My Old Lady
A friend of mine comes from a close-knit family. Her aunt sadly passed away earlier this month. Aunt Helen’s death was a blow to friends and family and will continue to be for the times ahead but it was also a final reprieve from the terrible physical pain she endured during the final chapter of her life.
It was beautiful to see Aunt Helen’s legacy apparent through all the loved ones who spoke or sang during the memorial. The best parts of her humanity were exemplified in flesh and blood in her daughter and granddaughter. Their poise and strength reflected her. Their stories celebrated her.
I always knew Aunt Helen’s daughter Phyllis as a strong, intelligent, loving woman—a shrewd businesswoman who sacrifices for family, friends and community. I went to her for financial guidance once, and she was generous with her time while unflinching in her analysis and advice. She even did my tax returns for a few years. She was the best tax person I ever had, and she never even charged me! Granted I haven’t spend a lot of time with Phyllis over the years that I’ve known her, but I had no clue about her artistic soul until I listened to her read a poem she wrote about her mother in her confident, measured voice with so much love and respect yet so much humor and style. I asked Phyllis if I could share the poem, and as with all requests I’ve put before her over the years, she generously said yes.
My Old Lady
My old lady used to be slang
for some man’s woman or some man’s thang
but my old lady was neither to me
she lived up to the words ride or die you see
My Old Lady, yeah, she was no joke
More than once, me she threatened to choke
so you know she didn’t play when it came to other folks
She often told me don’t be scared
Hold your head up and be prepared
because not all folks mean you for good
So to her it was okay to sometimes get a little hood
My Old Lady was not one to hide
her words of family togetherness was exemplified
like when her and Aunt Flo rolled up to my school like Bonnie and Clyde
She taught me that loving family ain’t easy
Yeah, sometimes even family can be a bit sleazy
but that never gives you the right to leave them behind
because blood is thicker than mud is a state of mind
My Old Lady was my open door
Info my life her wisdom she would pour
and she taught me that loving someone is never a chore
Love is more than words from someone’s lips
because the same mouth’s words can cut you to strips
Yes, love is an action, a verb, it takes work
It’s a word of responsibility you shouldn’t shirk
My Old lady had strength and fire
Her sassafras was displayed for all to admire
To be as bad as her used to be my biggest desire
Yeah, that woman was one bad chick
I remember the old days when she was curvy and thick
but bad turned to class as the years went by
She was a bad mamma jamma to the end, I will testify
My Old Lady, yes, she’s gone
but I promise you her legacy will certainly live on
As I waited for the memorial service to begin in the chapel, my eyes wandered to the window and to the serene landscape beyond. The glass top of the table against the window reflected the scene outside and it seemed appropriate to visually ponder the notion of reflection, as in remembering and pondering, reflection, as in emulating, as we anticipated the celebration of an “old lady” so bad and so classy that her daughter—so bad and so classy in her own right—took to poetry in her most acute moment of loss and mourning.
Helen Lucille Williams-Croxton was born August 31, 1941, in West Point, Texas, and passed away in her home in Long Beach, California, on June 3, 2017, with her husband and granddaughter watching over her. There is much to say of her and her life but I will leave those thoughts to the ones who knew and loved her best.