Ecclesiastes 3:20 All go unto one place; all are of the dust, and all turn to dust again.
Eulogy for Amy Brown
Once there were six, now only one’s left. Ah Friends, it’s a bittersweet day, so don’t expect much coherent thought since I’m writing this from my heart, not my head. Amy Brown, the last of my five surrogate mothers passed away unexpectedly on Sunday evening. Only my biological mother, Molly, is left now. I guess it’s fitting that she was both the first and the last. Yes, I’ve been truly blessed by having six, strong, faithful, loving and caring West Indian women to mother and mentor me at various times in my life. Times when I desperately needed, LOVE, guidance, food and shelter. Did I hear you say Divine Intervention? Oh people for sure! It seems that Aunt Ames, as I fondly called her, succumbed to a heart attack when that was not her main problem. But thankfully she won’t be racked by any more pain. I’m truly disappointed that I did not get to see her before she passed on. Just last week, over the phone, she promised to hold on until July, when I planned to visit J.A. However, when your number is called up yonder, you’ve got to go, and I’m sure that right now she’s being ushered into our Heavenly Father’s presence with a blaze of horns, harps and angels voicing sweet heavenly music, and He’s saying, ‘Welcome, my true and faithful servant!’ and giving her a big hug and a kiss on both cheeks. I can vouch for her goodness, because forty one years ago, she took, no, welcomed me into her home; a down on his luck nineteen year old from distant Tobago, attending the University of the West Indies campus on Mona, in Kingston, J.A. She didn’t know me from Adam. I was just an acquaintance of her daughter on the campus; not even her boyfriend. I don’t remember how it actually happened, I just know that this slim, medium height, wiry, feisty, passionate, hard working, brown skinned woman and her husband, Uncle Aub’s welcomed me into their home, with four young daughters to boot, no questions asked. She then took me under her wing and treated me like the son she never had. Don’t worry Aunt Ames, you know I’ve always considered myself your son, and I’ll grieve as such. How can I not, when you provided me with food and shelter in possibly the hardest period of my life, not to mention the occasional dressing down when I stepped out of line. I always remember that time when I complained about my mother not sending me any money, and you retorted with a how can she send you what she doesn’t have. That unselfish, understanding attitude when I had nothing to contribute, said a whole lot to me. I know Uncle Aub’s going to miss you a whole heap because you’ve been his guiding light during most of his ninety something years. He says he’s feeling empty without you already. Oh Aunt Ames, so many of us foreign students enjoyed your hospitality while at U.W.I. that I’m sure there are many wet eyes around the world today, you know mine are. But we are spiritual beings existing in a physical body, and death is just a stage in our long journey, signalling the end of the physical aspect. Then we continue in our spiritual form to meet our Creator. Aunt Ames, the ole fella will never forget you. I will be forever grateful, because you were one of the persons who set me on the right path, taught me the right way to live through your example of loving kindness. And I’ll forever cherish those moments we shared, especially those spent out on the front porch in friendly reasoning. Sorry I could not be there to attend your send off to glory, but you know you’ll never be erased from my heart. I’ll always talk about your loving kindness to me and so many others, and one day, not too soon though (smile) we’ll meet again in Paradise. Till then… Happy Journey Home, Aunt Ames. Much Much LOVE! …Death should not be a mournful dirge…but rather a celebration of life lived to the full… overflowing with loving kindness…and yours certainly was…
Eulogy for Amy Brown
Once there were six, now only one’s left. Ah Friends, it’s a bittersweet day, so don’t expect much coherent thought since I’m writing this from my heart, not my head. Amy Brown, the last of my five surrogate mothers passed away unexpectedly on Sunday evening. Only my biological mother, Molly, is left now. I guess it’s fitting that she was both the first and the last. Yes, I’ve been truly blessed by having six, strong, faithful, loving and caring West Indian women to mother and mentor me at various times in my life. Times when I desperately needed, LOVE, guidance, food and shelter. Did I hear you say Divine Intervention? Oh people for sure! It seems that Aunt Ames, as I fondly called her, succumbed to a heart attack when that was not her main problem. But thankfully she won’t be racked by any more pain. I’m truly disappointed that I did not get to see her before she passed on. Just last week, over the phone, she promised to hold on until July, when I planned to visit J.A. However, when your number is called up yonder, you’ve got to go, and I’m sure that right now she’s being ushered into our Heavenly Father’s presence with a blaze of horns, harps and angels voicing sweet heavenly music, and He’s saying, ‘Welcome, my true and faithful servant!’ and giving her a big hug and a kiss on both cheeks. I can vouch for her goodness, because forty one years ago, she took, no, welcomed me into her home; a down on his luck nineteen year old from distant Tobago, attending the University of the West Indies campus on Mona, in Kingston, J.A. She didn’t know me from Adam. I was just an acquaintance of her daughter on the campus; not even her boyfriend. I don’t remember how it actually happened, I just know that this slim, medium height, wiry, feisty, passionate, hard working, brown skinned woman and her husband, Uncle Aub’s welcomed me into their home, with four young daughters to boot, no questions asked. She then took me under her wing and treated me like the son she never had. Don’t worry Aunt Ames, you know I’ve always considered myself your son, and I’ll grieve as such. How can I not, when you provided me with food and shelter in possibly the hardest period of my life, not to mention the occasional dressing down when I stepped out of line. I always remember that time when I complained about my mother not sending me any money, and you retorted with a how can she send you what she doesn’t have. That unselfish, understanding attitude when I had nothing to contribute, said a whole lot to me. I know Uncle Aub’s going to miss you a whole heap because you’ve been his guiding light during most of his ninety something years. He says he’s feeling empty without you already. Oh Aunt Ames, so many of us foreign students enjoyed your hospitality while at U.W.I. that I’m sure there are many wet eyes around the world today, you know mine are. But we are spiritual beings existing in a physical body, and death is just a stage in our long journey, signalling the end of the physical aspect. Then we continue in our spiritual form to meet our Creator. Aunt Ames, the ole fella will never forget you. I will be forever grateful, because you were one of the persons who set me on the right path, taught me the right way to live through your example of loving kindness. And I’ll forever cherish those moments we shared, especially those spent out on the front porch in friendly reasoning. Sorry I could not be there to attend your send off to glory, but you know you’ll never be erased from my heart. I’ll always talk about your loving kindness to me and so many others, and one day, not too soon though (smile) we’ll meet again in Paradise. Till then… Happy Journey Home, Aunt Ames. Much Much LOVE! …Death should not be a mournful dirge…but rather a celebration of life lived to the full… overflowing with loving kindness…and yours certainly was…
SCRIP-BITS 