Call it God, good karma, or a life lesson

As many of you might know, my parents are from Barbados. My mother grew up in the country section of Barbados named Bridgefield and she was poor. Keep in mind, we're talking 3rd world poor... no shoes, no indoor plumbing, no electricity. My grandfather died when my mother was a young girl and my grandmother struggled at times to put food on the table for her children. Although my mother was just a little girl, she remembers Auntie Idell sneaking yams and potatoes out of her family's garden to bring to my grandmother so that she could feed her children. My mother never forgot this.

Once my mother moved to the U.S., each time she visited Barbados, she would call up Idell to ask her if she wanted anything from America. She never forgot those yams and potatoes because Idell didn't have to do it furthermore, sought nothing in return. This had an impact on my mother.

Growing up, I jokingly referred to my mother as "Meals on Wheels", after the association that delivers food to families in need. I didn't grown up in a well-to-do family, but like I said before... poor by America's standards is far different than poor in Barbados. Our electricity got cut off once in a while or we ran out of heating oil a few times, but I never missed a meal. My mother never wanted her children to know what it felt like to be hungry and not know where the next meal was coming from. Hell... she didn't want anyone to know how that felt.

I can't count how many times, my mother would buy groceries for someone and drop them off or she would cook extra food like a macaroni pie and bring it to someone's house. It was so often, that whenever food was finished, my brother and I would asked "Mommy, is this one ours?" Today, I received a phone call that made me realize how much my mother's actions rubbed off on me.

My daily commute involves making a connection at a specific station. While waiting for the train, certain faces became familiar. After a while, I'd look for those familiar faces because it's part of my daily ritual. One day I found out that one of the familiar faces had to get emergency surgery. She literally had to leave her job in NYC, get in a cab and go to the nearest hospital immediately. When she woke up that morning, she had no idea she would be having surgery that evening.

A few days later, she finally got out of the hospital in New York and took the Metro North back home to recover from the procedure. I saw her sitting at the train station. She didn't look like herself and her voice was soft when she spoke. I really didn't know what to say that would be helpful or encouraging, plus I didn't want to pry into her personal medical condition, so I did what I saw my mother do. I offered to bring over some groceries. I didn't know if she need them or not, I made the offer sprinkled with a little persistence. "You don't drive! Do you have enough food in your house that's easy to make? What do you mean you're alright? Tell me where do you live."

The thing about independent women is this... They don't like to ask for help. I don't even know if it's within their train of thought. Women like that are use to making do with what they have. You would be surprised at what they're going through because they don't want to be a burden. I recognize this personality type because I am the exact same way. I didn't think much about the groceries I dropped off that Friday after work. I was just mimicking what my mother did.

And now let me tell you how God, good karma, and life lessons work.

I didn't know that my fibroids were going to be such a painful problem that I would also be getting surgery later that same year. I didn't know that as I was recovering from surgery, Hurricane Sandy would pass through my neighborhood uprooting huge trees sometimes splitting them in half. I didn't know that the money I called myself "wasting" (my house never sold) earlier this summer because my real estate agent told me to cut down some of the trees around my house in order to add curb appeal, might have saved my house from being damaged. And I didn't know, the woman on the train kept me in her prayers.

She checked on me to see how I was feeling after the surgery. She checked on me to see if I still had electricity after the hurricane. She never stopped making sure that I was doing well. I laughed as she told me, if I texted her back stating that my power was gone, she was prepared to tell me "You, ya 'usbun and yer daawg... me gwan tell ya, fa bring ya rass ova 'ear!" Yup, she was a proud Jamaican all right.

I choose to share this Friday Night Confessional, simply because I just got off the phone with her AND I had no idea those few bags of groceries meant so much to her... just like those yams and potatoes meant a lot to my mother growing up.

Be kind to each other without seeking anything in return. Not only is God watching but so are your children.

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