AK's Column: Surviving Grief
This is my homage to Ros, grief therapy and Doctor Brené Brown’s popular 2010 TED Talk, “The Power of Vulnerability,” based on her research and who studies the motivation towards shame, vulnerability, courage and authenticity.
As Mother’s Day approaches, it’s hard not to feel the sting of sadness for those who have lost their beloved moms. Davidson Local will share a host of fun mom stories, recipes and anecdotes in the coming days. We also know that grief can be overwhelming. I started grieving my mother before her death; it’s something counselors say isn’t uncommon. As her body transitioned from this earth, I felt numb. I recall a family friend offering advice that one day…not during the funeral or when it would be expected…that I would feel the sting.
Most people do not know I suffered from a heart attack on the anniversary of my mother’s death. Thanks to doctors and HOSPICE counseling, I learned that being broken hearted is a medical condition.
According to the Mayo Clinic, “Broken heart syndrome is a heart condition that's often brought on by stressful situations and extreme emotions… Broken heart syndrome affects just part of the heart. It briefly interrupts the way the heart pumps blood. The rest of the heart continues to work as usual. Sometimes the heart contracts more forcefully.” After experiencing COVID and underlying health issues, I know my case was extreme but not uncommon when it comes to the loss of a loved one.
I share this with the hope that it helps others. Whether you’ve recently experienced this heartbreaking loss or it’s been years since you’ve celebrated Mother’s Day with your mom, we can all agree on one thing: our mothers will forever hold special places in our hearts.
And for those who have lost their moms, finding ways to honor and remember them on Mother’s Day can be particularly difficult. I can’t thank Hospice of Davidson County enough for support during this process we call “grief.” Writing columns has been therapeutic. Over the years, I have written numerous stories about Rosalyn.
She called the following homage one of her favorites.
I hold you in my heart this Mother’s Day!
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As a young girl growing up with a burning to desire to be in a leadership position, my ideals were fueled by phenomena like Wonder Woman and my mother. They were both beautiful divas with incredible tool belts and clever tricks. They resolved problems swiftly; unlike me, I admired the fact they did this without crying.
I was dealt my first lesson about leadership and vulnerability in the fourth grade. As an ambitious child whose mother ran the dishwasher in our cafeteria at Dunbar Intermediate School, I was lucky. After all, most days I had the privilege of walking to school alongside my mother. She was known by my friends as Ms. Ros, the statuesque woman who held my hand as we crossed the streets of Parker Town. I looked up to her. If I had a problem, I could ask Mom during my lunch break and she always seemed to have a solution.
On one occasion, I ran to the lunchroom with tears streaming down my cheeks. A few of the children in my class were learning Spanish after school. “I want to learn Spanish, too!” I cried. By the end of the day, she had found a way to enroll me in the course we knew nothing about. It required a hefty enrollment fee and an agreement from Mrs. Parks Partee to bring me home. My mom wasn’t afraid to ask for help.
Ros was undeniably my hero until my very first political campaign. I was foolish enough to think I could beat one of the most popular girls in the class for the position of secretary-treasurer. I remember the campaign trail as if it were yesterday. It included lots of bus stops and locker visits.
My opponents were quite relentless. During our first campaign rules meeting, the principal outlined the “do’s” and “do nots.” I slumped in my seat while fellow candidates asked about purchasing t-shirts and pencils. It was intimidating. Mom and I had scraped up enough for markers and poster board. I begged for glitter and gold stars but that was not in our family’s budget.
My election became a full family affair. My sister had the perfect handwriting for signs and she crafted handmade stickers that even middle school brother and sisters were willing to wear at bus stops. Classrooms seemed to be deeply divided leading up to our campaign speeches. The young woman running against me was planning to include the popular group of girls in her speech. Her girlfriends whispered in the hallways about practices and props.
When I asked my mom what to say, she returned with a set of blank index cards and recommended that I practice in the mirror. But I wasn’t sure what to write. Should I make campaign promises or attack my opponent? The index cards remained blank until days before the speeches. One day, I was walking to recess and one of the popular girls got in my face. “____ is going to kick your butt because your mom works in the cafeteria,” she said matter-of-factly.
I had never judged my mom’s work in that way. In the following days, I barely spoke to my mom. She offered to sit with me at lunch but I told her I needed to eat fast and read a book. The truth is, I didn't know what to do. I was old enough to remember times when my mother was actively searching and could not find work. I knew how important her job was to our family. I was torn and suddenly questioning if I was fit for leadership. What if I started crying in front of the auditorium during our speeches?
I couldn’t explain this to my mom, so I confided in the same teacher friend who gave me rides home from Spanish class. I remember her patting me on the back and encouraging me to think about all the children who were in similar situations. That evening, my older sister helped me craft a speech that began with something along the lines of “My name is Antionette Kerr and I am running for the office of secretary-treasurer. I am not Wonder Woman but my mom is…”
On the day of the speeches, my mother stood in the back of the room. She was still in her apron, smiling and teary-eyed as I said something along the lines of, “Some girls pick on me because my mom works in the cafeteria.” I continued, “But I am the proud daughter of a cafeteria worker.” I explained that I was lucky to have my mom there with me each day helping with special things like ice cream money and Spanish class. I wanted those to be available to every student. I wasn’t sure if we could accomplish it in one year but I promised, if elected, to find ways for everyone to have those opportunities.
I won my first election by less than a dozen votes.
It turned out that it was beneficial to “know somebody” in the school cafeteria. There were a lot of ice cream socials for honor roll students and other achievements that year. I look back and realize that by fourth grade I mom taught us three important lessons. First, you don’t need a cape or title to be a hero. Secondly, it is ok to cry. And sometimes it’s better embrace what people will try to use to "shame" you. It will make you vulnerable, empathetic and stronger for the world around you.
Gracias Mami! I am no Wonder Woman but Maudiette (sister) and will need to borrow your cape from time to time.
