Blog : Give Me Grace

Saying goodbye to a mother : a tribute to my Big Mama

Posted on July 16, 2012November 12, 2013 by lisha epperson

dreshawn — me, holding and loving the last baby in Big Mamas’ care…

I didn’t want to write this. If I didn’t write it, I didn’t have to deal with it. Didn’t have to face the fact that “Big Mama” is gone. Earlier this year the “Big Mama” of my community made her transition and is no longer living and loving on this earth. As I thought about her life and legacy, it occurred to me that “Big Mama” was the ultimate adoptive mother…only she never did anything official or legal to claim her children…she simply loved them(us) and called us her own. Her words and actions made it so. And it was.

Denise Carmack earned the ultimate term of endearment – “Big Mama.” I place her name in quotations to harness the bucketfuls of love that flow from such a title. If you grew up in the hood you know exactly who and what I’m talking about – you’ll understand my sorrow because I am sure you had your very own. My “Big Mama” was the biological mother of 5 children but the “other mother” to countless men, women and children. She was mourned as a saint and what she did around here was nothing short of holy.

She raised and advocated for children of parents not quite ready to parent, gave selflessly to anyone in need and treated us all to her larger than life personality. In the 5 years of our friendship she, for no reason at all, gave me chili powder, underwear for my children, and Christmas wrapping paper in July. She came to my rescue during a medical crisis. Twice . “Big Mama” was always there. My children would race down the street to see who would be the first to win her embrace. She danced with us, shaking her shoulders singing Young Jocs “meet me in the club, it’s going down”. Her box braids and denim skirts, her voicemail greeting of “God has been good to me!”, her heart-shaped cakes and “if you need me, I’m there” spirit is sorely missed. Even today as I turn the corner on 5th Avenue I still expect to hear her laughing, yelling, “socializin” in the courtyard. I miss her.

She was the host of annual old school block parties, complete with blaring speakers, fried chicken and the hodge podge of personalities she called family. I think it’s entirely too quiet around here now. Her love was so big I still hear her yelling “Cut the wheel, you can’t park!” – every morning, as I pull into a spot in front of our building. This same woman praised me publicly as a mother every chance she got. Her seal of approval was not to be taken lightly, “Big Mama” would call you trifling in a minute. I am graced to be considered in her eyes, worthy, of the title.

The last time I saw “Big Mama” she was returning from the hospital with her daughter after a minor surgery. She didn’t look well and although I was rushing I stopped to pray with her. I am so grateful I stopped that day. I don’t always. Sometimes I’m hustling the kids off to one event or the other and I don’t take that moment. I rush off with a hurried wave and keep moving. But that day I didn’t. I’ve learned since then, that you need to take the time. We have to make it our business to show and be love… our relationships thrive on nothing less. The connections that tie us one to another are made of the hundreds and thousands of small gestures/moments that ultimately give birth to friendships. It was the last time I saw her. A few days later my husband came home red-eyed and weary. “Big Mama” was gone. We huddled together with our children and wept.

So I’ll resume my blog with a tribute and shout out to my “Big Mama”. A woman who nurtured, loved , fed and protected anyone in need. I’ll honor her memory by remembering to take care of the people in my community in tangible ways, be it babysitting for a young mom so she can go on an interview, checking in with my elderly neighbors or finally being obedient and hosting a playground children’s story hour (an idea the Lord gave me when we moved here). Our communities need the nurturing that only mother love provides. Let’s love the people in our lives. Let’s love them now.

And so I release her, knowing her kind of love can never be reigned in – nor should it ever be. Let’s love Big Mama style.

p.s. I wrote this almost a year ago…I’m still missing my Big Mama and wanted to honor her by sharing her with you. She really was an incredible lady and I feel so fortunate to have been loved by her.

what everyone wants to know….

Posted on August 8, 2011 by lisha epperson

Is adoption different from biological parenting? Only 1 person has openly asked me (her sister just adopted 3 children) but I suspect the question is on everyone’s mind. Because of my deep committment and utter allegiance to the children who were born in my heart, even I don’t like to think about it. I dismissed the subject whenever my mind chose to wander and when I talked about it with my children( all of whom know about their adoptions ) I assured them that there was no way I could love another child more…even when I didn’t know what the answer would be or if it would matter.

So….as my youngest begins cruising and babbling I find myself exploring this topic…really letting myself “go there” … no matter what answers I find.

Yes. There is a difference. Not in parenting them but in how we connected. I met LiChai on a sunny day in May of 2001 after struggling to conceive for 5 years. I walked out of my cute and quaint railroad apartment in Brooklyn and travelled to the city to meet the boy that would save my life. Hours later I was a Mama. I was thrilled, overjoyed and frightened. I didn’t know him and he didn’t know me. I brought him to a place of unfamiliar sounds and smells and hoped he would one day call it home. It took 2 full weeks for him to sleep peacefully at night. Visions of his 1st mother and subsequent caretakerss dancing in his head? Perhaps. For me, I was dumbstruck in the fact that a woman had actually handed her baby to me. Forever. I was happy but the emotions and beauty behind the “transaction” had me in tears for weeks.

A similar pattern of events followed the arrivals of my two daughters. By the 3rd time around I sort of had the hang of it. I could “do” adoption in my sleep.

Ade’. The only child born from my body was different. I had carried this child in my womb and had felt and connected with his every movement. I would stay up at night with my hands on my big balloon belly watching reality tv – literally feeling him grow and change. By the time he escaped from my insides I felt I knew him. His body language was familiar to me. I brought him home to the familiar voices of his father and siblings. He was at home and he knew it. I on the other hand needed the 2 weeks to acclimate my “struggling to heal” body to the demands of a newborn and 3 children under 10. This was new territory. I always returned home from my “delivery” feeling no physical difference. Adoption deliveries are more emotional than physical and this time around my body fought to keep up with my miracle son and his siblings.

Giving birth is also different from adoption because I was amazed to find that I received his birth certificate and social security card within a week of bringing him home. If you know anything about adoption you know this is almost unbelievable. Adoption is nothing if not a dance of paperwork…documents to be submitted, signed, checked and rechecked and after all this you must WAIT. Weeks, months, years…it is a tedious process. So when you finally receive that birth certificate or social security card it is definitely cause for celebration. I also realized that I did not have to send pictures to the agency to be forwarded to his “birthmother”. In fact I was the birthmother and no one else in this world could claim this title. I could parent a baby without paperwork and promises to stay connected. Still trying to wrap my head around that one…

Relationships are built on what transpires between two people …not the actual number of hours they’ve clocked together. For Ade and I there was the luxury of a little more time and clearly a physical exercise that we got to perfect over the months that I carried him but there was no difference in the way that my heart opened to welcome each of them. I, also was a different woman each time I became a Mama. The unique time and circumstances that brought each of them to me had effected who I was. LiChai got to be my very first child after a painfully long 5 year process. He has the special place in my life as the boy who began my healing. Ila was my surprise baby and very first little girl. What for me seemed to be the biggest bonus after so much grief and Chailah was the baby I knew would be coming because I didn’t feel our family was complete without her. I felt her presence years before her actual arrival. With each “birth” I was growing and changing…becoming more of myself. Filled with more faith and belief in miracles and that is how I believe Ade’ was able to spring forth. Because of all the love and joy I had experienced as a Mama, I began to believe again and as the bible says it only takes a mustard seed of faith to set the ground work for a miracle.

I realize too that with adoption bringing the baby home is the beginning of the labor and delivery process. Just as in a biological birth there is work to be done. It usually involves blood, sweat, tears and a wonderful whopping dose of euphoria as you look into the face of this amazing new being. Each time I birthed a child from my heart I had to labor through it. Bleed, sweat and cry through it. And then….. ahhhh… and then….the brilliance of first love, the soft kisses and tender skin…the melting of mind and body…literally breathing in their essence. We bonded… we were in love…but it took time.

I spoke with a new mother the other day. She shared her amazing, life transforming birth story and how she and her new son were bonding. But she said that it felt weird because she didn’t understand such feelings of attachment for someone she barely knows. I mulled this over for awhile and wondered how she could feel this way when she had carried and delivered this child. Ade’ is everyday revealing more and more of himself to us but from the moment of his birth I felt I knew him. With LiChai, Ila and Chailah I felt a similar instantaneous connection..not because of anything physical but because I had dreamed them so long that my first glances of them were heart stopping love connections…even if we had to work a little while to secure our relationship, I was clearly smitten and ready for the work that any relationship involves.

As an adoptive parent I have always been greatful for the ability to parent my children without imposing my personality and traits on them. I felt that adoption allowed me to allow them to fully develop as “themselves”. Now as a biological parent I hope I can parent Ade’ with that same, even, unbiased love. I think its a gift to be allowed to grow into your own uniqueness without the shadows of your parents personality traits traipsing alongside you.

Another thing about those adoption “birth certificates”… they are what is termed amended. Meaning they have been falsified to hide the truth. These documents imply that I gave birth to a child and its always bothered me. Being as open as I have been about adoption it annoys me to see this paper that tells a lie about how we came to be a family…something I am extremely proud of. I wish it could tell the truth…as complicated as that may be. On February 7th, 2001 a child was born to D.M. She lovingly chose L.E. to mother this child. These two women have sworn on this day to honor each other and the child that connects them…..like I said its complicated but I wonder how much of this manner of recording information is based on adoption as it exists now or how it was back in the day when it was shrouded in shame and secrecy. The openness and disclosure that is encouraged now, the freedom and ability to celebrate rather than hide… I wonder.

Clearly this is a subject that is still being processed and I fully expect that perhaps I will have more to share on a later date but for now this is where I am. Each of my children is God’s love made manifest to me in the earth. Each of them has an equally magnificent story to tell about their entry into our family. Each of them is equally loved and cherished. Adoption and birth are different, but not in any significant way that would shape the love, devotion and connection I have with my children. When you mother a child, truly mother and fully embrace a child as your own. I am happy and yes, relieved to say that it just doesn’t matter.

Deliver Me

Posted on May 29, 2011May 31, 2014 by lisha epperson

family6 (2) — Deliver Me – Look What the Lord Has Done!

It seems fitting that I would begin this blog with the story of the birth of my youngest yet not first-born child. What????? Ade’ Immanuel Epperson was pulled and stretched from my body on September 7, 2010 after 14 years of infertility and the arrival of his 4 older siblings thru marriage and adoption. Miracle, fulfillment of a promise, unmerited favor? Yes, yes and yes.

My water broke on a Monday night after my husbands return from a weekend long trip to Atlanta. The 5th week of bedrest was dragging and we were in the family room. Five people on a futon throwback from my first apartment when it happened. I have to admit my first response was fear. I’d suffered a bleeding episode in the beginning of the pregnancy and the wet, warm sensation was too close of a reminder of all that can go wrong in a pregnancy.

I called the doctor while trying to tell my 2-year-old I was okay. I worried. But worry is limited and can’t cover the thoughts that ran through my mind or explain how my faith plummeted in a matter of seconds. I was 33 weeks and 3 days pregnant after hoping to conceive for 14 years. I had suffered 2 miscarriages in this span of time and I was 44 years old. It felt like a threat. And facing the possibility of not meeting my son was something I wasn’t ready to do. I knew I had to stay upbeat and positive for my children. I knew I had to stand on all I had prayed about up until this point. But I was afraid.

This was the test. For once, I was happy about the way kids have a way of not allowing you the luxury of an emotional break down – there isn’t time for it when you have little lives looking to you. So I held it together and focused on my hair. I had not gotten my hair braided for the delivery as planned. I quoted scriptures. Luke 1:37, Ezekiel 16:6, Luke 1:45, actually, most of the 1st chapter of Luke.

A taxi cab ride later found us at the hospital and me… admitted. Rodney left to take the kids to Grandmas and returned to find me hooked up to an IV and being monitored for contractions that were happening unbeknownst to me. Ade’s breech position, that I had already had 2 myomectomies and the current presence of a large fibroid at my cervix brought me a one way ticket on the c-section train. I was given medication to stop the contractions. I had been on a blood thinner throughout the pregnancy and no surgery could take place with this drug in my system.

It was a long night. Rodney and I talked about the kids , life, work and made a bunch of phone calls to a handful of friends who didn’t even know I was pregnant. We had been cautiously optimistic throughout this pregnancy and quite frankly we only started to talk about it when I began to show. Even then, if you weren’t in our daily or weekly circle …you probably didn’t know. I began twisting the front of my hair, anticipating the awful blue surgical cap I knew I’d be wearing in the morning. It was a long night.

I continued to contract throughout the night and was given more medication to keep them at bay. They grew stronger and I began to feel them. Not earth-shaking pain but my core was definitely being rocked. I will never forget the feeling. My baby was ready to come and I was excited and hopeful all would be well. I thought about my other babies. Emoni – the little boy I learned to love as my relationship evolved with his father, LiChai – my first spirit baby – the baby that saved my life, Ila – the girl who made me feel beautiful again and Chailah – the one who brought peace. I prayed. We prayed.

In the morning, after very little sleep, I was taken to the operating room. I remember a nurse who held/hugged me while I received the epidural. I found her touch comforting and knew rest in her arms. Everything would be okay. Her arms were a physical reminder that I was not alone. That in addition to my husband, my God was there.

Rodney came in and the last stage of our baby’s birth began to unfold. My doctor made a vertical incision on my stomach – from pubic bone to belly button – allowing my body to spread apart… my baby a means of escape. Ade’ Immanuel was born. In spite of the diagnosis of a blood clotting disorder, multiple fibroids, endometriosis, 14 years and a few losses…praise God, he was here.

I am forever changed. His arrival marked an undeniable shift in my world. The experience of conception, pregnancy and birth is a gift. One I’d worked hard at accepting as a joy I wouldn’t know. But I had come full circle and live the sweetness of this next chapter filled with gratitude.

I parent him mindful of and grateful to the women who entrusted me with the fruit of their wombs. I can never repay them but I can offer my heartfelt thanks and a promise…to be the best Mama ever to ALL the babies I call….MINE.

I couldn’t hang with the ladies tonight but got up just in time to see this weeks prompt – “story”. All evening I couldn’t get that word out of my head and I went back to this post to remember my miracle birth story and healing from infertility. Not a true Five Minute Friday post but I swear Lisa Jo Baker‘s prompts are echoing what’s already in my heart. So here it is the “story” that began my blog.