Black Snow: A Salute to the Single Parent

By Tuli Langston

Black SnowA Salute to the Single Parent provides a view from the inside world of living without two parents in the household and the system put in place for the familys survival. It exposes the dynamic six-step process that was used to keep the family functioning at a high level and in harmony. Black Snow takes us on the journey of discovering how the fathers whereabouts were located, why he left, why he stayed away, and how he lived and died.

A heart-wrenching story of strength, love and dedication.
Sheila Hawkins

A story that will touch the hearts and soul of every parent and parent to be. It knows no boundaries.
Carolyn Hogue

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Mar 22, 2012
• ISBN: 9781452547091

Tuli Langston

Tuli Langston is a graduate of Saint Louis University and holds a bachelor’s degree in communications disorders (speech therapy) with a lifetime certification to teach grades K-12. She has also published MaMa Said-MaMa Meant, a collection of MaMa’s ol’ school expressions, and holds a US patent for her invention of the Child’s Stadium Safety Seat. Tuli is a retired Human Resources Manager and mother of three. She spends her time writing, speaking and gardening.

Book preview

Chapter I

Muh

It was December 24, 1979 and all was still inside the walls of our newly purchased home. The children had finally fallen asleep and I was now able to sit down and take a break from chasing them throughout the house. Michael spent every waking hour playing tricks on Michelle. He played the here comes Santa Claus, game making her believe santa was behind her. She not knowing who that was, just felt it was something to run from. Santa was coming and with conflicted optimism each was eager to see him, but only long enough to grab the goods and return to their safety nest.

I looked out of the window just above the kitchen sink at the multi-colored lights that seemed to brighten the neighborhood. The last time I could remember lights being that bright was when I graduated from high school. On that night, I was finally allowed to go more than five miles away from home without being attached to a sibling.

The cool thing to do was to go to the graduation party followed by greasy hamburgers and fries at Parkmoore’s. If we had enough money left we ordered a milk shake, if not water would suffice.

The main event was not the graduation ceremony itself, that was a time filler, a place holder that moved time ahead until the class of 1967 could go to the St. Louis Riverfront. Those who were furthering their education were celebrating along side those who selected other options. We now faced a new life that would be free of studying, research, assemblies and report cards. We had finally made it to the place where classes before us had met to celebrate the same occasion before entering adulthood.

It was 1 a.m. and I wasn’t sure if I would be able to stay awake to watch the sun rise. I had only been awake past 10:30 pm less than five times in my entire life. I was seriously challenging myself to stay awake to see the sun rise and become a part of the awe did you see it club. Waiting had become so fierce until I just wanted it over. I had no real experience with night life and the agony from the lack of sleep made the rising of the sun less appealing to me. What if this promised sunrise decided to visit a different riverfront and never turned it’s bright smile towards us. What if instead, we were dumped with massive rain clouds.

Whether there was rain or sunshine, it was a choice that I made to come see what the nostalgia was about, so why was I whining. It didn’t help that I was the smallest and youngest of the group. I dare not use that as my excuse for wanting it to be over because sleep would come in due time.

After I had gone through the self analysis of why I had even participated, I blinked a couple of times and lo and behold, the most perfect golden beautiful and bright light gracefully parted the clouds.

It’s grace was as though a stage crew had performed the final touches and brushed on a coat of shellac to enhance it’s glimmer, then slowly pushed it through the clouds. You could hear cheers from young students from all fronts of the muddy Mississippi. How could one dare question the need to be here to see and be a part of the introduction it made for us, welcoming us into young adulthood. The symbol of doing away with the old and providing a bright perspective for a new day for all of us had arrived.

I moved throughout the house looking from window to window, on that cold night in Indiana, at the perfectly quiet peaceful calm that reflected colorful shadows across the snow filled yard. Washington Park was directly across the street and even the Zoo animals had quieted down for the evening as though they too were waiting for a long promised surprise.

The bright lights were shining across the neighborhood in a flickering on and off motion signaling for one’s attention. Little did I realize the message between each blink. Through each interval of light in our lives there will be moments of darkness. Hold on to your faith and remember the warmth the brightness brings, it will return after the darkness disappears.

My focus on the lights was interrupted by the telephone ringing. It was 11:00 pm., who would be calling this late and what could be so important that it couldn’t wait until tomorrow. Which of my relatives was getting an early jump on wishing us a Merry Christmas. A number of images ran through my mind before I said hello, Merry Christmas. Immediately, I recognized the voice being that of my oldest nephew, Sterling. His voice quality was cold, dry and hollow. There were no usual greetings or laughter but rather a staunch come help, do something about this situation and not let it be real.

Cicely, granny is dead. My mind began to race with confusion, anger and pain, denial and disbelief. There was only one granny, Muh. The lights that had shined so brightly just moments ago seemed to have lost their luster and made no sense in it’s pattern of colors. Why was there no organization in how they were displayed from home to home? What influence did the Neighborhood Association have on how homes were decorated and the commercialization of this the season we call Christmas? Who in their right or confused mind would call anyone on Christmas Eve and deliver a message of this magnitude? Didn’t he realize that this was the season of the Holy Birth and not of death?

The pain and tears in his voice convinced me this was no joke, no hoax but a display of the heart felt pain he was experiencing from losing his granny.

The call that Muh had made to me earlier in the week took control of my mind, and brought me to the realization that this was how God planned her departure. Her first born grandson who was now the eldest male in the family delivering the message to her last born that she had gone on to be at peace.

Muh had called me earlier in the week excited because we were in the process of moving into our new home. Now that the day had arrived for us to move in, that same excited heart would claim her life.

Muh knew everything. Not only did she have eyes in the back of her head, she studied each of us well enough to know what we were going to do before we ever did it. She was intent on letting us know how proud she was of all her children and their accomplishments. She no longer had to worry if her youngest child had a roof over her head for herself and her children. Moving into our home symbolized for her that I had reached the level of maturity and responsibility that she looked for in her children. Her fretting days were over and all her children were settled adults.

No God, not my mama, not Muh. She was the only parent that any of us had. The one who raised us with the notion that we should learn all we could from her because she wouldn’t always be here. We needed to know how to survive without her. She was the one who protected us from anything and anyone who did not meet her approval. As fore warned, that day had come and none of us were prepared for her to ever leave us as she had never done in her entire 61 years.

Stanley, my husband of a little over four years rushed over to take the phone from my hand. When the call came in, he was working in another part of the house and didn’t hear the conversation that had already taken place.

Hearing the screams through the house put a scamper in his step. He jetted through the hallway with his head swinging from side to side checking the children’s rooms to make sure of their safety. He didn’t understand why the screams, tears and pleading with God was taking place.

For the last couple of days Muh had not been feeling very well. She had been diagnosed with a heart condition that seemed to have worsened. She became tired and weakened easily. A month earlier at Thanksgiving when we visited her, we were advised that she did have a heart condition. Her doctor wanted her to rest and not get excited about much of anything. He wanted her to take it easy and not over extend herself but knowing her, rest would come after she had done all the things she needed to do.

Two of my sisters, Stella and Carmen had spent the afternoon making calls to Muh to check on how she was feeling, but there was never an answer. Later in the day when she still didn’t answer, the two of them along with Sterling went to her home. There must have been a deep sense of fear because they banned together like a flock of dove to make the short journey.

When they reached her English Tudor home that sat neatly on the block, everything seemed to be tucked away and in it’s place. The glass security door that protected the wooden entry door was glistening with bright Christmas lights. The same multi-colored lights that lit up my neighborhood. The doors were locked from the inside so that explained a few things. Muh was there but couldn’t be seen through the glass