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Give Black Women Their Flowers Now
There’s something about a black woman whose lived life. She moves differently. Her words hold weight, and you’d do well to respect both them and her.
I’m speaking specifically about grown black women. The women who offer spot-on wisdom often served alongside a fat slice of sweet potato pie or a scoop or two of homemade potato salad (they don’t do store-bought). These are “grown folks” who’ve paid their dues and have both the stories and scars to prove it.
What I admire most about grown black women is that they have zero filters. Whether it’s bitter or sweet, you’re going to get the God’s honest truth. No faking and no frontin.’ Sometimes that’s exactly what you need, and I miss that.
Whether you call her auntie, grandma, sister, or momma, there’s a sense of comfort and safety in her presence. There’s an authority and authenticity that I don’t think we celebrate enough. Many of us take it, and them for granted because we believe these women will always be here to guide us. That is, until death decides otherwise.
Many of the older women in my life to include my mother, have passed on, and I really wish I had given them their flowers while they were still here. I wish I could tell them … “yes, you were absolutely right.” (although I’m sure they already knew). I wish I could lay my head in my momma’s lap just…
