The Refrigerator Door – Reflections and Revelations on Loss

The Refrigerator Door – Reflections and Revelations on Loss

The hardended piece of sharp cheese was like a member of the family. Every single time I would open the refrigerator door, there was that piece of cheese. Never covered quite right, it would invariably have a hardened exterior. I’d gotten used to eating it just like that. That’s how mommy’s cheese was, tough exterior protecting the good stuff within.

11 years ago this coming August, my mother, Joan Rosamond McLeod Chea passed away. My mother and I had a unique relationship. Unique meaning - tempestuous, loving, patient, impatient, understanding, totally void of understanding and 100% real. I have so many amazing memories of growing up the child of this dynamic, handsome, passionate, driven, principled woman. My mother was a social worker. She took pride in her job, she was dedicated to the task of reuniting families torn apart by abuse (sexual, emotional, physical). I remember my mother telling stories about marching into homes and extricating abused children from their parents. She spoke as though she was a lioness venturing into other dens rescuing neglected cubs. I remember that on more than one occasion my father had to talk my mother out of adopting a client.

As much as she loved being a social worker, she loved being a mother, a nuturer and wife even more. Domestic prowess was something my mother celebrated. I grew up in a home where a fresh, home cooked meal was prepared every night. EVERY night. Right after school, Daddy would take Alvin and I to a sundry of lessons; piano, flute, ballet and swim team. My mother was determined to have dinner ready by 5:30. So, as soon as she would walk through the door she would take off her clothes, throw them over the banister, pull her slip up (to provide a semblance of modesty), and would get to cookin’. Sure enough, we’d walk through the door to glorious smells of stew chicken, peas and rice, roti, pumpkin, you name it. My mother took pride in being a superwoman. Her example set the standard to which I aspire. I remember my grandmother dying of cancer, my mom serving as her main caregiver and still holding things down at home. Even with all that, dinner was prepared every night.

My mother’s presence was larger than life. If Joan Chea was in the room, you knew it. At her funeral, Pastor DJ used these words to describe her “Joan Chea did not practice deceptive diplomacy”. My mother was the originator of “keeping it real”. She called it like she saw it. While often times the sharing of her opinion wasn’t encouraged, she was respected because she was authentic and true.

I was there when she died. Mommy died at home, surrounded by me, my father, my brother, other family and church members. It was the sweetest bad experience I’ve ever lived through. We all sang “Tis So Sweet To Trust In Jesus” as she took her last breath. She died with her calling and election sure. While my mother is sleeping in Christ, her words, her compassion, her selflessness live in and through me. For months after she passed I would catch myself picking up the phone to share something with her and then would remember she was gone. I had my mother for 28 years, but given how mommy loved and lived it was more likely equivalent to 50 ☺. Fact is, truth is, we’re never ready for our parents to die. My uncle lost his mother at 94 and cried like a baby. There’s no way to prepare for it. Our minds can’t fathom the permanence of death. Irrespective of your theological beliefs regarding the state of the dead – when they’re gone, they’re gone. Floating above or not, they are no longer in live and living color. Mommy knew I loved her madly, deeply and I knew she loved me the same. Home was never the same after mommy died. The smells were different, her slip was missing from the banister and that hardended piece of cheese wasn’t in the refrigerator door. That piece of cheese was like a member of the family. Every single time I would open the refrigerator door there was mommy’s piece of cheese. Funny how certain things stand out. For me, it’s the refrigerator door and that cheese.

Finally!

A few months back I posted on my vice of the moment (Facebook), that I would be starting a blog. I wrote those words without a true appreciation of what maintaining a blog required. After several not so subtle questions from quite a few people ( keeping the fire under me), I've finally gotten it up and running. Welcome aboard!!!!

This blog will cover quite a few things, practical Christianity, relationships, life lessons, fashion, politics.....in a nutshell, things that interest and concern most of us. Not sure how it will flow, bear with me.....we'll figure it out together.

I welcome your comments and critiques (try to be nice).