You Know Who You Are

You Know Who You Are

The names of people are ever on her lips,

she can’t stop herself from caring—

from naming names and telling stories

even as her life’s flame flickers

her passion for each person blazes bright.

I’ve never seen anything like it.

 

If you met my mom in her youth

and wish to let her know the space

she has occupied in your memory bank,

she hasn’t forgotten you one bit.

You know who you are.

 

If you know her from Oswego State College

and remember Philena’s early days

when she met my dad and her Lord,

she remembers you crystal clear.

You know who you are.

 

If you met my mom in the military

as she followed my dad 

from the Mojave Desert of California  

to Lowry Air Force Base in Denver, CO,

she will never forget those relationships.

You know who you are.

 

If you came to know my mom

at Southwest Christian School in N.Y.

feeling mothered and smothered 

by her perfuse love and fierce care,

she forged a familial affection for you,

You know who you are.

 

If you first met mom at Southwest Baptist,

watching her play the piano or the organ,

teaching Sunday school or Junior church,

sharing her testimony though tears,

she will never forget those glory years with you.

You know who you are.

 

If you first crossed paths with her in Fulton

as she and my father started their second stretch— 

their homestretch of ministry as it turned out,

and walked with her into my father’s liver transplant,

You are burnt into her soul with a firebrand.

You know who you are.

 

If you had a chance encounter with my mom

on the highways and byways of life,

little conversations and hearty hugs

attaching to her heart as fast friends,

you remain in her conversations and prayers.

You know who you are.

 

If you became a part of my mom’s huge family

at The Village of Oakland Woods,

a community of comrades and kindred spirits

where she served as president of the resident council,

You have been woven into the fabric her soul.

You know who you are.

 

You must know that it pains my mother

to not see you all and to hug you,

to look into your eyes and speak her love for you.

But even in her last days with last breaths,

you are on her heart and on her lips.

you know who you are

because she knows who you are.

 

She can’t be with you, but you are with her.

Thank you for letting her love you.

I speak for her as her grateful son.