Mama T: A Parent's Death

“Mama might be better off dead: The failure of healthcare in urban America”, was written by an investigative reporter Laurie Kaye Abraham in 1993. This is a disturbing and profound look at the human side of the health care and how government health care policies work when they hit the streets. This is a story of an impoverished African-American family dealing with devastating illnesses and how they end up in a miserable dilemma.

She made a courageous decision to attend Central Piedmont Community College late in her life and obtain her GED to gain a career that might sustain her and her children. I was in high school during that time and remember helping her with homework. My mom was a single parent and struggled financially. She entered the nursing program, but had a heart attack and walked away with her Nursing Assistant Certification. While working three jobs, she paid the bills and made sure my younger brother and I had something to eat. Later, she worked her way up to Activities Director at Carmel Hills Retirement Center located in Charlotte, NC. My brother and I were so proud of her. She passed away in 2006 from pancreatic cancer, however the impact of seeing her attend college, complete her studies, and further her education still astounds

I admired your parents. The always treated me with friendship, and the news of your mom’s death deeply saddened me. She was a good woman and I know she will be missed by all her knew her.

"Jiminy Cricket Josephine" was a constant saying of hers, Dr. Pepper was her favorite drink, erotic romance novels filled her room, an open book is what everyone would call her, and a warrior is what she was. My mother Michele Cameron-Wages was a fun, ill-tempered, headstrong, and spirited woman. She loved to party and be with friends, she was family oriented, and most of all one hell of a writer. People will say she wasn't like most mothers and its true, her methods of raising my sister Rebekah and me were different than most. Not only were we her daughters we were her best-friends. We didn't always get along but we always came back together in the end, because we are inseperable or at least we thought we were.

"Anita began raising Darnell 15 years ago, when his mother began deteriorating in different ways. They've been through it all; she laughed when she talked about how much trouble he got into early on, and she shook her head proudly when she said he was now "the man of the house," helping with all the other children who have landed in her home over the years after their parents gave up. "She's my second mom," Darnell said. "I don't let that 'mother' word out easily, I really don't. But she deserves it." He told me his story matter of factly, telling me he struggled at times when thinking about his mom, in particular, but "I had to learn how to accept that she was doing the right thing for me when she decided she couldn't raise me."

“HOME RUN, Michael Molaski! That’s his 13th home run this year!” Yells the announcer, “He’s now the record holder most home runs in a single season!” The other announcer adds on. Michael pounds his chest and sneers at his opponents as he rounds the bases. His smile full of hatred and power. The pupils in his eyes black, bland, but bold, just like his fathers. But deeper in his eyes were a red stew of anger. Michaels fist flies into the air,as his teammates surround him in the pride Michael lives for. His bracelet jangling as he walks “So now can I go to the party?” Michael asks happily, “No. I think you know why.” Yells Bobby. Michaels face turns red as he felt rejected for the last time, “Get out of my way, idiot!” Michael yells.

This event is a big part of who I am today because, I had to take on a lot of responsibility when my mom was gone. My dad lived in Utah, and my mom worked full time and went to her classes full time. So I saw her for about 15 minutes before and after school, and on the weekends but she

Death. That’s what scared me the most; maybe not the death itself but the dying. Lately it seemed that’s all we knew, people getting sick and dying. I did not realize just how scary it all could be until it affected me. Momma was sick, and we all had our own ways of dealing with what we knew but never wanted to accept. At first we thought she had the flu with symptoms such as fever, headache, chills, and weakness. Then we realized it was way more than that. Momma had gotten the plague. Her lymph nodes, swollen and tender, gave their huge announcement of how sick momma was. I needed some fresh air, time away to think. As I was passing through Tokenhouse Yard, a woman let out a terrible screech, “Oh! Death, death, death!” The scream sent chills

After the death of her child, a grieving mother moves to the country where she connects to the spirit of three dead children as she uncovers the town’s buried secret.

For the interview I conducted, I chose to talk to my mom. Her name is Teresa Stutts, and she is 56 years old. She was born and raised in Florence, AL. she is I actually grew up in the same house she did. She went to a private Christian school; my sister and I attended the same school as well. She started working at a bank when she was 19, and she completed 2 years of college but didn’t graduate. Her dad passed away in 1980, when she was still in school. He was the one encouraged her to finish, but she didn’t like school and got a promotion at the bank. She has two children, and she has been married to my dad for 25 years. Neither one of them had been married before, and neither one had previous children. My sister and I are their only children.

“Laces, get yo’ black ass in here and pick this shit up gal. What’s wrong wit’ you?” Laces grandmother placed her hand on her hip and waited. “Laces, don’t make me call yo’ black ass no mo’.” Running through the hall full of energy stood eight year old Laces. “I was coming grandma.” Ms. Janine looked at her and shook her head. “When I call you, you come. You don’t take your precious time. Do you hear me gal?”

I carry responsibility and work ethic because of my mother. My mother is a single parent, and she is a hard working woman. At working two jobs, I have pretty much just grown up faster than others, like ponyboy. Most kids my age get to go home, do their homework, and relax for the remaining time, or choose to go to extra curricular activities. A day in my life is what most people would describe as overwhelming. I wake up at around 5:30 AM every morning to take my yorkie on a mile jog to keep him active. I come back, take a shower, and begin to get ready at around 6:30 AM. Around that time my mother awakes, and makes us breakfast, usually consisting of cooked sausage, and eggs. I leave for school around 6:53-7:00 AM, being sure to give my mother a kiss on the cheek before I leave. I take a 1 hour bus ride to school, where I take all pre-ap and two high school credit classes. Once I have arrived home from school, I take my yorkie outside, play with him for nearly 25 minutes, and begin to work on the homework I have accumulated. I will usually have a chiropractic appointment, from 4:30- 5:30 PM. I will hurry to a softball game, which starts at 5:45 PM. Once I get out of softball, I go to the gym. One hour later, 8:30 PM, and we finally head home. I finish my homework, 9:45 PM, and I have to shower, prepare for bed, and I study for my permit test, which I will have to take, and later on get my hardship. For anyone who might not know what that is, it’s whenever you're parent

I knocked on the door it was that soft kind of polished wood. I heard a faint whisper saying “Come in.” I walked in and said “Hi momma how are you doing?”

My mother died two weeks ago. I thought it was the worst thing that could ever happen to me.

My mom was the stable person in the marriage and the family. She was the breadwinner, the one who always held a job and made sure we had enough to eat and clothes to wear. I think about the life she had, a mother of six who had to work full time and who’s salary supported all of us while my dad worked sporadically and drank way too much beer. I don’t remember her ever having a vacation or even taking days off work, and yet when she got home at the end of the day she still made us dinner and washed the dishes, did the laundry and kept the house. How was she not always exhausted? Maybe she was, but I never heard her complain. She wasn’t a gentle soul exactly – she didn’t dote on her children nor did she express much affection towards any of us (she made up for that with her grandchildren), yet she was always predictable and safe. I think of how much she sacrificed of herself and her dreams to be our mom, to stay with my dad even though he was such a hard person to live with, because she felt it was the right, or only, thing to do.