Spoil your mom. Give her a hug. I can't do that anymore. | Opinion

• The author, James E. Causey, reflects on the loss of his mother, Otha Causey, who passed away in 2019.
• Otha Causey was a hardworking woman from Mississippi who instilled in her son the value of speaking up against injustice.
• She was known for her strong faith, love for her family, and honesty, and she worked multiple jobs to provide for them.
• The author shares memories of his mother, including her love of cooking, her struggles with weight, and their time together.
• He encourages readers to cherish their mothers and suggests honoring a mother in need if their own has passed away.

I miss my mother.

I lost her on May 3, 2019. She was 80 years old. I lost my father just six months before her.

As an only child, Father’s Day and Mother’s Day will never feel the same again.

I was a “Momma’s boy,” though maybe not in the way people usually mean it. I loved my mother, and she loved me deeply. But Otha Causey did not believe in coddling. She praised me when I did well, but she also corrected me when I was wrong.

She was my biggest cheerleader. My mother bragged to everybody that her son worked for the big paper downtown. She always called it either the Milwaukee Sentinel or “the Journal.” Never the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel. For years, I tried correcting her, and eventually I gave up.

Truthfully, I loved it. Even when I acted embarrassed, I loved hearing the pride in her voice.

What I respected most about my mother was that her love came with honesty. If I was wrong, she told me. If I needed to do better, she said it. She loved me enough not to lie to me.

Momma Causey was my hero.

She put her family first every single day of her life. She worked two and sometimes three jobs to make sure we never went without. And when I say “without,” I don’t mean expensive toys or fancy clothes. I mean, we always had a roof over our heads. We always had food in the kitchen. We always had somebody fighting to make sure we were OK.

This Mother’s Day, millions of people will take their mothers out to dinner, sit beside them in church, or shower them with gifts and flowers.

I can’t do that anymore.

So this year, I decided to honor my mother the best way I know how — through my words.

Who was Otha Causey? She loved God and she sure could cook.

My mother loved her family. She loved God. As the daughter of a Baptist minister, the church was woven into her spirit long before I was born.

She loved my father, too, even though the two of them argued almost daily. If you remember the characters George and Louise Jefferson from TV sitcom "The Jeffersons," that was basically my parents. Constant bickering, constant love.

My mother also loved fashion, paying her bills on time, and talking on the phone with her friends.

She was born and raised in McComb, Mississippi, the oldest of 10 siblings. She grew up poor and surrounded by racism. These experiences shaped her worldview and later shaped mine. Along with my father, she taught me to speak up against injustice and never stay silent when something is wrong.

She met my father in high school. He lived about 35 miles away in Gloster, Mississippi, and while working at a sawmill, he became friends with my grandfather, Pastor Marion Tobias. My father admired how outspoken my grandfather was about racism in the Jim Crow South.

One day, my grandfather invited him over to the house because, as he told my father, “I’ve got daughters.”

My father showed up the following Saturday, and Pastor Tobias lined up four of them outside. My father chose my mother, and the rest became family history.

They courted until my father left for the U.S. Army to serve in Korea. During that time, my mother moved to Chicago to live with relatives and continue school. After my father returned from the military, he briefly went back to Mississippi before eventually moving to Milwaukee to escape the limitations of the Jim Crow South and search for opportunity.

Once he learned my mother was in Chicago, they reconnected, got married, and six years later, I came along.

My mother used to joke, “Your dad wanted more kids, but I had to see how he handled you first.” Then she’d laugh and say, “The fact that you’re an only child tells you everything you need to know.”

She was funny like that.

And she could cook. Lord, could she cook.

Her first job was as a “salad girl” at Karl Ratzsch’s restaurant, one of the few times in her life she worked only one job. Most of the time, she worked two or three. She spent years at Koss Corp. on the assembly line making headphones and speakers. She also worked in the dietary department at Northwest General Hospital and as a server at George Webb.

My mother worked hard physically, but spiritually she was just as strong. Few people I have ever met could quote Scripture the way she could.

She even had sayings of her own. Whenever a man tried flirting with her, she would smile and say, “I don’t drink, I don’t smoke, and I don’t fool around.”

That was Momma Causey.

What I remember the most: church, movies and biking together

One of my mother’s lifelong struggles was her weight. It bothered her, but she never let it stop her from living or being present in my life.

I still remember us riding bikes from 39th and Capitol all the way to Northridge Mall and back. She did that on a one-speed bike. I also remember going downtown with her to see “The Wiz” and every horror movie I begged her to take me to.

Church was her refuge whenever she wasn’t working. Later in life, she got serious about exercise, lost weight, and even helped lead senior fitness classes while attending OASIS through MPS Recreation. She was proud of that. And so was I.

Cancer eventually took both of my parents. My father died from pancreatic cancer. By the time doctors found my mother’s cancer, soft cell carcinoma, she was given two years to live. She died a few days shy of a month later.

My wife and I cared for both in our home until the very end.

Caregiving is one of the hardest things a person can do. It is emotionally, physically, and spiritually exhausting. But it is also one of the purest acts of love you can give another human being.

Not having my mother here on Mother’s Day still hurts.

For a while, I struggled to see people post pictures of themselves taking their mothers out to dinner or celebrating with them. I envied them because I missed mine so badly.

Eventually, I learned how to move forward with the grief. Notice I did not say “get over it,” because you never truly get over losing your mother. Or your father.

When your mother dies, you lose the first person who ever loved you unconditionally.

So, this Mother’s Day, spoil your mother if you still have her. Call her. Visit her. Hug her a little longer. Listen to her stories, even the ones you’ve heard a hundred times before.

And if you’re like me and your mother is gone, do something kind for a mother who may need encouragement, support, or simply to feel seen.

Happy Mother’s Day.

Reach James E. Causey at [email protected]; follow him on X @jecausey.