Aunt Mamie

“Kendra, your 10 o’clock just called and said they’re running late”, announced the voice of her administrative assistant, through the intercom on her desk.

“Thanks, Lauren,” she responded, releasing the button. Kendra swirled in her office chair and gazed at the spectacular Atlanta skyline from her 40th-floor office at Montague, Blake, and Easley. Her client’s delay gave her more time to reflect on memories of her favorite Aunt, Mamie, who was in the hospital fighting for her life. Recently, Kendra had been spending her mornings and early afternoons at the office and her late afternoons and evenings at the hospital. Everyone was praying for a miracle.

For as long as Kendra could remember, Aunt Mamie was always cooking up a storm in the kitchen. Cooking was like breathing for her. In the summer, she baked all kinds of pies for the community – apple, peach cobbler, and coconut were among her most popular. In the winter, she cooked pots of chili, chicken and dumplings, and stewed vegetable soup for anyone who wanted some, which was pretty much everybody.

Over the years, many fans of her cooking, including Kendra, tried to convince Aunt Mamie to open a restaurant, but she had no desire to do so. She would reply that she enjoyed using her culinary gifts to bless others without the headaches and hassles of owning and operating a business.   

Kendra and her two younger siblings spent many days at Aunt Mamie’s and Uncle Josiah’s home. “Mama, why do we have to go over to Aunt Mamie’s house again?” Kendra asked her mother numerous times while growing up.

“Because I need a break. That’s why,” was always her mother’s snappy retort.

Kendra’s mother needed frequent breaks—mental health breaks. Kendra smiled as she reminisced about how warmly Auntie Mamie always welcomed the sibling trio into her 70s-decorated home. She could picture the brown panel on the wall, the green carpet, and the plastic covers on the living room furniture. She closed her eyes and let her senses recapture the delicious smells of foods like mouthwatering, tongue-tapping fried chicken with homemade mashed potatoes and gravy, and green beans with smoked ham hocks. Kendra let out a “umph” at the thought of her favorite meal.

Next to Aunt Mamie’s cooking, Kendra remembered Aunt Mamie’s pajamas most. She was often wearing them when her mother dropped them off. Aunt Mamie had a peculiar affection for pajamas—cool, crisp, long-sleeved, two-piece, cotton pajamas with fruit printed on them. She draped herself in this sleepwear every night before her head hit the pillow, and she put out the closed sign for the day.

“She always cooked us the best cream of wheat with evaporated milk in those pajamas,” Kendra said aloud to herself. “And she got on her knees beside us in those pajamas as we prayed for my mama and thanked God for our blessings before we were allowed to surrender our heads to the pillows. I love you, Auntie. You’ve got to pull through. I’m not ready to let you go yet.”

Kendra’s cell phone rang, snapping her out of her stroll down memory lane. She whirled in her chair, almost tipping over, then lurched forward and grabbed the phone off her desk. Caller ID pegged the caller as Uncle Josiah, Aunt Mamie’s husband. She pressed ‘answer’ and put it to her ear.

“Hi, Unc. How’s Auntie?” Her heart raced, and she held her breath, afraid of the answer.

“She’s gonna make it. They want to keep her for a few more days for observation, but the doc says she’ll be all right.”

“Thank you, Jesus!” Kendra shouted, raising her head toward heaven and letting salty tears stream down her cheeks as she leaned back in the chair, releasing the tension that had built up within.

“I’ve been praisin’ Him too, Baby Girl!” Uncle Josiah replied. “Would you do me a favor?”

“Of course, Unc, anything,” she responded, her voice shaking from the news.

“Before you come to the hospital today, stop by the house and pick up several pairs of your Auntie’s tooty-fruity pajamas.” That’s how Uncle Josiah always referred to Aunt Mamie’s pajamas. “As weak as she is, she told the doctor the only way she was staying longer in that hospital was if she could wear her pajamas.”

“That sounds like Auntie,” Kendra said, laughing at Aunt Mamie’s antics.

“That’s her all right,” replied Uncle Josiah. “After 58 years of marriage, I still can’t live with that woman, and I sho-nuff don’t want to live without her.”

 The End

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