Death and Taxes

I attended a memorial service yesterday for my dear Uncle James. He looked really peaceful and like his time here on earth was well spent. He didn't have what most people would call the best life. He was married, but in typical black people fashion, they didn't divorce, they just went their separate ways. He worked just about all of his life at a paving company called Mullins Brothers. He didn't make much money, just enough to take care of his kids and buy him his customary Pabst Blue Ribbon Beer and his beloved cigarettes. He lived with his mama, my grandmama, until she died almost four years ago. He then moved in with my aunt, who lived right next door and continued his same habit of telling jokes, cussing people out, and drinking his Pabst Blue Ribbon until he left this world last Sunday. I loved my uncle because he made smile and because he loved us so much. He often tell my daddy how proud he was of him and his family. Hell, he helped my daddy get himself when he and my mama first got married. I think that the only reason they're still together is because he made my daddy straighten himself up. I thank him for that. I'll miss him, but I know that he's much happier where he is now.

Since my uncle's death, I've been thinking about my life, a lot. I'm 25 years old, a single mother, and back in school for a radical career change from business to healthcare, specifically medicine. I don't think I have that much excitement going on. I live my life the way I see fit. I do things that will only improve my daughter's life and give me piece of mind. I don't sweat the small stuff anymore. I don't eat as healthy as I should and I feel bloated every second of every day. I guess you're wondering why I'm saying all of that stuff that seems unimportant. Well, it's quite simple, no matter how many kids you have, how many degrees you earn, if you get married, if you eat healthy and exercise everyday of your life, you're still going to die. Now for most of you reading this, you're already aware of this, but I didn't know that you die until my daddy told me this at 7 or 8 years old. I thought everybody lived forever. So, I'm not saying you shouldn't pursue your dreams, but just know this, when you're dead, you're dead. You don't get a second chance to do it all over again, but then again, when you're dead you won't remember what it was you always wanted to do or what you didn't get a chance to do anyway. The moral of this story is, there isn't a such thing as life. You are born to die. Life is optional, death is a certainty. Until the next time..........

Just The Two of Us

Today, I played hooky from work so that I could spend some much needed time with my baby. I realized that for the past two months, I haven't spent quality time with her. You know like teaching her stuff and just playing with her. When I was unemployed, we used to have so much fun together. We would go for walks and play for hours. I miss that. If I could, I would definitely be a stay at home mom. I'm looking forward to our mini vacation to the Bahamas in December. I lucked up on some good prices for tickets on AirTran and thought that it would be a great way for us two gals to get together and just hang out. Mommy and daughter :D. Even though my little Peanut is only one years old and I know that she won't give a damn about this trip, I still wanted her go. I want her see the ocean and play with the little dolphins (I'm going to make arrangements for us to visit Dolphin Adventures) so she can see what mama is always making a fuss about (I love dolphins and would put one in my bathtub if I knew the cheap ass thing would hold up).

I was thinking to myself the other day how content I am with it just being the two of us. I would ask myself if I would be as content with myself if I was alone. I can't honestly say that I would. You see I always knew that I was going to be someone's mother. Even though doctor's told me it would be difficult for me to pregnant due a medical condition that I have, I still wound up getting pregnant. Not to mention that the father said that he couldn't get me pregnant (yeah, I know, I'm gullible). But, I ended up getting pregnant anyway. I always said that I couldn't wait to experience being pregnant, however, this pregnancy left little to be desired. Only my close friends and family members can attest to how sick I was during this pregnancy. I spent most of my time in the bathroom at work instead of in my cubicle, I lost thirty pounds instead of gaining them, was severely dehydrated and not to mention I didn't start showing until I was eight months, so people didn't even believe that I was pregnant. The father wasn't there to support me or the baby. I was depressed but happy nonetheless, because I was finally having the baby that I'd prayed for. When she was born, I didn't even count her fingers and toes, because I knew they were all there, I'd seen them in my dreams. When I first held her all I could do was smile. She was perfect. It's amazing how two imperfect people can produce a perfect little girl. Occasionally, when the sperm donor comes around, he always makes it a point to say, "she looks just like me". Whatever nigga! You don't even pay child support, but you want to lay claim to her looks and shit.

Moving on, I would like to have more children. Whenever, I get my self together and if I'm not married in a few years, I'd like to adopt a child. Probably someone older than my Scooby, so that she could have a big brother or sister. I think that children bring out the best in a person. I know I'm a much better person because of my Pookie! Well, I must go so that I can finish washing and drying my baby's clothes. I'll be back to my regular sarcastic self next time....................