Original Date: 6-30-97

It was Monday morning. Mrs. Jackson was in the kitchen cooking breakfast. I walked into the kitchen and smiled at her. She smiled back. I hadn’t seen her for two days. She didn’t stop cooking the eggs that she was cooking for Kourtnee. With her back to me, she told me that my eggs would be done in a few minutes. She laughed as she said, “It doesn’t make any sense. You like boiled eggs and Kourtnee likes eggs over easy. I’m an old woman. I am supposed to be somewhere relaxing.” I laughed. Kourtnee walked into the kitchen and asked what was so funny. Mrs. Jackson began humming and Kourtnee walked over to her and kissed Mrs. Jackson on her cheek as she picked up her plate with the eggs over easy on it.

Mrs. Jackson was great. She took very good care of Kourtnee and I. She cleaned the house, including my room. I wasn’t that messy, but it felt weird having someone else clean my room. I told Mrs. Jackson that she didn’t have to clean my room, but she always said that she didn’t mind. I really think she was use to it and it didn’t bother her. Mrs. Jackson cooked for Kourtnee and I. Mrs. Jackson cooked on every Tuesday through Friday. She didn’t cook on the Monday because she said that she was tired after a long Sunday. She didn’t cook on the weekends because she wasn’t at the house. Mrs. Jackson was great.

On the weekends, Mrs. Jackson went to visit her children. Mrs. Jackson had a son, Michael Jackson. She spent the weekends with him and his family in Hardaway. Her son had three sons of his own. The boys loved seeing Mrs. Jackson. She loved to talk about her family, too. I knew almost everything that her grandsons were into. Sometimes, I got tired of hearing about Mrs. Jackson’s grandsons. When I would get tired, somehow, she would always change the subject.

I often wondered if Mr. Adams, Mrs. Adams, and Mrs. Shields would ever talk about me to people like Mrs. Jackson talked about her grandsons. I would get sad thinking about being a part of a family that I had not grown up in. Would anyone ever be proud of me? Would anyone boast about my accomplishments? Would anyone get excited because I was doing something grand? Mrs. Jackson always seemed to be able to tell that I was feeling sad because she would say something that made me smile. Mrs. Jackson was great. I was glad that she was in my life.

On the weekends, it wasn’t strange to hear someone say, “Where’s Mrs. Jackson?”