Even as a child, I wondered why my siblings and I called our mother ‘Mother’. We never called her ‘Mom’, ‘Mommy’, ‘Moms’, ‘Momsy’, ‘Mamma’, ‘Mum’, ‘Mummy’, or ‘Ma’. There was no historical or cultural basis for calling her ‘Mother’, and it seemed to convey some degree of formality, the kind that is usually reserved for aristocracy.

However, the use of the word ‘Mother’ possessed a high degree of esteem, recognised her importance as a foundation/bedrock, and provided a conduit for an extremely close attachment, respect, and deep affection. The word ‘Mother’ encompassed every aspect of motherhood.

Mother was born in Miranda, Santiago de Cuba on July 26, 1926. God willing, she will shortly join the 0.01 to 0.03 percent of people who become centenarians. She left Cuba for Jamaica with her mother when she was six years old. She barely remembers her father but recalls the last time that she saw him. He walked with a limp because of a partial [traumatic] amputation of a foot from an accident while working on the railroad. He gave her a bag of animal crackers just before she left for Jamaica. Some years later he passed while living in Cuba, she never got the opportunity to see him again.