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MidReal Story
A Mother's Love
Scenario:Happy Mother Day Celebration tribute to "Camille Graffenread!" She is a Beautiful 81-year-old, Brown Skinned Black lady with white silver mid-length curly hair style! This is a story about, one of the most carrying, thoughtful, loving, hardworking, Mother of two boys, Oldest Son Derrick Lawrence Weeden, a Nice built 65-year- old brown skin black man. Derrick is an R&B vocalist, fashion designer and movie producers! Her other son is the youngest, 59-year-old, Glenn Thomas Weeden, a Nice built - Army vet and now the head machinic work for FedEx Mail Cargo, and father of two Girls. Camille got married at the early age of 16 to a handsome man and the father of her two sons, Paul Winston Weeden, a man 4 years older than her. Paul cheater on Camille, broke her heart, and had other kids out of wedlock during their marriage. But Camille "Being a women of "GOD" raised her two boys to the best she could! THIS SORY IS TO SHOW CAMILLE ANN GRAFFENREAD, HOW MUCH SHE IS LOVED BY EVEYONES LIFE SHE HAS TOUCHED AND the first women that I, Derrick Lawrence Weeden ever loved and the first women that ever loved her two SONS! CAMILLE ANN GRAFFENREAD, THE MOTHER, THAT DERRICK LAWRENCE WEEDEN, would be nothing without the love of Camille Ann Graffenread! Mom, You are the world best mom, thank you for giving me birth!
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Derrick Lawrence Weeden
He is a 65yearold R&B vocalist,fashion designer,and movie producer. He is devoted,grateful,and loving. Derrick was raised by his mother,Camille Ann Graffenread,who instilled in him a strong work ethic and unwavering support. Despite his father's absence,Derrick formed a deep bond with his mother,who remained a constant figure in his life. He cherishes the sacrifices she made for him and expresses gratitude for her unwavering love.
Camille Ann Graffenread
She is a 81yearold matriarch and Derrick's devoted mother. She is nurturing,resilient,and selfsacrificing. Camille married Paul at 16 and bore him two sons,despite his infidelities and eventual abandonment. She worked tirelessly to raise Derrick and his brother Glenn,providing them with love and stability. Camille's unwavering dedication to her family is evident in the countless sacrifices she made for them,and she remains a steadfast presence in Derrick's life.
Glenn Thomas Weeden
He is Derrick’s younger brother and the second son of Paul Winston Weeden and Camille Ann Graffenread. He is hardworking,dedicated,and supportive. Glenn served in the Army before working at FedEx as a mechanic. He follows in his older brother’s footsteps by visiting their shared ancestral home regularly,which signifies his connection to family history. Glenn values family and maintains close relationships with his nephews and niece,embodying stability amidst life’s challenges.
Happy Mother Day Celebration tribute to "Camille Graffenread!"
She is a Beautiful 81-year-old, Brown Skinned Black lady with white silver mid-length curly hair style!
This is a story about, one of the most carrying, thoughtful, loving, hardworking, and one of the best mother in the whole wide world!
I just wanted to take this time to let her know how much I appreciate her and love her for being such a great mother to me and my brother Glenn.
My mother, Camille Ann Graffenread, embarked on the journey of marriage at the tender age of 16, joining her life with Paul Weeden, a man who was four years her senior.
She had two Handsom sons by him, Glenn Thomas Weeden and me, Derrick Lawrence Weeden.
Though Glenn is younger than I am by four years.
Though we are brothers and share the same last name as our father Paul Winston Weeden, our dad was never really a part of our lives.
He left my mom when I was just 14 years old, and Glenn was just 10 years Old.
We only saw our father on Sunday mornings at church.
He had other kids with other women while he was married to my mom but never spent time or took care of them either.
I walk into the living room where Mom sits in her favorite floral armchair, positioned in a way that she can watch the afternoon sunlight streaming through the window.
Her silver curls catch the light, and the familiar scent of her lavender perfume wafts through the air as I approach.
My chest tightens with emotion as I remember how she worked two jobs to keep food on our table after Dad left.
She looks up from reading her bible, her warm brown eyes meeting mine, and sets aside her reading glasses.
Without saying a word, I kneel beside her chair, my hands trembling slightly as I reach for her strong ones.
"Mom, did you ever regret staying with Dad as long as you did?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
She sighs softly, her eyes distant for a moment, then replies, "I stayed because I wanted you and Glenn to have a chance at knowing him, even if it was just a glimpse."
"But all those years, you carried everything on your own," I say, my voice filled with admiration and a hint of sorrow.
Mom's strong but soft hands tighten around mine, and tears well up in her eyes.
I notice the slight tremor in her fingers, remembering how those same hands ironed our clothes at midnight after she finished her late shift at the hospital.
The setting sun casts long shadows across her face, highlighting every hard-earned tear!
I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out an old photograph from 1965 - Mom in her waitress uniform, holding toddler Glenn while I stand proudly beside her in my school clothes.
Mom cradles the photograph in her strong hands, her eyes misting as she traces the edges with her fingertip.
She points to my little outfit in the image, reminding me how she'd saved for months to afford enough money to buy it from L. Strauss, founded in 1853, with their headquarters in Indianapolis, Indiana!
I notice her hand trembling slightly as she describes working extra shifts at the hospital to cover the cost of my love of White Castle Hamburgers, lol.
The memory of her exhausted face when she'd come home late still haunts me.
She taps the image of baby Glenn in her arms, mentioning how she'd carry him during her breaks at work.
I watch her strong soft hands fold the photograph carefully, her movements slow and deliberate.
The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across her face, highlighting every line earned through years of sacrifice.
She reaches for her purse, pulling out a crumpled receipt from 1968 - a layaway payment for my first Mother's Day outfit!
My throat tightens as she explains how she worked overtime for six months to afford it.
I remember finding her asleep at the kitchen table those nights, still in her nurse's uniform.
She tucks the receipt back into her purse, patting it gently as if preserving a precious memory.
I lean forward in my chair, studying her face in the fading light.
Her hands still cradle the old receipt, fingers brushing over the faded ink of those layaway payments.
The weight of decades of sacrifice presses on my chest as I watch her carefully fold the paper and tuck it away.
Without a word, I slide closer, wrapping my arms around her small frame.
Her familiar lavender scent envelops me as I pull her close, feeling her silver curls brush against my cheek.
"Thank you, Mom," I whisper, my voice thick with emotion.
"For everything."
I pull back from our embrace, but keep hold of Mom's hand.
We both settle back into our chairs, the familiar creak of her leather armchair mingling with the distant birdsong through the window.
The late afternoon sunlight casts a warm glow on her face as she gazes down at the old photos and receipt spread across her lap.
Neither of us speaks, but the weight of decades of love hangs heavy in the air.
Her thumb traces small circles on my palm, the same soothing motion she used when I was sick as a child.
After a moment, she looks up at me, her eyes damp but her smile radiating warmth.
I reach for the worn burgundy photo album on her side table, its leather corners softened from years of handling.
As I settle back into my chair, our shoulders touching, I carefully open to the first page.
My baby picture stares back at us, a tiny bundle swaddled in a white blanket.
Mom's finger trembles as she points to the hospital bracelet she kept next to the photo.
"I worked extra shifts for three months to afford a private room for your birth," she whispers, her voice filled with a mix of pride and nostalgia.
The plastic coating on some pages has yellowed with age, but her neat handwriting beneath each photo remains clear and legible.
I point to a faded Polaroid of me in a tiny blue sweater, sitting on the floor holding my brother Glenn in my lap, afraid of dropping him!
"Remember that day?"
I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Mom adjusts her reading glasses and peers at the photo.
She smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
Her finger traces the V-neck pattern on the sweater.
I touch the worn edges of the photo, feeling the slight crease where it had been folded and tucked away for years.
Mom reaches for a nearby storage box, its lid slightly ajar.
She pulls out a small bundle wrapped in tissue paper and hands it to me.
"I can't believe you kept it all this time," I say, my voice catching in my throat.
"It was a reminder of those little victories," she replies softly, her eyes misty with memories.
I sit beside Mom, in the den of her home that I have not been in for over ten tears!
We sit in two chairs, side by side, backs to the window, with the sun shining down on us.
The scent of lavender wafts from her perfume, a familiar comfort.
We continue to flip through the photo album, pausing at a picture of me as a toddler, my chubby cheeks and wide eyes staring back.
Mom's handwriting notes the date and occasion in the corner.
I take a deep breath, turning to face her.
"Mom, you've taught me everything about being a good man. You're more than just a mom; you're my dad too."
She looks at me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, and said " I had too, because there is nothing that man could eve teach you about being a man!
I reach for her hand, squeezing it gently.
I watch her face harden slightly at the mention of Dad.
Her fingers tighten their grip on the photo album.
The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across her silver curls.
She straightens in her chair, showing that familiar strength I've seen countless times.
"Do you remember the day we were in your aunt Eunetta's car, and we saw your dad's car drive pass us with another woman driving, and I jumped out of the car at the light, got in the back seat and started b###g her in her head? Her voice steady despite the weight of memories. With us both laughing Out Loud, I said " YES, I was like my mom is Pam Grier."
She pauses, collecting her thoughts. and gave me a big smile!
"That was the day I chose us," she says, her voice unwavering.
We sit in comfortable silence, our laughter fading as the door to the living room opens.
Glenn steps into view, his smile soft and warm.
He walks over to us, his eyes fixed on Mom.
"Mom, you're our hero," he says, his voice steady but filled with emotion.
He kneels beside her chair, taking her other hand.
Mom's eyes glisten as she looks at both of us, her sons, gathered around her.
I watch as Glenn's grip tightens slightly, a silent acknowledgment of all she's done.
In that moment, I realize the strength of her love has always been our true inheritance.
I rise from the couch and move towards her, wrapping my arms around her in a tight embrace.
She stands, her lavender scent enveloping me.
Glenn joins us, his arms encircling both of us.
We stand there, a tight circle of love and gratitude.
The sunlight casts our shadows on the carpet.
Mom's soft sobs muffle against my shoulder.
Her hand pats my back gently, a comforting touch I remember from childhood.
Glenn whispers words of love and gratitude, his voice thick with emotion.
We stay like this for a moment, united in our love for Mom.
I sit on the couch with Mom and Glenn in the living room.
The sunlight filters through the windows, casting a warm glow over us.
Glenn starts talking about his time in the Army, stationed in Germany with his wife Angi and their baby girl, Tiffany.
He shares stories of missing Mom during those long days abroad.
I chime in, recounting my trips to Billings, Montana, where I skied, sang Reggae, and saw real live Indians for the first time.
Mom listens intently, her eyes softening with nostalgia and love as she holds our hands.
We laugh and reminisce, feeling closer as a family.
I sit with Mom and Glenn in the living room.
The sun shines through the windows, casting a warm glow over us.
Glenn starts talking about his time in the Army, stationed in Germany with his wife Angi and their baby girl, Tiffany.
He shares stories of missing Mom during those long days abroad.
I chime in, recounting my trips to Billings, Montana, where I skied, sang Reggae, and saw real live Indians for the first time.
Mom listens intently, her eyes softening with nostalgia and love as she holds our hands.
We laugh and reminisce, feeling closer as a family.
"Hey Mom," I say, "do you remember when we used to play basketball at the 25th street apartment, in the back courtyard?"
Mom nods, her eyes glistening with memories.
"I used to watch you boys from the window," she says softly.
"We would play for hours."
I smile, remembering those carefree days.
Glenn laughs.
"Yeah, we were quite the adventurers," he says. "You boys were always full of energy," Mom says, squeezing my hand gently.
"I'm so glad you have such happy memories, as well."
I lean closer to her, feeling grateful for those simpler times.
"Me too, Mom," I say softly.
We sit together, enveloped in the warmth of shared memories and unspoken gratitude.
I sit with Mom and Glenn in the living room.
The sun shines through the windows, casting a warm glow around us.
I turn to Mom, gripping her hand tightly.
"Mom," I start, my voice steady but filled with emotion.
"If you hadn't been there for me, I'd be in jail or dead by now."
Mom's eyes widen slightly, and she squeezes my hand back.
Glenn nods in agreement, his expression serious.
We sit in silence for a moment, the weight of my words hanging in the air.
"Son, you were always stronger than you gave yourself credit for," Mom says, her voice filled with unwavering belief.
Glenn leans forward, his eyes meeting mine.
"And we're here now, together, because you chose to fight through it all," he adds, his voice firm and reassuring.
I sit with Mom and Glenn, their hands in mine.
I look at Mom, her silver hair glistening in the sunlight.
Her eyes are filled with love and pride.
I take a deep breath, my voice steady.
"Mom, you saved me from a life of ruin," I say, my words hanging in the air.
Glenn nods in agreement, his hand squeezing mine tightly.
We sit there for a moment, the weight of our shared struggles and triumphs settling around us.
The sun continues to shine through the windows, casting a warm glow over us.
As the day wears on, we share more stories, each one weaving a tapestry of our journey together.
Finally, as the sun begins to set, casting a golden light over us, I stand up and walk over to Mom.
I bend down and wrap my arms around her tightly.
She holds me close, her eyes filled with love and gratitude.
"Mom," I whisper, "there's something I've been meaning to tell you."
She pulls back slightly, her eyes searching mine with a mix of curiosity and concern.
"What is it, dear?" she asks softly, her voice steady and reassuring.
I pull back from our embrace but keep holding her hands.
The setting sun casts a golden glow on her silver hair, and her eyes are filled with the same caring love that has watched over me for sixty-five years.
Glenn stands quietly beside us, his presence a reminder of the strength of our family circle.
I take a deep breath, my voice catching slightly as I begin to speak.
"Mom," I start, my words tumbling out from the depths of my heart.
"Every single day is Mother's Day to me. Every moment I spend with you is a gift beyond measure. I love you more than words can ever express."
As I speak, tears roll down Mom's cheeks, and she squeezes my hands tighter, her eyes shining with gratitude and love.
I lean forward and gently kiss her forehead, feeling the warmth of our connection.
"Thank you for being my rock, my guiding light," I whisper, my voice filled with emotion.
Mom smiles through her tears, her voice trembling with emotion.
"You've always been my greatest joy, and knowing I've made a difference means everything to me," she says softly.
Glenn clears his throat, his eyes misty as he adds, "And you've shown us all what it means to truly love and be loved."