We hadn’t realized how important life was until we were all doomed to accept unmitigated, exhausting change. The stroke of every clock sounded, and we ignored them–content to wade in our sullied waters until the next defeat. And now . . . we wallow in a sea of mesmerizing tears, unable to fetch the happiness we prayed for four years ago. How odd–the way life jokes around and pulls its highest card when we believe we’ve won at a game of spades.
Sorrow flows from hearts Life’s unfailing trials spin us Another hand’s dealt
Ladies, gentlemen, and beautiful beings breathing before me, Jourdan Blue. The young man with a voice that can change the world.
I will share “Something To Think About” for one more Sunday afternoon. It may be a quote, a picture, an interesting phrase I heard, artwork, etc. Whatever I share will surely be intriguing or involving enough to spark a casual discussion or in-depth conversation. Stay tuned every Sunday for this feature!
Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-BookandPaperback) yet?
I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak aboutthe most recent events with my place of employment as it pertains to racism and discrimination. I welcome your visit.
The good news about the current status of my eyes has floored me.
Morning shenanigans at the Optometrist’s office. Photo Collage Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt
To hear the words, “You have 20/20 vision,” and try to contain my emotion — keep my cool was a poor happenstance on my part. The emotion flowed out of me, and I am still overcome with it. I have keratoconus (as well as astigmatism in both eyes, and I am near-sighted), and I have been toggling between an Ophthalmologist/Corneal Specialist and an Optometrist (who specializes in corneal diseases) for four years. I have been wearing scleral contacts for three years… this, my third year, granted me 20/20 vision, something I had no immediate recognition of since I was about 12 years old.
It’s a blessing. It’s a wonder. It’s a miracle. I do not take it for granted, and I am thankful for everyone who has handled my vision care for the last four years. At this time, I do not have to have a procedure called Corneal Collagen Cross-linking to further assist with keratoconus, the contacts are doing — have been doing their job.
If I could properly describe what I am feeling right now, I would. But there are no words for it. NONE. I see God everywhere —literally now and figuratively, and He’s still on time.
To those of you who have been following my story about living with keratoconus since February of 2021, thank you for still being here. It’s been a long and tortuous journey, and I have had to make so many life changes to better enhance my vision, and I am so happy I did. I do not take any of it for granted, not one thing.
God is in the blessing business. I know because “he keeps on blessing me.” And just because this is one of my favorite gospel songs, I am sharing this version with you. Happy Thursday!
Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-BookandPaperback) yet?
I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak aboutthe most recent events with my place of employment as it pertains to racism and discrimination. I welcome your visit.
And, you did NOT commit the crime of which you were originally accused.
Make It Make Sense!!!
I will share “Something To Think About” for the next three weeks on Sunday afternoons. It may be a quote, a picture, an interesting phrase I heard, artwork, etc. Whatever I share will surely be intriguing or involving enough to spark a casual discussion or in-depth conversation. Stay tuned every Sunday for this feature!
Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-BookandPaperback) yet?
I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak aboutthe most recent events with my place of employment as it pertains to racism and discrimination. I welcome your visit.
Another Monday waltzes in uninvited, and I greet it with an unapproving eye. I have to be nice to it, though. It holds the fate of my workweek in its hands.
Sighs yet another necessary evil I have to shuffle through in order to stay sane.
No one tells you how hot the dumpster fire is until you’re knee-deep in it, and the caps have lost their cartilage.
The crush’s daughter has a new puppy; a pitbull. She sent me a photo of him lying on the carpeted floor – in deep sleep.
Instantly, I’m in love. It shifted my Monday to a new space – one I could appreciate better. Ace is his name. I joke about being a great aunt.
It was the first day of my co-worker’s absence, and I hadn’t worked through her not being there, but I would now.
I realized the loneliness later as hours ticked by and I had to fill in the holes of spaces that my supervisor sunk herself in.
I am filler, and I am placed everywhere. And everywhere is coming for me.
I wanted to play around with this piece that started off as a rant of sorts for my Substack notes. After putting a bit more of ME into it, the above-written work is the result.
For the motherless, childless, mothering mothers who still mother & always will
AI-Generated Image: A Black woman and her four children, two girls and two boys. They are all facing the camera with lovely smiles on their faces. The mother has her natural hair swooped to the side and full in the back. She is wearing an orange-ish top with a bold red lipstick. The children are leaning against her, two to each side.
Each year, I document how I mother while being childless, and I am inspired by so many women who are mothers in their own way. They have mothered the motherless, tended to the childless, cared for the wayward, and loved the newly orphaned and tormented. I know older sisters (myself included) who still mother their significantly younger siblings – they offer advice and pick them up in the middle of the night from clubs when they’ve had too much to drink and are far too inebriated to string full sentences together. They are Wonder Woman and Superwoman in ways I cannot fathom, while still managing to pull their lives together just in the nick of time to keep it from falling apart.
I have befriended aunts who have lived their lives centered around their nieces and nephews (myself included). They never miss a birthday, video call at all hours of the day to see their babies’ smiling faces, pop up at schools to surprise them with lunch, and will stomp a mudhole in an older kid bullying a baby of theirs and then ask that child, “Where is your mama so she can get some of this, too?” like it’s just a normal Tuesday during a regular week.
I know elder cousins acting as mothers for their younger cousins who have lost their way – the paths of life have worn them down to the nubs, and all they can do now is cry and weep and wail on their cousin’s shoulder. They are pillars in the face of adversity and can calm their blood-related loved ones down in seconds flat. I loved an elder cousin like this once. I still do, even though she is no longer here with us on this Earthly Plane. I admire these cousins – they are my suns and moons – light in an ever-increasing darkness.
Still, as the definitions apply:
Mother: The Definition(s)
I mother no one. I have mothered. I do motherly things. I can mother up and down the corners and edges of this world, but I did not give birth to a child. I have been all that I can be to my cousins, nieces, nephews, brothers, and sister, and so many more, but they are not mine. They do not belong to me. I did not vainly labor with any of them. I cannot recount delivery tales of anguish and agony, nor can I gloat about them taking after me when they do something of which I approve.
My ovaries did not contribute to society. My womb is barren – it is a prison cell for emptiness and passing hours. I have no desire to see it grow with a miniature version of me inside.
I am in awe of those who have taken the plunge. For the women who are mothers by definition and tradition, I tip my hat off to you. You have a job that never ends, and you receive no pay, no time off, and no vacation to rejuvenate your mind or spirit. You are often overlooked, cast into the shadows of endless time, and you do it all without complaint, although you want to. And you have your heart committed to this task until you or your child(ren) die. How heroic is that?!
I wait on the wings of hope, secretly wishing I could understand – gain just a glimpse of your life, then I remember . . . some of us are here to be what we can be, and we mother in other ways. I find a sense of solace within this reminder. You have my love and respect. You are to be championed every hour of each day.
AI-Generated Image: A Hispanic woman cuddling her two boys. She has a beautiful smile, and both boys are leaning into her, engaged with the camera. There is a blurred background of green and perhaps a playground out of sight, too?
As I sit here and type this message to each of you, I want you to know of your brilliance, of your patience, of your timeless selflessness that knows no bounds. If you are a mother and mothering the way you are meant to fit that role, you have my undying admiration. If you care when the word seems to fall off the tongues of menaces who have forgotten its meaning, I see you. If you are soldiering forward with $15.27 to your name and have prepared a meal for your children using $12.58 of that, I see you. You’ve got every other human being tracking you down and leaning against your chest yearning for a thirty-minute suckle at your breasts, yet you constantly put your children first and slam the door in their faces and verbally admonish their requests, know that I SEE YOU.
For the mothers who are not mothers, mothering in the face of time, barren wombs, lost hope, wayward siblings, and all of the missed marks of this world as you raise your gift of nurturing to higher heights, I see you. When the world says, “But you are not a mother,” I hear your cries in the middle of the night as you softly shout back to the women who hold the title only, “And neither are you!” I see you. When you’re stopped in the grocery store by a toddler who noticed your smile two aisles down and ran behind you to see it again, escaping his mother, you have a good heart, and that baby can tell, too. I SEE YOU.
For the motherless, childless, mothering mothers who still mother and always will, this is your day. And with it, do what you will. You have earned it, and with it, may I embrace you fully and wholly and center you when everything in this current realm is burning to the ground. Find love and hope in the eyes of a child you mothered and look at your reflection in their eyes.
You are more than what you think you are to them. Believe me.
A Cornered Gurl 
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