Black Mothers Cry Their Children s Tears: A Tribute to Cissy and Whitney Houston

Black Mothers Cry Their Children s Tears: A Tribute to Cissy and Whitney Houston

A mother s eyes saw you first. Visible only to her, she saw you. Before your first breath in this world, there were prayers. Prayers for days best left unrealized, for days that would make us less whole, for days requiring a goodbye engraved in stone. With the miracle of life, a mother knows someday there may be a price extracted for such phenomenon, predators sent to collect such toll. This burden is a known fact to a mother: life and its occupants may attack you. Before her daughters, even more than her sons, a mother knows life wa dangerous yet precious cargo on a journey that had just begun.  She talked to you and shared with you all of the dangers that could ensnare; knowing it would affect your ego, your self-esteem and be diligent in keeping you in disrepair. A mother warns of dangers, there are seven she sees. And, so she’ll talk and teach daily, praying big prayers on rusted knees.

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