Angel on My Shoulder

By Della Moore in honor of her mother, Opense Patten.

The only physical item I have from my mother is a woolen poncho, which she made just for me, by hand, with a lot of love. She made it several years before she passed. It is one of my most treasured possessions. That I feel warm and protected whenever I wear it is no surprise because all of my life, I have felt my mother's love, warmth and protection in everything she did and everything she said. She was exactly the kind of strong woman Maya Angelou talks about and Toni Morrison writes about. That "steel rod" was certainly a part of my mother's being. My mom was a beautiful woman about 5'7, had smooth dark skin, high cheek bones and deep black eyes and a smile that could melt the hardest heart. She was a quiet woman, a little shy, yet the strength was there. One could feel the "Having paid one's dues." I'm still climbin' the wealth of strength that she had.

She was a sage. People old and young liked to talk to her. She had a mother's wit and wisdom and could bring you around to solve your own problem with a few words or a wise saying. (I am forever quoting her).

I remember many an evening, during my visit back home, when she and I would have coffee and sit, well into the night, at the dining room table talking about the history of our family, about current events...about me.

Mom liked a spoon of vanilla ice cream in her black coffee.

She was always 'there' for her children. As long as I can remember I've had the feeling that even though I could fend for myself, Mom would be there to back me up if need be. I still feel that way. My mom has been gone seventeen yeas, and she still looks after me. Many a time her words, advice and examples have helped me over some rough spots and trying times.

She comes to see about me in my house. I feel her presence. True case in point: recently, I made a very bad judgment call. It was foolish and unthinking, and I was truly sorry afterward. What I had done bothered me to the point of distraction and tears. That night, as a I lay in my bed finally drifting off after tossing and turning most of the night, the bathroom door (which normally, one has to lean against to push it open) slowly swung wide. I didn't turn over; I knew who had opened it. After a couple of seconds I felt an ever so slight impression on the side of the bed. I said aloud: "You don't have to say anything, Mom. There is nothing you can say that will make me feel better. I messed up, I blew it and I am sick about it." After a long moment's silence there was a warm feeling on my shoulder where she touched me; then she was gone.

The only physical item I have from my mother is a woolen poncho, which she made just for me, by hand, with a lot of love. Yet she left me a whole legacy of living deeply and fully. I learned my love of God from my mom; I learned my appreciation of life from my mom; I learned my value of self from my mom.

My mom showed me by example how to be the best I can be, how to respect what is right and how to look for the good in other human beings.

Her name is Opense Patten, and I am blessed to be her daughter. If I can be just one quarter of the woman she was, I will consider my life fulfilled.