The Heart of a Woman

“FIVE-DOLLAR FRIED FISH & FRIES! GET YOUR FRIED FISH AND FRIES,” I reluctantly shouted on the street corner.

The summer sun was beaming down on me. I could see the heat waves rippling through the air as people drove passed me, ignoring my offer. My mother watched as I waved our sign with very little fervor. I could hear her mumbling to herself in Creole. Her mumbles turned into extended teeth sucking, the kind only Caribbean women can produce out of frustration.

“Si ou pral fè yon bagay fè li byen oswa pa fè li tout,” my mom said disapprovingly, which translates to “if you’re going to do something, do it well, or don’t do it all.” My mother and I were trying to raise $2,000 for me to attend a modeling conference in California. We made several efforts thus far, including asking strangers in the parking lot for donations. Now we had moved on to selling plates of fried fish and fries on the corner of Redan Road and South Hariston.

My mother was a remarkable chef with impeccable style—these were not ordinary plates of fried fish and fries. The plates were served with her homemade lemonade and decorated with edible flowers. The table was draped with a piece of bright yellow fabric and framed pictures of my headshots. She created a five-star experience out of five-dollar plates of fish and fries.

“Don’t waste my time, we are here for you,” she said as she grabbed the sign from my hands. “Five-dollar fried fish and fries! Support my daughter’s trip to California.”

I looked up at her and saw the sun beaming on us and sweat dripping down her face. She wiped off the sweat and waved the sign with a smile. Suddenly we had patrons, one after the other. Each person wished me well on my journey, and before I knew it, I was waving the sign with a smile and all the fervor my preteen body could conjure. Hours passed and we were completely sold out.

“See, Maya. Things just take a little time, but you get out what you put in. We’re going to CALIFORNIA!” she yelled, jumping up and down in the parking lot. She was more excited than I was.

That was my mother. My most devoted cheerleader, with the brightest smile and the most contagious laugh. She had a way of making everything and everyone around her sparkle. That is what I admire most about my mother, her ability to brighten up the world around her. She knew that she mattered: her voice, her presence, her existence mattered to the world. That is a lesson she passed on to me, although I must say it was not an easy lesson for me to learn. As a young girl, I didn’t see the importance in the way that I showed up; I lacked the self-love required to show up in a way that permeates the room with style and grace. My mother always arrived in style, but she taught me that style is not just about the clothes you wear, it’s about the energy you carry and the love in your heart.

Because of her I now know that I matter. Knowing this encourages me to put more effort into everything I do. Every story I tell or meal I make for my family gets a piece of my heart. Witnessing my mother live her life taught me the importance of releasing things that no longer serve me, in order to make space for that which aligns with my highest, most loving self. Coming into this world through Marie Naika Grandoit has been the greatest blessing I could ever receive. I am so grateful that we chose each other.

My mother and I used to make dates out of tasks like gardening or doctors’ appointments. We would get up early in the morning, “It’s best to be the first ones there,” she would say. She was right—she was always right. We always finished our errands by noon and would go straight to brunch. Our last brunch date was at Waffle House. I watched as she drowned the utensils in the hot water and lemon she requested and drizzled syrup over her pecan waffle. Things only my mother does at Waffle House. I asked my mom a lot of questions that day, I wanted to know as much as I could about her. In that conversation, I found out that I was conceived in Haiti. Perhaps that is why I have such a strong connection to the language and culture. My mother traveled by boat from Haiti to Boston in the early ‘80s—she was terrified of the ocean. Sometimes I imagine her on that boat, journeying into the unknown for a better life. I honor her courage and the sacrifices she made for her children.

Every year we celebrate Haitian Independence with Soup Joumou, a squash-based soup that Haitians drank to celebrate their independence. My mother, of course, turned Soup Joumou into a five-star experience. During our first soup party I snuck into the kitchen, backed into the cabinet, and my hips started moving in rotations they had yet to discover. My mother walked in and laughed at me. She laughed a lot, at women who held their purses at the bend of their elbows, men who thought they could beat her at dominos, and at herself when she said “Chuesday” instead of Tuesday. They signed her death certificate on a Tuesday.

We shared a pillow, she and I. “God willing, I will see you graduate and get married,” she said. Had I known He was not willing I would have held her closer. My mother was a loving woman, but her heart was riddled with pain.

She confided in me, “I heard a story about a woman who died of a broken heart, I think my heart is broken, Maya.” I told her that her time for happiness was coming soon, she just had to choose it. I had no idea this was how it would come. It has taken a while to feel this way, but I am glad my mother chose the peace she could not find on Earth. Her heart deserved be mended.

Because of my mother, I know that my life is my own to live, and my heart is my own to heal.

Long Live Marie Naika Grandoit

April 16, 1968 – Infinity

Happy Birthday, Mommy!