Legacy

Legacy

Loosing it all

By: DeEtta Miller

As I force the re-used, crayon signed envelope through the rusty metal mail slot, I pause and remember…

It was exactly a week ago I lost the things I cherished the most. I lost my hope, my faith, her love and the peace that accompanied her gift.

When I realized that the hope mother had for my future humanity was gone, I wept. Caring not that the curb, that cradled my hopelessness was in public, I grieved for all to see.

It was over the course of my youthful years that Mother would share her treasure of wisdom. Hope was the first gift, when her heartbroken little girl didn’t get a role in the class play. She would insist “they were fools,” and that one day I would grace the stage famous and rich. Indeed, I did. Thank you, mother.

The second gift of her wisdom was to have faith. This gift was realized later in life, as I was fortunate to be the head of an organization that met fiscal needs and secure education for single mothers in her community. My beautiful female phoenix friends gave me faith in the generosity of others to create change and build dreams. Thank you, mother.

Love was the hardest to lose. It out shined the others and was the first gift given to me by my maternal hero, the loving soul I called mother. Thank you, with all my heart, mother.

The last of her four gifts was peace. I never really thought much about the elusive “peace.” I was too busy, too disconnected from the gentle, soft messages that surrounded me, in my quest to be accepted and seen. I just knew she wanted me to have it, to own it. Thank you, mother.

Mother’s four hopes for her daughter would soon be joined by one more charm of a philosophy. Honesty.

My curiosity was piqued, as I held tightly, the childishly scrawled crayon message on an envelope that had been tucked neatly in my mailbox slot. In large, bright red letters it read: “I found this in the street by your driveway. I hope it makes you happy! Love, Isabelle.” As I tore open the colorful envelope signed by my favorite little neighbor girl, my hands began to tremble. Slowly four glistening charms attached to my mother’s charm bracelet poured into my old and wrinkled hands.

I remembered how fond Isabelle was of the shimmery, charming, legacy of my mother’s hope. She would ask to try it on, and I would tell her, when she is older and understands the meaning of my mother’s messages.

It took me only two days to find a jeweler to create and include the charm “honesty,” to complete my beloved mother’s bracelet. Hearing the re-used, crayon messaged envelope land at the bottom of Isabelle’s mailbox, brought a sigh of relief, as mother and I would share our hope, faith, and love with the daughter I never had. I am at peace, Mother…