A Tribute to My NANA

The year was 1939. Benton, Mississippi. Born to Reverand James Robinson and Sis. Lady Beulah Knight Robinson. Number 10 of 14.

You were the "Baby Sister". Not to be confused with the big sister. But your responsibilities were many. You were a hairstylist to some (Rozena calling out to her daughter "Mary Magdanlennnnnaaa....") Asking you to hot press her dripping wet hair. You were always so wise. Advising against it, she still begged. Hair sizzling under the hot comb. "Ouchhhhh girlll you trying to fry my brains out." She yelled.

What can we learn from a woman? A mother? A friend like you? I'll tell you what you taught me and I'll put it in alphabet form.

A. Not to gossip. To be mindful of my words and the things that are told to me in confidence should never be shared.

B. Always have a song in your heart.

C. Sing as if you are singing for an audience of one. Because, really, you are.

D. Go to church. Give God some of your time.

E. Follow peace with all people. I add, animals, the earth collective and those who have been abused and mistreated.

F. Forgive others. You would always say "I don't have anything in my heart against anybody." You were just that free.

G. Don't be distracted by the diamonds, gold, and you know my weakness... SHOES. I could never get new shoes without you noticing. (Smiling)

H. Have fun. Be lighthearted.

People called you the "Songbird of the South." But what they didn't know is that you were really a mockingbird. You could imitate even the best of them. You could impersonate Aretha Franklin with such clarity and musical acumen that I couldn't do anything but marvel.

In those last years, as you were homebound, we spent so much time together. From getting your catfish plate from Walker's on my lunch break to making your coffee before I headed to my "9 to 5" at the time. "You forgettin’ something” you would say on those mornings you caught me before I left too early, pointing to your cheek.

You had your routine and I made sure that no matter how busy I was, that you would be setup for an easy day. "Don't forget to make my coffee". I treasure those times now and even when I'm sad, just thinking of our devotional moments and the time we spent laughing together fills my heart with more glee than sorrow. You were a true mother of ZION.

I'm reminded of the time we watched Aretha Franklin's funeral together. You were in the living room in your wheel chair, me in bed watching from my room. You would tell me when my favorite singers were on and we will talk back and forth from our rooms. I slept through a lot of the service, because you know, it was a baptist funeral after all.

6 hours in, you didn't tire out. We watched the whole service. Needless did I know that less than one year later, I would be saying my final goodbye to you. No words would come to me at your service. I had said everything I needed to say when you could hear me. I had did everything I could do when you could see it. Nothing was too good for you.

There were still places I wanted you to see. Experiences I wanted you to have. 80 years was not enough But GOD knew best. You were tired. You were ready to see "momma and daddy" as you told me as I sat with you the day after Mother's Day.

To say I miss you would be an understatement. A disservice to your legacy. But I hold fast the songs. I hold fast the memories. You were my mother. You were my best friend. You were a light for me in this dark world.

To say I miss you would be inadequate.

And so I sing to you. I honor you by continuing those many conversations we had in my heart.

I honor you beyond words and by remaining humble just like you taught me when you taught me the words to "Sweet Jesus, Sweet Jesus."

He's the Lily of The Valley.

Bright and Morning Star.

Sweet Jesus, Sweet Jesus.

He's the Govenor of 10,000.

Bless His Name.