Fluffing her tutu until it was just right, my two-year-old daughter, Aria, was finally ready to sit front and center for her Mimi’s Heaven Party. That’s the name my kids came up with for my mom’s home-going celebration.
She was a fan of both tradition and fashion, so Aria’s black cardigan and tutu dress felt perfect. My mom’s kids and grandkids all wore black suits and dresses with a pop of her favorite color, purple. Well, Aria’s was a little more than a pop, but she insisted that “Mimi will love it!”
I’d never heard a funeral be described as a Heaven Party before, but it makes so much sense. All of our loved ones were there; we sang and ate yummy food. Most importantly, we were celebrating that my mom was finally free from her illness. “Mimi doesn’t have cancer anymore,” my four-year-old Maxwell said. “She can’t play with me, but she can play with God!”
“That’s right, baby, she‘s showing Him all of her cool dance moves,” I managed to whisper between tears. No more chemotherapy, doctor’s visits, radiation, hospice nurses, or pain. Selfishly, I wanted to have my mom for longer. I knew she needed to rest, but I also knew I would miss her oh so much.
As an educator of 15 years, I tried my best to prepare my children and nephews for my mom’s death. During the two months she was in hospice, I gathered books for her 6 grandkids, ranging from the ages 2-12. Nothing could truly prepare them, though. There is a hole in our hearts that will never be filled. She was just too special for us to ever be truly healed from her absence.
Her survivors, her children and grandchildren, are her legacy. We value academic excellence and honor the sacrifice my father and she made as immigrants living in America. Her giving nature is evident in us every time we show generosity to others. While going through her belongings, I counted 615 pairs of fancy high-heels, 115 stylish belts, and 207 bright and bold blazers. I can only credit my passion for fashion to the late, great Eileen Bell.
She will live on every time I make one of her signature Jamaican dishes, sing a country gospel tune or belly-laugh uncontrollably. She raised me to be an advocate, a voice for the voiceless and that is exactly what my career is rooted in. I can see my mom in the sweet smiles my children have when they tell Mimi stories; she lives on in our Mimi-isms, words she created that we all still use.

I’ll remember her every time I see 11:11 on my clock. Without fail, she would text a heart every AM and PM to my siblings and me. “At least you know you’re double loved every day,” she’d tell us. That time of day and night is still my daily reminder that I am loved and cherished. I’m so thankful to my mommy for a charmed upbringing, the lifelong lessons, the time spent, and years of advice.
Whenever I’m complimented on my beauty, intelligence, talent, or skills, I’ll quote Victoria Monet and proudly exclaim, “I get it from my mama!” She will live on through me, and I will continue to make her proud. Love never dies.