Cry Later
Tamu,
Love will always be foremost. In the midst of one of our most heated exchanges, with Kendra, Kobi, Clue and Lil Rudy all standing around trying to figure out whether to step in, remain neutral or stick their heads in the sand, you froze the entire room with one bold statement. Kojo, don’t you realize that you are my favorite? We had an extremely bipolar relationship. Despite my powerful love for you, or maybe because of it, it hurt to see you fall apart once my siblings and I were taken out of the house. Don’t get me wrong, I was already hurting watching you fall victim to your addiction and Big Rudy’s anger at a young age. I was willing to endure anything to stay with you. That included learning to steal and shoplift in order to clothe myself and help feed the clan. I was also willing to suffer in silence and keep what I later found out was the worst kept secret in my lifetime.
After your secret reached Child Protective Services and we were taken out of your custody, you must have given up hope. I cannot be sure but I lost hope for you. I felt the pain of learning that my Shero’s (female hero) weakness was your addiction. I formed a belief that not only applied to you, but roped in every other addict. If my own mother could choose crack cocaine over her children, then what would the next addict, who doesn’t even have to pretend to love me, be capable of? With thoughts like that, I developed the same love hate relationship with other addicts that I had with you. I would be downright evil when a smoker would show up at the spot with children or attempt to use their children for sympathy. I often took out my anger over your abandonment on them. At the same time I tried to be you, feeding and protecting the children whose parents had, like you, totally fallen apart.
After years passed I began to realize that tough love and attempts to excommunicate you did not help you or heal my pain. So I changed my approach. That’s when I started to drive around to find you walking the streets to invite you to come to my house so you could eat, wash up, and get a change of clothes. After you took enough of my flyest sweatsuits I wised up and bought a couple for you ahead of time. Looking back, I should have done that with Outkast CDs too. Anyway, as much as it hurt me to see you leave back out into the street, my love for you grew from trying to control you to accepting you in your addiction.
Who would have known that my coming to prison for a murder on the front porch of a dope spot would be the call for my Shero to sober up? You hadn’t had your own place since I was a minor, but as soon as I got locked up you pulled out your old cape to become my children’s Shero. G Moms to the rescue. It was then that I felt compelled to share with my Gremlins whatever they hadn’t witnessed themselves while spending time with you. It felt good sharing with your grandbabies, especially Sadah, that you were not only a beautiful Black woman, but also the embodiment of strength. You were a Mama Bear. Although you suffered years of abuse in the house, on the streets, in jail, and at times appeared to be a helpless victim, at no time were you helpless when anyone attempted to victimize your cubs. By hook or crook, you did whatever it took to provide for us. Even when you knew you were too far gone to properly provide for us, you put us through a Hunger Games type training.
Love. I learned unconditional love from and through you. You poured into me until my cup ran over with love. Despite all of my experiences, the struggles and shortcomings, I have never not loved me, thanks to you. Griots, conscious rap, Gil Scott Heron, the Watts Prophets, that’s all you. You even made me listen to Nipsey Hussle with new ears to be able to hear that long lost call for community hidden in a G Rap dog whistle. Without boasting about your college education or friendships with people like Angela Davis, you still found ways to promote growth and second chances in life and education. Even if it was through nontraditional means. The way you would read a book then light up when sharing it with me, or the way you found the capacity to keep up with social justice issues around the globe, taught me the power of an informed community. I also learned that, like diamonds, those communities are formed under pressure. I still secretly look at people with the side eye when they say they don’t watch the news because of you.
After dealing with the grief and loss of my freedom in what I felt was a trial in a kangaroo court, you dusted off your old law books to answer that call too. Prior to your addiction you were a law student at UC Berkeley. When I gave up hope, you fought for me. When I started to notice your age and health conditions turning you into a mortal, I made sure to call every other day and after every scheduled doctor visit. You, like I am in this missive, would literally speak for the entire phone call without allowing me to say much more than uh huh. I loved it. Sadly, we had that heated exchange on February 14, 2022, our first in over a decade. When I called to patch it up on the 16th, I felt the growth and strength of our bond. By the 18th you were back to monopolizing the 15 minute call and praying for my release. When we got off that call and I made it back to the cafe, I received a letter informing me that my parole board date had changed from 2049 to 2027. Instead of running back to the phone, I decided I would wait until our regularly scheduled call. Before I got the chance to tell you that I believe your prayer was heard, you died on me. When Clue informed me, it felt unreal. I believe I froze momentarily, but once she broke down in tears, I snapped out of it and did what I learned from you. I supported her. The family allowed me to write some words of encouragement to be put in your obituary. Then I called in on the day of your funeral to support everyone who needed it.
Shortly after the funeral I was transferred here to San Quentin. Yeah, you heard me correctly. San Quentin. I quickly realized, for better or worse, that this is not the same San Quentin. I have to confess, it took me almost a year to stop feeling sorry for myself and realize that I owe it to you to walk in my purpose. You began a good work with your mission to restore this family and lead us in the way of the Lord. I got it from here. I love you, Moms
As always, sincerely Mama’s Boy
Kojo
