Remembering My Mama at Christmastime
Honoring our rituals is perhaps the best medicine for a broken heart
A few weeks before Christmas in 2002, lung cancer won, and I lost Mama. What remains are the memories I shared with her and all of the love she poured into me.
The scent of collard greens, seasoned with smoked ham hocks, is enough to send me back to Thanksgiving, Christmas, or New Year’s. If only I could taste those greens again. I loved Mama’s greens so much I couldn’t wait for them to cook. I often tiptoed into the kitchen for a sample. As soon as I lifted the lid off the pot, Mama called my name and let me know I hadn’t been as quiet as I had thought. Sometimes she would give me a taste; sometimes she kicked me out of the kitchen.
Holidays and the absence of Mama’s collard greens magnify the loss, and I am not alone. Death is so universal that all of us who live long enough will mourn the loss of someone close to us.
Women of color in the United States, who are already carrying an emotional burden for being a woman and a minority, are especially vulnerable to this rollercoaster of grief, Helen H. Hsu, a licensed clinical psychologist at Stanford University, told me.
“An emotional burden,” she said, “eventually becomes a physical burden.”
