Chicken Soup for the African American Woman's Soul Read Online Free PDF Page A

fluctuate, and she ultimately took a turn for the worse. After several blood transfusions, she was scheduled for surgery to install a port in her chest. As I carefully lifted my mother’s right foot, to stick it inside her black, slimline Easy Spirit shoe, my spirit revealed that she would not return home again. I spent many nights crying but managed to drag myself out to promote my book. A short time thereafter, a tumor was found on her lung, and the cancer began spreading rapidly. Making my mother comfortable became the only remaining option. I could not imagine what it must have felt like to be in her shoes.
    When I entered her hospital room, I asked her to squeeze my hand if she could hear me. Although her pale hand shook, she mustered the strength to greet me. I read the Bible to her and reaffirmed that she was loved and appreciated. Although she could no longer talk, I could feel a sense of unity swirl in the air and felt my strength rise. During this time, I had secured my first radio interview and explained where I was going to my mother.
    Although her eyes were closed, she smiled, and I knew that I would make it through the interview, despite my jumbled thoughts.
    Less than six months after diagnosis, my mother departed to heaven. After her funeral, I found it difficult to do more than sleep or cry. I had written only one chapter of my new book, and I knew that my mother, my best friend, would want me to continue striving to meet my goals. Over time I got stronger. My appetite returned, and I pulled myself together and was able to write the sequel to my first novel.
    Almost a year later I helped a delivery driver unload a truck full of boxes. After we finished, I dropped to my knees in my basement and cried tears of joy in thanks to my mother for being my role model. I knew she was looking down smiling.
    One day I was unable to find my tennis shoes. My eyes fell on the same Easy Spirit shoes that my mother wore the final time she was dressed to journey to the hospital.
    In between sniffling, I grabbed the shoes and decided that I would overcome the fear of no longer being able to physically speak to my mother. I put them on and decided that I would wear the shoes to the gym, as a symbolic representation of two soldiers: Mom and me. As I sprinted around the track, with each lap I completed, I felt her strength comfort me.
    So this is what it feels like to be in my mother’s shoes.
    Andrea Blackstone

My “Shero”
    D reams come a size too big so that we can grow into them.
    Josie Bisset
    All of my childhood and early adult life my mom weighed over 220 pounds. I could feel the pain that my mom experienced with her obesity—not because I had a weight problem, but because our family was so close, and I often watched Mom when no one else was looking. I would see the hollow look in her face as if she lost something a long time ago and was still searching for it. I had no idea that I would soon find out what my mom had actually lost.
    She never came to any school events, even though I ran track, swam competition, did water ballet, was a cheerleader, was in student council and many other things. I have no memory of my mother attending anything with me at all. My father made it his responsibility to participate in many of these activities with me, which ultimately led me to forge a greater bond with my dad than with my mom. I often wondered why she chose not to participate in my activities and even wondered if she maybe didn’t love me enough to support me. My bitterness and hurt toward my mom’s lack of involvement in my life only became heightened as I moved into my later teen years. I found myself resenting her for her choices and criticizing her for her complacency. I looked for female role models elsewhere, away from my mother.
    I was never embarrassed about my mother, but I think she was embarrassed about herself, and that feeling was painful for all of us. I would hear stories about when my