Ma Link had not been a Jehovah’s Witness per se. As the last of her relatives and friends shuffled through the Kingdom Hall and found their seats, one could see that it was an admittedly uncoordinated type of memorial service, although the speeches prepared were for an admittedly uncoordinated person.
She had also not been your typical black woman, either. In later years, her skin had become almost a grayish complexion-- a light brown tone somewhere between hot chocolate and oak-- and her tight, silvery hair failed to conceal the blemishes scattered over her aging face. Ma Link’s children also shared her pigmentation, clearly due to mixed race influence.
The first individual to speak, a stocky black man with buzz cut hair, adjusted the microphone awkwardly and patted down his tight-fitting beige suit. It was cheap enough to show that he did not often dress up, but proper enough to show that he was making an effort.
“We're gonna talk about the various characteristics of our mother,” said the man slowly, as if becoming adjusted to his audience, scanning the room. It is likely he did not know three quarters of the onlookers; this address was to be made in the presence of a faith that he was only associated with through his late mother’s fragmentary devotion. “I’m gonna speak about strength with compassion,” he continued. “Mommy was many things to all of us. In my heart, spirit, and mind, she was the epitome of strength.”
Nods from the front row. Closed eyes.
“That special strength she exuded was always laced with compassion. Her compassion touched everyone she came in contact with, and those who were privileged in knowing her compassion also knew of her great strength.” The man paused for a moment, perhaps reviewing what he had written on the paper held before him. “She loved us with this strength and compassion. She protected us with her great strength and compassion. She taught us with her great strength and compassion.”
As this delivery continued, it seemed, the true meaning of the words simultaneously weakened. These generalizations of Ma Link’s personal qualities dulled in the minds of the spectators, and the man paused once more with an indeterminable expression of either confusion, regret, or despair. It is possible he felt contrite about the quality of his presentation, whether he had help with its composition or not, and wished for it to reflect more than the emphases throughout that he did not want to be seen as uneducated. Or he might have simply grieved for his mother.
He proceeded, “We came from great stock, and each of us are always going to carry these special traits of Mommy in our hearts, spirits, and minds.” There was a short pause after the word “hearts,” and the remainder of his sentence was spoken in almost a whisper. “In my heart, I know Mommy has found rest and peace.”
The man straightened up, looked around the room once more, and then glanced down at his sheet of paper. “This has been a special time for all of Mommy's children,” he said, eyeing the siblings of his that were seated pensively some feet away. “A special time for brothers, sisters, and mother.” The wisp of a woman sitting in the front row, described as “part Cherokee,” gave a teetering nod and clasped her frail hands together, half in prayer and half in anticipation. “A special time for friends, and other welcomers.
“It is our time to celebrate our memories. Yet in our celebration...” The man spoke solemnly. His head bowed. “We mourn our loss.” A collective sigh spread throughout the room.
“Mommy has passed on- on to be with previous relatives who passed before her,” Ma Link’s son glanced at all the strangers in the room, the people he had never met and the people with whom he had only recently associated. “And on to Resurrection,” he added after a pause, settling the minds of his mother’s transient companions.
“Mommy focused on her family. She taught us things she knew. I'll always remember Mommy for giving passion when it came to family, friends, and loved ones. Her strength with compassion will be renewed and live through all who remember.” The man looked up one last time and, as he folded up his speech paper and put it back in the side pocket of his ill-fitting suit, he leaned down and muttered into the microphone:
“Mommy, we done our best.”