black mothers

I wanted to write/say something at her funeral. I was expected to or my expectations were telling me to, either way, I had to find my way. In the days before the funeral, I found myself writing about stuff we would share over the years of our M&S time (mother/son time). I knew there were things she wouldn’t want me to say in front of people, especially at her funeral. Some things kept sliding out of my mind, into my fingertips, and onto this document. This is an unedited, but edited account of what I said/felt/experienced.

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