Donna.

Dear Donna,

I will forever be grateful for July 17th, 1950, because the strongest black woman I know was born.

I wish I could've used a baby picture of you to match the first sentence. For some reason, I can't find any of yours. You must’ve hidden them. Haha. Anyway...

Donna E. Lois Ayers was born in a very religious home. A home that the average person would say was a bit too religious for their liking. Church was a must. The 50's-60's were back when women weren't allowed to be as vocal as we are now. The stereotypical norm was the husband is the breadwinner, and the wife stayed home to take care of the children. Your father was the breadwinner. Your mother was at home, raising their 9 children. I know you wanted to branch out and pursue her own dreams outside of the norm, but with the values they instilled in you, you chose to marry after high school. A man named Ronald Ellison.

By 28, you mothered six children, also mothering a 7th in 1987.

I didn't write how it was a happily ever after after this, if that was what you were expecting. It wasn't. Typical marriages with 7 kids isn't that heavenly bliss the movies paint for their audience. It was a lot to bear. "I'm gonna run away one of these days." they said you would often joke when your children were driving you crazy. Worked a bit yourself too as you got older, but fell into a deep depression after giving birth to her 7th child and daughter, a little girl you named Reva.

"Each birth was worse than the previous one," I overheard you say on one phone conversation with your best friend, Audrey, describing childbirth. Now i’m even more terrified of having kids myself.

I could only imagine. Seven?

The only C-section you’ve ever had with all of the others were natural, I was told my your 4th child, Regina. The operation resulted in a permanent and small gut that never went away. No matter how much you worked out, how long, what diet you went on, it always there. It may seem like something as simple as weight issue to a person who's already in shape, a woman who's never had a child of her own, or a man who may not think it's a big deal because he can't give birth to one of his own. According to Postpartumdepression.org, 1 in 7 women will experience Postpartum depression the year they give birth. You were one of the seven. You didn't want to go anywhere, see anyone, or engage in any activities. For the first time in your life, you stopped going to Church. Post-partum depression had came between you and your faith. After she stopped attending services, your own children even felt that they no longer needed to go due to your absence.

But that’s when you decided enough was enough. It was time to return to your spiritual outlet. This wasn't just subject to Church. You made sure to let your children know that there was more to the world than shutting down when things got tough. And boy, they only got tougher.

In 1993, you were faced with the most traumatic experience yet. Your closest brother, Douglas Ayers was killed in a hit-and-run accident during a traffic stop on the freeway. The accident was horrific. The driver, who apparently didn't know that they had hit someone, was drunk while behind the wheel. He was dragged for nearly 3 miles. Known as 'Uncle Dougie' by the kids, he was the one who took care of you and your other siblings as they got older. The one that they would call. The strongest shoulder that they would lean on.

Donna, you took on that role as the strongest shoulder.

Your mother was getting older. Dealing with Alzheimer's, you tried to be her strength by to moving her into her home with she, her husband and a teenaged Reva shared. You loved her dearly, but the task was too much to handle. As hard as you tried, you couldn't properly care for her mother like she felt that a nursing home would provide and had to make the tough decision of placing her into a caring facility. I could tell that you felt bad doing so, because you always stressed to your husband how she never wanted to put either of her parents in a home.

In 2003, Donna's mother died of natural causes. That was the first time I had ever seen you cry outside of laughter. Yes, children are supposed to bury their parents, but that doesn't make it easy. It was your parents. The ones that raised you. Took care of you. Loved you.

Two years later, Reva graduated high school and moved out of the house. By then you and Ronald had saved enough retirement money to where you didn't have to work, with plans to move to Florida later in your years. Unfortunately, some of your children had fell on hard times. Your eldest son had been going through a divorce. Your oldest granddaughter was in a bad schooling area, and had no choice but to move in with you at the time. Reva had had two children of her own, and had to move in as well until she and her husband could save up enough to move to California.

You spent all of their savings providing for us, just to assure that we didn't remain in rough times.

The sacrifice, unfortunately, resulted in her returning back to work. You were reminded of the assistance her mother needed and decided it was best to work with the elderly. Even after all of this, in your 70’s, you still manage to help any and everyone out in need. Sometimes I think you’re a bit too helpful at times, often asking “Why do you always have to be the one to pick so-and-so up, grab such-and-such groceries, and drop such-and-such off? There's other people, have them do it." and she always responds, "I know. I'm too tired. I'm not going to do it."

Next thing I know, you’re out the door. Doing exactly what you said you weren’t going to do. Ha.

I wish almost every single day that you had spent your retirement in Florida like you and Ronald always dreamt of. Ronald's brothers and sisters fulfilled that dream. Ronald's eldest brother has purchased a Florida apartment that you and other relatives can visit as much as you like, but it isn’t quite the same as having your own. Your sacrifice deserves to be rewarded and I often feel that it hasn't. There isn't enough of a reward to match, honestly. I often ask why haven't you two received the life you deserved after all of the good things you’ve done and the sacrifices you’ve made.

But then I realized, that's why it's called a sacrifice. Cheesy statement, but you do things out of the kindness of your heart, not for a reward. It made me realize this is why Donna does what she does. Because she wants to. Because she lives to help others.

To Donna...

My Grandmother.

I will forever be grateful for the sacrifices you’ve made not only for me, but towards all of us. For providing me with a place to stay while I go to school full-time so I can provide a better life for myself, my future children and future grandchildren. It's part of the reason why I want to be a successful writer so that you and my grandfather can finally live the life you deserve. Doesn't have to be fancy, just want them to have that life in Florida that they've always desired. Do you ever just wish you could give your relatives everything and then some if you happened to hit the lottery? The first people I always mention that I wish I could spoil, are my grandparents. Particularly, you.

Unfortunately, at you and grandpas age, I don't think I will have enough time to make that dream happen for you...and for that, i’m sorry.

Love,

Sierra.