I want to grow up to be like my mother, and love a man just like my father...

“Raven wake up! Wake up! We have to take Daddy to the hospital!” It was about 11:30pm on June 14, 2001. I was 14 years old and I had just completed my freshman year in high school. Before I went to bed, I spoke to my dad who was in my parent’s room, on his side of the bed seeing how he was feeling. He had been suffering from a cold for about a month at this time and just couldn’t shake it. I was concerned, but his comforting words made me feel like everything was going to be okay. He was taking his meds, and we just had to be patient. It was a pretty normal summer day in Philly and I went to bed kind of early, because there wasn’t really a need to stay up. I had just gotten comfortable when I was jolted awake by mother’s voice, frantic, desperately trying to be calm, waking her sleeping children up, trying to save the man she loved. We piled into the family van, my brother and I still half sleep not really understanding what was going on.

My mother doing her very best to keep her questioning children calm and her husband alive. We speed into the ER waiting room of Lankenau Hospital, and from that point on the details are fuzzy for me. I do remember distinctly being in the waiting room with my brother watching some pointless tv show trying to figure out what could be wrong. Suddenly, “Code Blue Room 1! Code Blue Room 1!” was blasting across the loud speakers. I looked at my brother and I said, “I hope that wasn’t daddy.”

I would later learn that the code blue was indeed for my father. He technically died that night. However, only through the grace and mercies of God did he survive. My mother would later tell me that when my father coded, all she could do was drop down to her knees and pray. Pray that the man she had met and fell in love with in college and began a family with would survive. Prayed that she didn’t have to steal the innocence of her two children in the waiting room and tell them their father wasn’t coming back. Prayed that my father, just 44 years old, would be able to live his life for 44 more years and even more.

Thankfully my father did survive the massive heart attack he suffered that night, and was able to heal and make the major lifestyle changes he needed to make to live a long and productive life. I watched my mother put her entire life on hold to support and nurse my father back to health. She took time off from work, took him to all his appointments, got his medicine, and altered the family diet so we could all beginto eat more healthy. While this may seem like all a wife should do, it was more than the physical actions that personified for me. It was my mother’s selflessness and overwhelming desire to care for her partner and best friend that spoke to me. To her there would be no other way. On my father’s end, his humbleness and extreme thankfulness also struck me. I cannot count how many times he apologized for getting sick (not that anyone blamed him) and thanked us for helping him do the simplest things such as tying his shoe or going downstairs to bring him water.

“Raven wake up! Wake up! We have to take Daddy to the hospital!” It was about 11:30pm on June 14, 2001. I was 14 years old and I had just completed my freshman year in high school. Before I went to bed, I spoke to my dad who was in my parent’s room, on his side of the bed seeing how he was feeling. He had been suffering from a cold for about a month at this time and just couldn’t shake it. I was concerned, but his comforting words made me feel like everything was going to be okay. He was taking his meds, and we just had to be patient. It was a pretty normal summer day in Philly and I went to bed kind of early, because there wasn’t really a need to stay up. I had just gotten comfortable when I was jolted awake by mother’s voice, frantic, desperately trying to be calm, waking her sleeping children up, trying to save the man she loved. We piled into the family van, my brother and I still half sleep not really understanding what was going on.

My mother and father are the personification of a team. When one is down, the other picks up the slack. Both have taken on the breadwinner title, without the other being resentful or destructive. Their relationship is far from perfect; they have had their fair share of arguments and problems. However, I truly feel what has made their 27-year marriage work are love, trust, friendship, and faith. They have made a lifelong commitment to each other and their family. Because of this dedication, they have beaten the unfortunate odds that begets couples in this country, especially couples of color. I am truly grateful for the guidance and influence my mother and father have given to me, and because of this I

My mother doing her very best to keep her questioning children calm and her husband alive. We speed into the ER waiting room of Lankenau Hospital, and from that point on the details are fuzzy for me. I do remember distinctly being in the waiting room with my brother watching some pointless tv show trying to figure out what could be wrong. Suddenly, “Code Blue Room 1! Code Blue Room 1!” was blasting across the loud speakers. I looked at my brother and I said, “I hope that wasn’t daddy.”

I would later learn that the code blue was indeed for my father. He technically died that night. However, only through the grace and mercies of God did he survive. My mother would later tell me that when my father coded, all she could do was drop down to her knees and pray. Pray that the man she had met and fell in love with in college and began a family with would survive. Prayed that she didn’t have to steal the innocence of her two children in the waiting room and tell them their father wasn’t coming back. Prayed that my father, just 44 years old, would be able to live his life for 44 more years and even more.

Thankfully my father did survive the massive heart attack he suffered that night, and was able to heal and make the major lifestyle changes he needed to make to live a long and productive life. I watched my mother put her entire life on hold to support and nurse my father back to health. She took time off from work, took him to all his appointments, got his medicine, and altered the family diet so we could all beginto eat more healthy. While this may seem like all a wife should do, it was more than the physical actions that personified for me. It was my mother’s selflessness and overwhelming desire to care for her partner and best friend that spoke to me. To her there would be no other way. On my father’s end, his humbleness and extreme thankfulness also struck me. I cannot count how many times he apologized for getting sick (not that anyone blamed him) and thanked us for helping him do the simplest things such as tying his shoe or going downstairs to bring him water.

My mother and father are the personification of a team. When one is down, the other picks up the slack. Both have taken on the breadwinner title, without the other being resentful or destructive. Their relationship is far from perfect; they have had their fair share of arguments and problems. However, I truly feel what has made their 27-year marriage work are love, trust, friendship, and faith. They have made a lifelong commitment to each other and their family. Because of this dedication, they have beaten the unfortunate odds that begets couples in this country, especially couples of color. I am truly grateful for the guidance and influence my mother and father have given to me, and because of this I want to grow up to be like my mother, and love a man just like my father.