SMALL BLACK NOTEBOOK

SMALL BLACK NOTEBOOK

By Tracy Jordan

The sun was slowly setting and a slight chill had begun to fill the air. I wrapped myself in a throw and found comfort in the old leather recliner Mom loved so much. I closed my eyes and went over the day. It could have been a dark and somber day. The clouds above could have displayed signs of a pending storm, followed by a release of a steady flow of heavy rain pouring on our faces, hiding our tears. Instead, the day was nothing less than bright sunshine combined with warm gentle breezes, as a large number gathered to honor my mom at her “Home-going Celebration”.

In the beginning, I was highly skeptical referring to my mom’s funeral as being a celebration. “A celebration,” I cried to Pastor Jones. “How can I substitute my grief with joy?” However once Pastor Jones made clear to me this type of celebration and what purpose it would serve, then it became more comprehensible to me the type of celebration this could render, then I was open and more accepting. After the burial, we all gathered at Junction Park. The large community park was complete with a wide variety of activities for the young and the old.  Mom and I always had a reason to come here, whether it was to enjoy everything the park had to offer, or to walk the curvy path to get to my schools, mom’s work, or other places outside the park.

Mom started bringing me to Junction Park since I was practically a baby.  Each part of the park was slowly introduced to me in stages of my development.  The park did not lack anything. The playground area where my childhood park memories began was equipped with swings, slides, monkey bars, see-saws, hop scotch drawings, and sand boxes. And although I liked all the fun stuff at the playground, I was always drawn to the swings. In the beginning, mom’s push determined how high I would go. Then over time she taught me to repeatedly kick my legs outward and then back, and then I could swing as high as I wanted to go. I remember her telling me many times, “Rest your legs Thomasina, slow down or you’ll wrap around the pole”. “I’m fine,” I joyfully yelled in the air-plaits swinging.

Another favorite were the monkey bars. Mom would wrap her arms around my waist while I held tight to a bar, reaching with all my might to the next bar. Eventually I learned to swing from bar to bar, often skipping bars to make it to the end, turn around in a hurry and go back the other way-legs swinging, arms stretching. “Look Ma, watch this,” taking her attention away from her small black notebook. I jumped up, grabbed a bar with both hands and began to swiftly move with ease from one end to the other, then I’d stop in the middle, kick my legs up and over a bar and swing my body with the backs of my knees. Then I’d pull myself back up with my arms, slightly swing my relaxed legs until I felt comfortable enough to let go of the bars and land in the sand below. I stood straight up, brushed the soft sand from my hands, arms up and wide and said, “ta-dah”. Mom and I smiling at each other as she gave me a standing ovation.

An area of the park had been sectioned off for the celebration.  A large number of friends, co-workers, church members, and relatives from nearby towns came to pay tribute to my mom. Under the bright blue cloudless sky, I was greeted with warm hellos, soft smiles, and gentle embraces. Hands tenderly held onto mine as we made our way over to join others sitting comfortably on folding chairs, while others relaxed on blankets in the soft grass. Picnic lunches and dinners in the park was a favorite past-time of ours. Oftentimes mom and I would raid the refrigerator and pantry, fill our basket with random foods, a blanket, books and walk hand in hand to the big oak tree we called our own. After our bellies were full, we’d lie back and look up at the day sky searching for look-a-likes in the puffy clouds, and at night under the star filled sky, we’d try to catch some of the hundreds of lightning bugs flying aimlessly around us.

As I made my way through the group of familiar faces, an overwhelming sense of ease came over me. I stepped into conversations filled with verbal memories beginning with, “Remember when Olivia,” or “What about the time,” or “I still think about that time when Olivia,” was followed with contagious laughter and knee slapping. Then during the break as we gathered our thoughts and the laughter wind down, someone would either hum or sing a line or two from the spiritual hymns coming from the portable CD player next to the old oak tree. Then someone else was reminded of a memory, and before long, we’d be back to, “I’ll never forget when,” or “Y’all can’t forget that night when,” and non stop laughter would begin again, and the sounds of our joy echoing through Junction Park. Pastor Jones recited Jeremiah 31:13, “I will turn their mourning into joy, I will comfort them and give them gladness for sorrow”.

At the top of the hour, some of the church women called to us to come eat lunch. As we approached the picnic tables, these “apron-wearing-women” were keeping themselves busy doing all sorts of things, and whatever system they had assigned themselves was working. Miss Stewart was arranging colorful bouquets of flowers. Miss Linda was removing lids from home cooked dishes. Mrs. Hanover was setting out disposable plates, utensils, cups, and napkins, and Miss Jane neatly placed cookies on trays after she cut cakes and pies into giant slices. We all held hands while Pastor Jones blessed the food. After the prayer was said we all started filling our plates with all kinds of foods. There was so much good stuff to choose from, either you piled it all on one plate, or you went back for seconds. I caught of glimpse of Mr. McHenry going back for thirds. Small talk was made in between bites and sips of cold sweet tea. Sometimes the only sounds we heard were the birds singing in the trees or children playing in the distance.

As I finished the last of my slice of sweet potato pie, my eyes wandered to the many areas of the park and my memories surfaced. This was the perfect place to have Mom’s home-going celebration I thought to myself. So many vivid memories I have of the two of us at Junction Park. It wasn’t just the playground or putt putt golf, or the tennis and basketball courts. Nor was it swimming in the summer, skating on the small ice rink in the winter, or learning to ride my bike without training wheels and mom having a supply of band aides always handy. It was so much more than those things, it was the quality of time we spent together, and not just at Junction Park, but at home as well. 

It was then that I felt overwhelmingly compelled to go home. So I began making my rounds of goodbyes and thank you’s, along with hugs and kisses and promises to keep in touch. I headed in the direction of the curvy path and started my short walk home. When I get to our home, I put the key in the lock and turn the handle to open the door to the house I’ve lived in for 18 years. Now as I settle deeper in Mom’s chair, and wrap myself a little tighter with the throw, tears begin to fill my eyes and I say over and over again, “what now mom, what now? I go over the room with glazed eyes, examining everything that was a part of us for 18 years, resting at the bookcases. The 3 large bookcases that lined the largest wall in the living room was home to over 200 books. “Always a story to be told in a book,” she’d say. Still wrapped in the throw, I got up from the chair and walked to the bookcases, closely examining the many books on the shelves. Then I noticed “the book”. It was the small black notebook I had seen my whole life, but never inquired about it. It wasn’t high up and out of reach, but at eye level, so I pulled it from the shelf and sat back down in the chair.

A warm sensation suddenly came over me as I opened the book to its first page and read Thomasina Edwards neatly written in blue ink. Baby girl Edwards, born January 10, 2003, at 11:00 am was on the second page with a small hand written note welcoming me into her life. January 10, 2004, Happy 1st Birthday was written on the next page, along with an account number and a deposit amount of $1300.00, which she called, Thomasina’s Higher Education Money. And every year on my birthday she made deposits for $1100.00. For 18 years my mom saved $20,000 for my higher education. I held the book close to me and wept. I thanked God for blessing me with her, and for everything she had done for me. And then I whispered to Mom, “thank you mom for giving me the best childhood, and thank you; you for giving me a great start at adulthood. And just like the swings mom, I can go as high as I want to go”.