When Words Fail: Navigating the Loss of Creativity After Losing My Mother

My love for music & writing was gifted to me from my mother. Being from the era where kids were to be seen, not heard; writing became the only avenue of expression. My creations started off as thoughts. Those thoughts then manifested down my pencil til it bottlenecked on the city limits of my paper. I loved it all. Poetry, rhymes, short stories. It did not matter; as long as ink was oozing on the tablet.

Up until the day my mom took sick, she loved her spiral tables. She would send me or my sister to the grocery store & at the bottom of each list there was

• Crossword book

• Tablet

As she sat in front of her TV, she would jot down bible scriptures, doodle a bit and just simply enjoying the art of writing. My mother loved me & despite being a single parent of 4 young children, she put a lot of energy into keeping us engaged in our education. One Christmas I was told to open a medium sized gift that was under our artificial tree that was labeled to me. After neatly destroying the wrapping paper, I discovered that somehow, my mom got me a typewriter. This was no ordinary typewriter. It was accompanied with a special ink ribbon that had an erase feature! 🥰 It was the gift I always wanted that I never knew I wanted. I may have been around 13 at the time (1990) . That typewriter singlehandedly fed my creative and tech addictions.

Typing on those key gave me a higher dimension of creativity while giving me satisfying clickity feedback. I was able to visit so many places that a greyhound bus ticket could not take me. I could build stories that were taller than any skyscraper. I crafted a poem called “The Seed”. It was about a lonely un-popped kernel that was unwanted by everyone and remained at the bottom of the bag while the fluffy popcorn was sough after. I shared my poem with my English teacher & she told me there was no way I wrote that. Her name was Julie Hines if you want to cancel her 🤣.

I also wrote my first short story. I don’t recall the title but when I close my eyes, I can see the script typed out on the right side of my brain. I, again, shared my story with a friend & was that my story was too controversial & wouldn’t sell. I say all of this to say that with the right tool, the perfect environment and a creativity level bigger than life, you can compose anything. Do not let anyone narrate your stories! The sky is not your limit; but another destination.

In Her Final Days

Carolyn P. Mays 

Going to the hospital to visit my mother in late 2021 and early 2022 was an obstacle. COVID was wrecking havoc all over the world so hospital visitations were limited to 1 visitor per day. On top of that, you were NOT able to re-enter the building if you forgot something in the car or wanted to step away for lunch. My sister and I would alternate days. I would take my MacBook Pro 💻 and blog away while she slept. I recall her waking up & asking me why I wasn’t at work. I can hear her4 voice now. “Boy go to work. I’ll be ok!”

Blogging became more of a challenge than an outlet for me. My creativity was on life support & its pulse was decreasing. I used to feel free; like a bird that was not afraid of falling, while I was writing. Then it became forced. My therapeutic writing style became a chore. My focus & drive was deteriorating as my watched my mom slowly transition. And when that faithful day arose, my creativity died with my mother. Her heartbeat stopped at the same time my pen ran out of ink. My mom gave me my love for writing & it felts as if she took part of it when she left.

Its Been 2 & 1/2 Years

I was today years old when it hit me. Yes, my mom took a huge part of me when she left. I was so focused on what I did not have that I neglected the huge gift that she gave me. Carolyn P Mays so a huge portion of me in order for her to make room for new ideas, gifts and and creative avenues of jotting my newly gained life experiences. And old experienced pen can only say so much before it runs out of ink. My mother gave me a new pen, a new born creativeness & a more mature way of captivating my audience. She may have left with something but she left me with something. When someone departs from this world, they carry with them the old gifts of memories and lessons, clearing space for new treasures to bloom in the hearts of those they leave behind.

I love you mama. Thank you for hardwiring writing & music into the essence of my soul. I can see clearly now that its time for me to pick up a new pen and craft new adventures & use my creative voice to feed the addiction of millions.

🤎🖤Black Love ✊🏿 Black Power ☮️ Black Peace to my 🌡 Community.