Why Prince Became a Symbol...

 

“Mama.  Mama.”

I am sitting three feet from her.  I am looking at her.  Yet, she finds the need to call my name and for me to say, “what?” before she tells me what is on her mind.  "Mama...." Something she repeats every two minutes.

“Mama?”

“Yes, baby. “  She tells me what she needs to say. 

I am not sure at what point the word “mama” goes from an absolute point of excitement in a mother’s life to sheer torture, but there are moments that it happens to me. 

Mamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamama…..ever have days like that?

I remember riding in the car with my own mom.  My brother, six years younger than me, was in the back seat telling my mama everything he could think to tell her beginning every comment with, “Mama?” and the dreaded pregnant pause.  Finally, she sighed in exasperation and announced, “My name is not Mama anymore.  I’ve changed it.”  Absolute silence filled the car.  Then, the anxious whine from my brother, “What is your name if it’s not mama?”  I could tell he was terrified.  His very existence was wrapped in her name being mama.  I rolled my eyes and patiently began to explain to him that her name was still mama, she was just tired of hearing him say it.

I think I’ll change my name, too.  But, it’s going to be a symbol.  You know, like Prince.  I’ll be the Mother formerly known as Mama. 

You know a whole day of no one standing at the front door screaming “MAMA!” while I am in the bathroom.  I’ll be a symbol after all, a silent symbol. 

No more standing in my room making up my bed hearing, “Mama!”  Silence.  “Mama.”  Steps coming down the hallway.  “Mama?”  The worry in their voices growing every moment as if I have walked out the door and left them.

 I’ve only been out of their eyesight an exact 65.5 seconds.  Our eyes meet.  “Mama.”  They wait for me to verbally acknowledge them.  I raise my eyebrow, “what?”

One day the only time I’ll hear “mama” will be when I call them on the phone.  “Hey, mama,” they’ll say with distraction as they give me a few minutes of their life.  “Gotta go, mama.”  Oh, how I’ll wish I could see them in my house, hear them call my name a few hundred times a day.

On second thought, maybe I’ll drop the symbol. I’m debating.   “Mama!”  Gotta go.