ lives would never have been seen. All the folks that have touched and changed my life, especially my son and dearest friends… our paths would never have crossed and been filled with so many incredible memories and conversations.
And then, there is Anthony who was transferred to another school because he was caught gambling. He was only in junior high. He begged not to be transferred because his family and friends all lived in the neighborhood, but still they transferred him. Who knows what happened from that moment on to him. I have often wondered… what if someone had intervened and said: Come here, Anthony. No, we’re not going to transfer you. I want to find out how we failed you. I want to hear about your family and about your life.
That one courageous act of kindness and caring could have changed the course of all our lives. And so, I am reminded how we are all so inextricably bound together by history and by destiny.
At a very early age, I felt the love of my mother. I wanted to become like her.
A flower instinctively knows the importance of light and water.
