The Voice Next Door: A Son’s Light, A Mother’s Legacy

Dear Mama,

The house next door feels quieter now. I still catch myself walking over with my keys in hand, ready to change a lightbulb or fix that wobbly kitchen chair you refused to throw out. I still hear your voice calling my name from the front door — firm but full of love — asking me if I’d eaten, if I remembered to close the fence, or if I could take you to Bordelon's.

You never played favorites, but we both know we had something. Maybe it was the way I knew your schedule better than my own. Or the way you lit up when I brought you something small — your favorite dinner or just my time. Sitting beside you in the living room, sometimes we didn’t say much, but we didn’t need to. You’d hum your gospel and I’d nod along, like it was church right there on Upland.

You taught me how to be a man without ever raising your voice. You taught me to show up — every day — with hands ready to serve and a heart that made room for others. Watching you age with grace, still dressed like every Sunday was Easter, I learned that dignity wasn’t about pride — it was about presence.

Now I move through this world without your to-do list in my ear, but I carry your light in my chest. I try to be the calm in someone else's storm. I try to be the helper. The steady hand. The kind son. The man you believed I could be.

You were more than a mother. You were my rhythm. My routine. My reason. I miss you in the little things — the hum of your gospel songs, the smell of your cooking, the way your eyes sparkled when you would see me.

I hope I’m making you proud, Mama. I’m still trying to be your light.

Love always,

Your son - Kenneth