My mother passed last week. The feeling is still surreal for me. It's the first time I've lost someone close to me, someone in my immediate family. I've lost relatives, classmates, friends and acquaintances. But because I've never truly opened myself up to anyone, I never felt that sinking sadness that others had upon losing someone.
Death is a sobering reality. It frightens me. I'm not one of those people who says they aren't afraid of death. I've heard a lot of my colleagues in the music business, fellow rappers, who have opined about death; how they're "ready to die"; how "death becomes them"; how they "spit in the face of death."
Apparently the "gangster" thing to do is to mock tragedy. I'm sure some of them are so familiar with death that they are numb to it. After last week, I don't know if that's where I want to be or not.
What I do know is that I have no shame in saying I'm afraid of dying. My greatest fear is leaving behind a wife and kids too young to understand the concept of death. It's a fear of leaving work undone. It's a fear of never reaching my potential. My mother always had a plan for me. I in turn had dreams of what I would do for her. And I now feel unfulfilled.
A lot of folks never knew how ill my mother was. For the past year, she battled diabetes and congestive heart failure. I saw one of the most vibrant, active women I'd ever known be reduced to a cane, a walker and then to a bed. Every step forward brought two steps back. Every victory brought crushing defeats. When she accidentally fell and broke her hip eight months ago, she sunk into a funk that she wouldn't come out of. Still, our family smiled, pressed on and tried to go about life as normal as possible. No one knew. Not my friends, not my co-workers—nobody.
My mother was a proud woman, but our rock could no longer care for herself, and it hurt her. It hurt me. Although we selfishly wanted her to fight, the woman I knew found no honor in dependence. In the end, I knew she would choose peace over suffering in life. That's why she was always the strongest of us all. I wonder if I could make that choice.
This is dedicated to you, Mary Lyons Franklin. You deserve for the rest of the world to know how great you were. They must know of the legendary things you accomplished while you were here, the thousands of students that you touched, the lives that you changed. I'm still hearing from students you helped five, 10, 15 years ago. To this day, they say you have been an inspiration. You made me everything I am. All that I do and all that Jackson has seen me accomplish to date is because of your guidance. I always was and still am in awe of you.
If I can touch a fraction of the people that you have touched, it will be an accomplishment. I attempted to give you your roses while you were here, and I didn't give you that $ 1 million check I promised you. All I can do now is try to shine bright enough for you to see me from heaven. Thank you for this brain, this heart and this mouth of mine. You equipped me to follow in your footsteps. Wait 'til they get a load of me!
And that's the truth ... sho-nuff.
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