I Got A Woman
A few Mondays ago, my grandmother died. Those words are difficult to write because they are still nearly impossible to believe. So far, I have not in the least bit enjoyed referring to her in the past tense, and I don’t foresee that changing anytime soon. But I guess past tense language is socially acceptable for people who aren’t here anymore. I do know, however, that she’s not gone, just not here where I wish she were.
Nobody is ever really gone. I understand that. According to the first law of thermodynamics, or the law of conservation of energy, energy can never be created or destroyed. It can only be changed or converted from one form to another. Whatever was present remains constant. My faith tradition echoes this law, giving me the space to believe that we shall all be changed one day. For now, those of us who live in earthly houses are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses. All of this means that my grandmother simply exists in a different form. And this truth is a great comfort, but I miss the form I knew.
I am pleased to know she lives in spirit, but, for the past 33 years, up until a few Mondays ago, I loved her and knew her in the flesh. It’s strange what remains when someone transitions- how your flesh has a way of remembering theirs.
In the days leading up to her death, I began to experience a tempest of visceral memories. I could see, hear, taste, and feel moments of our time together. It was as if my body was giving me a tour of remembrance in preparation for her change. I could hear her purse unzipping and smell the double mint gum sliding out of its wrapper. I could taste the eggs she scrambled and feel my cheek on her chest back when she used to hold me and when her rocking chair was downstairs in the den. She seemed not to know any songs written for children. When she rocked me, she would either sing a silly song she wrote, a random, odd for occasion hymn, like “Bringing in the Sheaves,” but most days it was Ray Charles’ “I Got A Woman.” I have no idea why she picked that song. I guess she just liked it. In retrospect, that’s a very funny song to rock an infant to. She was a very funny woman. Hilarious actually.
And losing her in the form I knew has absolutely hollowed me. Truly. It is a void I always anticipated but could never fathom. I feel totally de-centered and disintegrated. But I am not destroyed. I am sad sometimes, but in knowing her and being cared for by her, I experienced a love supreme. The kind of love that John Coltrane would say is a thank you to God, and I am indeed grateful.
When I knew she would only have a few days left on this side, I began to sweep. I prepared my house. I straightened things up and removed all clutter. I changed out the white cloth on my altar and poured fresh water into each glass. I wanted to make sure she had a clean space in my home. I made sure I had a new candle ready for when I would learn of her transition. I sprayed Yves Saint Laurent’s Paris above my altar so she would know for sure she’d have a place to reside. I went through a box of photos, searching for the one I would frame and place next to the one of her late spouse. While I cleaned and prepared my altar for her picture and my heart for her transition, I played “I Got A Woman” on repeat. A strange song to sing to a small child, but I like to think now that she was teaching me what song to sing when I needed to feel rocked in the future. In the days when she would no longer be around to do it with her arms. All the words make sense now.
What has been and what will continue to be healing on my journey, on all of our journeys, is the belief that not only do the people we lose still exist but that the cloud of witnesses surrounds us. It is the belief that our ancestors are aware and available. Their energy is constant. They are a very present help guiding us, loving us, and making a way for us from the other side. The belief that they want to commune with us and the rituals we perform to commune with them sustain us and keep our hearts beating in rhythm.
My sorority sisters gifted me with a Peace Lily plant in my time of bereavement. I named it Billie Jo. I speak its name when I water it and doing so somehow waters me. I hope that those of you who are sad today and missing someone will find a way to water yourself. I hope you can think or create rituals that nourish your relationship with the witnesses who surround you. If you draw near to your ancestors, they will draw near to you. I pray that feeling their presence empowers you and brings you peace.
My candle is lit now. Its flame honors my grandmother and gives me the light that I need to get through each day. All is as it should be.
I’m alright. It’s alright. She’s alright.
Well
I got a woman, way over town
That's good to me, oh yeah
Say, I got a woman, way over town
Good to me, oh yeah
She give me money when I'm in need
Yeah, she's a kind of friend indeed
I got a woman, way over town
That's good to me, oh yeah
She saves her lovin', early in the morning
Just for me, oh yeah
She saves her lovin', early in the morning
Just for me, oh yeah
She saves her lovin', just for me
Ah, she love me so tenderly
I got a woman, way over town
That's good to me, oh yeah
…
Oh, don't you know she's alright
Oh, don't you know she's alright
She's alright, she's alright
Whoa yeah, oh yeah
