Being Delores Lee Ellis VI

Today, on the day of my birth, I honor my mother, Delores Lee Ellis. I was reminded of her great love for others yesterday. Over these past few months I have been engrossed in renovating a very large house. While the house is not in Detroit, I have hired more than a few contractors from the City in an effort to employ as many as I can, considering the devastating unemployment rate there. I have hired five contractors of diverse skill from the City and two others from the surrounding suburbs. The suburbs are hurting too, though not nearly as bad.

A few weeks back as I was walking down the aisle of Lowe's, I heard someone call my name. I turned around and to my delight stood an old family friend of my twin brothers. It was so very good to see him. We embraced and reminisced about the many times he and his brothers would spend the weekend at our home. Our parents were best friends when they were younger. Even though there were 12 of us, our home was always open to others. Over the holidays, people came and went all day. It was nothing to have many people pass through for Thanksgiving and Christmas. And our house was the neighborhood house to hang out. This was good as we could not hang out anywhere unless my mother knew your parents well. She was very watchful, but allowed us to make our mistakes, but only under her discerning eye.

That day I hired our family friend, as well as his two brothers, one of whom had been in incarcerated, but had been out for six years and is doing quite well. During his incarceration I wrote often, sent him support and allowed him to phone me collect. I am pleased with his work and dedication. He simply got caught up in a bad scene. Yesterday, the brother that I met at Lowe's said out of the clear blue as he repaired the oak floors, "Your mother was really amazing. Do you remember the prayers and songs she sang before we went to bed? What about the poems she recited? I'll never forget them." Our ritual did not change no matter who visited. Whomever was in our home participated in our nightly gathering of thanksgiving.

Of course, I remembered those prayers, songs and poems. They have sustained me. What he might not have known was that many of the songs and poems she had composed and written. He began singing the songs one after the other. I was amazed that he remembered them. "Judith, your mother had such an impact on me and my brothers," he said. "I remember one of her favorite scriptures: "A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches." Indeed.

On this day of my birth, I honor my mother.