The Truth at a Funeral: Where Were You?

A Short Story

By Nadira Norjahan

(GRAPHICS CREATED IN CANVA)

A New Mourning

I was slow to open my eyes as I didn’t want to face the day. I wished that I had invested in those curtains that blocked the sunlight from the room. I truly craved darkness in this moment.

In the shower, I resisted the urge to cry. The stress was annoying me, and I just wanted the day to be over. The water stung my flesh a bit as I set it hotter than usual. I purposefully added more black soap to my hair so that I could stay in the shower longer. Washing my hair this morning was not ideal, as my locs would be wet throughout the day—but I didn’t care. I welcomed any distraction.

Patting my locs dry, I sat on the edge of the bed and looked at Daddy’s picture on my nightstand. I wondered what things would have been like had he not left us. I was only two when he left, so I never truly knew him. The only thing I knew of him was this picture of him holding me as a baby. The picture had aged so that it was hard to make out his features.  This and the bitter murmurings about him from my mother were the only true memories I had of him. There were whispers around town that Mama drove him away, which I find totally believable.

My cell phone kept ringing but I refused to answer. I knew it was someone calling to “check on me.” The nerve of these people. I mean, where were you when the checking up was truly needed?

I swallowed hard and resisted the urge to scream. Too many emotions were stirring up inside, and that is all I wanted to do right now. Just scream until my voice was gone. Scream away all this resentment and anger.

I resented these fake people I had to see today. I resented the Daddy who left me alone with a monster. I wanted to scream away the fact that, as a grown woman, I still longed for him. If he couldn’t bear to live with her, why would he leave me with her?

Where was he now? Was he even alive? I figured he must not be, because how can someone spend a lifetime away from their own child? How could he leave me and never look back? Was Mama as horrible to him as she was to me? Who knows?

But now it was all over.

Over.

Such a final statement in one word—but it brought me bittersweet relief. I felt terrible for even thinking it. It was so hard. Day in and day out. The smell of her decaying body. The sickening smell of cleaner, mothballs, vomit, piss, and shit. The smell of death calling. How long was it?

Four years! Damn!

How did I do it? All by myself. Why did I do it? After all, throughout my life she treated me like the shit I wiped from her ass until she took her last breath. How could one person be so damned miserable and treat her own child in such a way?

LIFE WITH MAMA

Mama was all I ever wanted to be when I was a a little girl. In spite of the abuse, I idolized her. Aesthetically we were very different. My hair has always been dry and very nappy, while hers has always been fine and soft. Her lips are smaller, and her eyes are the light brown that I wished mine were.

When we went to church, Mama was always decked out. The dress, the shoes, the hat—all matched divinely. Her shoes were never less than four inches high. I thought that I was the ugliest thing walking next to her seemingly supermodel beauty.

She was my superstar.

I was her whipping post.

My earliest memory of Mama’s abuse was when I was about four. She must have woken up in a bad mood, because my morning was greeted by a sharp slap across my face. I screamed and jumped so quickly from the bed that I fell to the floor. That must have angered her more, because more slaps were delivered to my head as I wailed.

For a time, she said no words. She just kept slapping my head, my face, and my legs. Finally, she stopped and pointing her finger at me, she sneered, “Don’t you ever leave a toy in my living room. I have told you before that this is my house. This room is yours only because of my gracious generosity. When I tell you to do something, I mean it. Put this thing in its proper place and let me not see it in my house again. I will not have untidiness in my own home!”

With that, she reached down, picked up the doll I had left in “her house,” and threw it at my already battered head. I flinched and was rewarded a bonus slap before she left my room and slammed the door.

Shortly following this, I began wetting the bed. This earned me some whippings with the very thick leather belt Mama beat me with—until I became clever enough to hide my accidents. I would feel the wetness either while I was peeing and woke up too late to stop it, or not very long before I had to get up in the morning.

Because Mama had an absurd collection of identical sheet sets, it was easy for me to change my bedding without her finding out. Because I had to do most of the chores, like washing clothes, I was able to wash my soiled sheets without her noticing. I resorted to sleeping naked with my pajamas under my pillow. That way I could change into them quickly if Mama called.

I don’t know how she never caught me naked in my bed. Who knows what kind of punishment that would have brought.

Mama was a nurse. It amazes me how one who seemed to find so much joy in my torture could care for any human being. She worked at a big hospital in West Philadelphia. I learned as I got older that it is quite a prestigious hospital. Mama made sure that everyone knew that she worked there.

She worked late hours and most of the time I was left alone. However, there were some days she would dress me up and take me along with her to work. Her coworkers would fawn over me and pinch my cheeks saying, “Oh, she is so cute! Look at her cute little dress! Look at how nice her hair is! Oh, girl! You sure do take good care of your daughter.” I would always feel like a puppy in a pet store when I went to her job. They didn’t know that I was her show pony outside of the house.

The only thing I liked about going to work with Mama was that her boss, Nurse Lauren, would let me sit in her office to play and have snacks. My favorite snacks were graham crackers and orange juice that came in containers with foil on top.

I remember a time when I spilled my juice on the floor and tried to hide it beneath my special coloring book Nurse Lauren had given me. When she discovered it, I was so ashamed. I wanted to cry, but Mama had warned me never to embarrass her by crying in front of people. Instead of yelling at me, Nurse Lauren looked at me somberly. I believe now that it was pity she felt for me. She smiled down at me and kissed my forehead. With no words, she just put her finger to her lips to hush my fear, sent for someone to come and clean the mess, and brought me a new coloring book.

This angel woman would become one of the safe spaces throughout my childhood—attending my graduations and giving me birthday presents, while celebrating me sometimes at the hospital. Now, as I reflect, I believe Nurse Lauren suspected the abuse I suffered from Mama. So, at every opportunity, she showed me kindness and love. I never told her how much it meant to me. Part of my sunshine retreated behind the clouds when she died.

I felt a headache coming on. Having showered and dried my locs as best I could, I laid out my clothes for the day’s events. I just wanted it all to be finished, but I would be damned if all those people coming out today didn’t get a proper show.

I pulled out my very best sky-blue, kente print accented pantsuit. Only the finest of my accessories and sparkling jewelry would do for those fake people coming to “pay respects” to Mama today.

I tied my matching kente print fabric in the highest, most elaborate headdress that I could. I left some of my locs hanging out on the sides since Mama insisted that they made me look unkempt. All this matched with my blue eyeshadow, lipstick, and eyeliner that I usually reserved for nights at the club. Not today! Today was a special day and my outfit would properly scream, “Kiss my Black ass!”

THE FUNERAL

I was already late and truly didn’t care. I was starting to feel quite indignant, not fearing any sort criticism. The air conditioning was a bit too high in the limo on this spring morning, but I welcomed the chill. As we pulled up to the entrance, I took a few very deep breaths and put on my dark, cat-eyed sunglasses. I waited for the driver to walk around and open my door. I always took pride in being a graceful woman, but today I wore my indignance like a cloak.

There were a few family and church members lingering around outside. The driver took my hand and helped me out of the car. As my low-heeled shoes touched the ground, I tilted my head skyward. The Queen had arrived, and I wanted all to know and feel it.

I was welcomed by sorrowful and smiling staff.  The foyer smelled like a light blend of potpourri and spicy flowers. I was very proud of the ambiance of the black owned business. The warm décor was themed in gold, black and mahogany brown. The ushers were dressed in black pants, white monogramed shirts, and white gloves. I’d wished they knew the painful and racial discrimination the “white gloved” service represented.

The voices in the sanctuary began to silence as people noticed my arrival. As I was ushered down the aisle to the front row, I held my head high, and my face and eyes forward. I refused to receive any fake looks of concern and pity.

Where were you?

The very dark and beautiful older woman who ushered me to my seat had a beautiful and comforting energy. She looked at me tenderly and bent down to whisper into my ear, “It’s all ok now. God got you, baby. It’s almost over.”

There's that word again. Over. This is what I wanted most. For it to be over.

Something about this woman and the sweet way she spoke to me nearly softened me to tears. I don’t know if it was her overly kind and motherly manner, but something felt so compassionate and familiar about her. I hadn’t felt such a safe feeling since Nurse Lauren. Her kindness gave me some comfort. I felt encouraged and ready to get on with it all.

The abundance of flowers in this place was sickening. Not because I didn’t like the sight or smell of them. It was that so many people invested in such elaborate floral arrangements for such a wretched woman.

Where were these people and their money when I was struggling to pay for Mama’s care?

Where were all these people who have packed this place when she needed treatments and surgeries? Especially our so-called family. Sitting there crying and boo-hooing like they cared. Not one of them called to ask if we needed help. None of them wiped her nasty behind and cleaned up her vomit. None of them were there to rescue me from her abuse.

Where were you?

I felt my brow furrow as I began to sweat. I closed my eyes and sang a song in my head. I needed to remain dignified and upright. This was my show.

I watched in silence as person after person stood at the podium to honor a woman they clearly didn’t know. It was the same nonsense over and over.

“She was such a great woman.

”No, she wasn’t.

“She contributed so much to the community.

”She made me drink dish soap when I didn’t eat my peas.

“What a great loss she is to the hospital.

The same hospital that I had to fight for her health benefits? If not for that insurance policy, I’d be laid out beside her from the stress.

I listened to all the embellished and exaggerated stories and reading of sympathy cards from names I had never heard of before. I wondered if my Daddy was somewhere in the crowd. I wouldn’t have known him anyway, so I truly didn’t give a damn.

The circus clowns finished their show and it was finally my time to shine. When I reached the podium, I looked to the exit and spotted my driver. He was waiting there for me just as I asked. I opened the program and held it as if I was going to read the obituary. Then, I slowly laid it down and methodically removed my sunglasses. I wanted to look directly into the faces of these folks during this freestyle.

“Ladies and gentlemen. I would be polite and thank you for your attendance today, but I have never been a person who likes to lie and ‘put on airs’ as the old folks used to say.

On today, we memorialize a departed person. I hesitate to say ‘departed soul’ as, according to this woman’s treatment of me till the day she died, I very rarely saw evidence that she had one. Don’t worry. I won’t take much of your time during this diatribe.”

The room became pin drop silent.

“Ohhhh! Look who is here! Mama’s coworkers! Nurse Betty, Miss Ann, and… Dr. Khaled? Wow! I’m especially surprised to see you here, Dr. Khaled. Weren’t you the one who refused to help me when I was fighting to get healthcare for this woman, after all the years she worked for you?

I see some of her coworkers in the back. I always tell people to be careful what you say around children, because like little sponges, they will soak up your conversations. I wonder what my Mama, wretched as she was, would think of some of the horrible things I heard many of you say about her? Plenty of it was likely true, but it truly begs the question—why are you here?

I also see some of my so-called family members in here today. Hello, Aunt Charlotte! You’re looking quite lovely today! I hardly recognized you since I haven’t seen you in years. Uncle Duck. I always wondered why they called you that. Too bad you never had a word to say to me, let alone any time to tell me the story.

I see some cousins who loved to have parties and cookouts and never invite me. Why wasn’t I invited? Was it because I didn’t like getting fall-down drunk at every family event? Or maybe it was because you believed some of the filthy lies that Mama told Grandmom about me. No one cared to ask me for the truth. Where was my family?”

A few people, mainly the older people began to leave.

“I understand if what I have to say makes you uncomfortable. So, if you want to leave, it’s ok. I just wish that you would remain and allow me my moment of truth. Look. I didn’t come here to pay my respects to this woman. I came here to forgive her. Yes. You heard me right. I have also come to call you all out as the liars and fakes that you are, but to also forgive you all too. I came here to forgive and let go. After all that I have been through, it is a burden I refuse to bare.

You see, I have learned so much about myself in these final two years with Mama. I’ve learned that people either are for you, or against you. Simply put. I have learned that at the end of the day, I can only rely on myself.

Very few here today have come with sincerity in your hearts, but there are some exceptions. Miss Paula, the receptionist at the clinic Mama worked at part-time before she was forced to retire. Thank you for always showing me kindness and understanding when I came to the office with her. I don’t know how you balanced checking on me at times while continuing your job at the front desk. I appreciate you.

My teachers, Mrs. Braxton, Miss Lawton, and Miss Strobeck. I will never forget your kindness, care, and patience. You all have a very special place in my heart. I would not have done well with my studies if not for you all. I know that your attendance here is more for me than for Mama.”

“Thank you. Mr. Kofi, my African Studies professor. I certainly treasure you. The knowledge you have given me and care you have shown me during and even following my college years has been more valuable than the richest diamond of Africa.”

Additionally, I want to acknowledge a woman who is no longer with us. Nurse Lauren. As I am sure that we are spirits that move around this earth, I am sure that Nurse Lauren’s presence is here with me. I am grateful that she was a surrogate mother to me at times when Mama was truly awful to me. We should all attempt to emulate such an example of a beautiful human being.

Finally, I will leave you all with these thoughts.

Where were you then? Why are you here now?”

“I don’t care to hear your explanations. Don’t bother with phone calls and criticisms. I only encourage you to examine the true reason for your attendance here."

"If you accept these truths today about my mother, my truth, and your true reason for being here today or not, you are forgiven. However, you are also released from my life. My peace is a treasure. I find no peace with most of you.”

“I won’t tarry with you all at the gravesite. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust!”

With that final word, I put on my sunglasses and walked toward the exit. Several people were murmuring but I didn’t care. I felt so empowered and relieved. I truly had come to forgive Mama, call out these people for their behavior, and forgive them as well. My headache began to subside and the sun seemed to be shining a little brighter. I had no tears to shed.

MY NEW WORLD OF SUNSHINE

After the long flight, I was anxious to get off the plane. Something special stirred inside my spirit. Yet, I felt a wave of comfort I had never felt before. I’m sure people were wondering why I was smiling through the annoying customs process.

Finally getting through and showing my passport so many times, I stepped through the exit doors. I blinked and rubbed my eyes a few times because it seemed like there were some people floating above the crowd. I closed my eyes and shook my head. When I opened my eyes, there was Jahlil, whom I had been communicating with for more than a year to make this trip to Ghana possible.

He was accompanied by drummers, children dancing, and local people who were smiling and cheering.

I could no longer hold my tears.

“My sister! Akwaaba! Welcome home!” he said with his arms outstretched.

It was at that moment that my soul heard the unspoken message:

You were looking for your family? Here we are!