Personal Narrative: My Mother's Funeral

The first recollection I have of my mother, I was four years old. Aunt Stella Jackson Spencer was on her way to Chicago and asked mother if she could take me with her. After mother agreed to allow me to accompany Aunt Stella, she began to sew a wardrobe for my trip, after all my mother was a master seamstress. With her mastery of dress making I became a little miss fashion plate, each dress was prettier than the last one, as she finished a dress, she laid them out on the sofa, dress after dress, oh so many dresses. Mother made me so many clothes; I could have stayed in Chicago two years. Sewing was mother’s passion, and we loved for her to sew for us. Hand-me-downs! Certainly, my mom did not believe in hand-me-downs, not for her girls,

Stunningly beautiful woman, just going up the street to shop or catch the local bus, the men on our block would step out on their porch, to observe, some would push away the curtain peek-out to catch a glimpse of this striking woman, they watched until mother’s silhouette faded from view. No wonder dad fell in love with her.

Her talent was not only sewing, but she was a culinary artist, yes, the food that mother prepared, in my humble opinion, I would describe as delectable, mouthwatering, appetizing and plentiful. Quite often family and friends found their way to our dining table and everyone who came left filled to

Soon mother gave permission for me to spend summers with everyone at the Foote Homes Projects let the jollification begin! FUN, oh yes, summers meant enjoyment, amusement, and lighthearted pleasure, no homework, and sun-filled days of relaxation with my grandparents, uncles, and Aunt Mollie, sometimes even going to work with my grandfather. Of course, once school started, it was back home to mother. Gratitude to my mom for sharing me with family. She was such a special lady, we were, as she called us “her girls”. Her love protected us, she taught us right from wrong, respect everyone, and finally, how to be strong