My Mother's Rose-Like Garden

My Mother’s Rose-Like Garden

To me, my mother was like a beautiful rose—deep red, with soft golden petals on a stem that appeared delicate but was as strong as steel. Her thorns were hidden beneath the softness of her stem, but when they pricked, they were sharp and quick, leaving you bruised before you even realized you were struck.

My mother loved me more than I could ever express. She made me feel like the most important person in her world, spoiling me in the best possible way. Anything I wanted, she made sure I had. We were incredibly close. We had a song we used to sing together, You and Me Against the World. That’s how I felt after my mom brought me home from my grandmothers hous. I begged her to bring me home. I was miserable there, and Mommie finally agreed. But when she tried to bring my little sister too, my grandmother guilted her into leaving her behind. She told my mother she’d die without her and begged her to stay. Eventually, Mom gave in—against her better judgment.

When I asked her why, she shared a Bible story that didn’t make sense to me at the time. It was about two mothers fighting over the same child, each claiming to be the child’s real mother. The king, trying to satisfy both, suggested cutting the child in half and giving each mother a piece. The real mother immediately gave up her claim to protect the child. I didn’t fully understand that story until much later, after Mom had passed, but then it became clear.

My mother gave me a childhood full of love and opportunity. I had a beautiful home, friends, fun, and family. She was always present in whatever I wanted to do. When I wanted to join the Brownies, she became a Brownie leader. When I joined the drill team, she was my biggest cheerleader. When I wanted to play the clarinet, she borrowed money to buy me one. And when she became the Lunch Patrol leader, she made sure I was a part of it—even though I was too young.

She was a woman full of passion and life, especially when it came to children, particularly those who were ignored or discarded. When I was in elementary school, she met Mrs. Shipman, the school principal. They quickly formed a bond, and Mrs. Shipman, impressed by Mom’s energy, entrusted her with a class of "troubled" students—today, they’d call it Special Ed. The kids loved her, and she loved them. She did so well that Mrs. Shipman made her the Assistant Principal. But when the school board found out, they forced her out, claiming she didn’t meet the necessary qualifications. Little did they know, she was the best thing that ever happened to that school.

Undeterred, Mom became an emergency foster parent. She found a way to keep helping children, knowing that no one could take that away from her. She was always the one people turned to when they needed help—family, friends, anyone. They knew that Geri would have the solution.

My mother was my gift from God, and the woman I am today is a reflection of her. I’ve carried with me the good seeds from her rose-like garden—and yes, some of the weeds too.

For many years, I couldn’t understand how someone as strong, smart, and protective as my mother could allow herself to be abused. She ran from my father over and over because of his violence, only to marry my stepfather and find herself in another abusive relationship. But make no mistake—my mom wasn’t weak. She could throw a punch herself. She used to say my father taught her how to fight. I guess she learned that trying to protect herself from his blows.

Mom was gentle at her core, but if you pushed her, she could flip a switch. Her temper could go from zero to a hundred in seconds, and when it did, you didn’t want to be in the line of fire.

I come from a long line of strong women. I admired them. My mother and aunts were beautiful, capable, and powerful, yet I watched them all suffer at the hands of men. I had a front-row seat to it all. I remember sitting on the red stool in our living room, watching the abuse unfold like it was some sort of movie. It left such an imprint on me that I began to think that’s what relationships were supposed to look like. I thought fighting was just part of love, even a little exciting. But what else could I have thought? I was a child, growing up in a rose-like garden.