As I sit here, reflecting on my childhood, I am reminded of a phenomenon that I experienced firsthand, but never quite understood until much later in life. It's a phenomenon that I refer to as "watching mom go black." For those who may not be familiar, it's a phrase that describes the moment when a child's mother, often the epitome of strength, love, and nurturing, begins to unravel, both physically and emotionally.
Then one evening, I saw her on the porch, wearing a simple black dress, watching the sunset. The sky was bleeding orange and pink, but she didn’t seem to see it. She was looking past it, toward the oncoming night. And for the first time, I understood: she wasn’t turning away from color or light. She was making space for the stars. watching mom go black
: Children grow up seeing their own hair textures validated daily by the woman they admire most. As I sit here, reflecting on my childhood,