Ella

This is the woman
who"half-raised me"
She was
"my second mama"
I loved her so.
I love her still.
I always will.





She was with me from the time I was two until I was about nine. I was heart broken when my mother told me that it was time for her to let her go, because she felt that we couldn't afford her anymore. She had hired her to help around the house and look after me, when my mother went back to work two years after I was born. I never think of my childhood without thinking of her. She was just always there, five days a week for seven straight years. I remember her rocking me, and when I got too old to rock I'd beg her still, "Please, Ella, please rock me. Pretend like I'm a little baby, just once, Ella, please?" I loved feeling safe in her arms. But, as time went on, she would no longer rock me, telling me I was too big for all that, now. I must've been all of four or five. It had been very hard weening me from those warm and loving arms.

I can still see her standing in the kitchen ironing clothes, and I can still hear her singing hymns and spiritual songs as she ironed, and all day long as she did her chores. And I remember when she was new to our home... I, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, in my little girl panties, little dare-devil that I was, and threatening, by gesture, to throw a tiny rubber ball in her direction... and she warming me, with that stern look on her face, "You better not do that, now... you better mind me, you better not throw that ball." Somehow, I knew that I had best not. But, I gently sent it in her direction, awaiting a response.

On her last day, it was the hardest thing to bare. I walked her down the path, as I had done many times, and kissed the palm of her hand for one last time. How would I survive without my Ella? She'd always been there, an entire lifetime for me. Who'd be there, now, when I came home from school, to make sure everything was ok? Who'd have supper cooked, by the time my mama came home? It just did not seem fair, I could not understand the reasoning of why I had to lose someone from my life, who had always been a part of my life... who had always been my family.

As the years went rolling by, she moved up to Connecticut to be near her daughter in her declining years... but she came back to South Carolina from time to time and we'd always be sure to visit... and she lived long enough to see both of my children, my two boys. She thought that my youngest looked just like me when I was small. I was happy and pleased to know that she hadn't forgotten how I looked, way back when I'd first fallen in love with her, all those many years ago... close to thirty, by then.

When she died, at her families request, my brother, who is a minister, preached her funeral (as they say down South). She was buried just down the road from where I grew up. When my own dad passed away, and the family was all here, we took a drive down to the cemetary where she's buried and stood a long while at her grave. There were many memories and much warmth in those moments that we stood there. She was the most loving and gentle spirit that I have ever known, and a good southern cook, too. My brother remembers her pancakes, but I remember her lemon pies.

Her husband's name was Beechie. She was my second mama. She was my Ella. I loved her so... and I always will.