Tag: MOTHER

VERA EDWARDS — THE WOMAN WHO BUILDS WORLDS

Vera Edwards is one of those rare creators whose work speaks for her long before she ever steps into a room. A writer, director, producer, leader, and mother, she has spent years shaping film from the inside out. She has given opportunities, opened doors, built confidence in others, and helped launch careers that may not have existed without her. She does this quietly, without showcasing or seeking attention, but the impact is real and lasting.

On set, Vera is not simply a director calling shots. She is present. She watches people. She cares about their comfort, their focus, their emotional clarity. She has fed actors and crew out of her own pocket, brought resources to make sure people felt supported, and gave her time and energy in ways that money can’t measure. When budgets were low, when things were uncertain, when others might have walked away, Vera found a way to keep going. She created from grit, heart, and purpose, not excuses. Her will to create something real is what funded her films.

She is responsible for films such as PPRESSED, Perate, Waiting 4 Mr. Wright, and Chicken. These are not just movie titles, but examples of her voice and her commitment to telling stories rooted in real life. PPRESSED is where Karine Sho-Time Thornton was given his first lead role. That casting alone changed the direction of a career. Vera did that. Not an agency. Not a studio. A woman with vision and belief. Perate, Waiting 4 Mr. Wright carried cultural influence and emotional honesty. Chicken proved her storytelling does not shy away from truth, complexity, or humanity. And now she steps further into her legacy with The Legend of Johnnie Shepherd, a film that continues her tradition of depth and narrative strength.

Her work was acknowledged with a citation from a New York State Senator Cordell Cleare as well as a citation from Bronx Borough President Vanessa Gibson and a citation from New York State Assembly woman Amanda Septimo, honoring her achievements and her contributions to both film and community. That recognition was significant because it came from outside the entertainment world, where people sometimes miss the value of those who are building foundations quietly. Her peers have not always celebrated her the way they should, not because the work wasn’t deserving, but because people often take greatness for granted when it is close to them.

But through all of that, Edwards never stopped giving. She has spent holidays opening her home to people who had no place to go. She has volunteered her time in community spaces. She has been there when life was overwhelming for others. She has held people up, supported them, guided them, and believed in them when they did not believe in themselves.

There are many people who direct films. There are fewer who change lives while doing it. Vera Edwards does both.

She is a woman of depth, wisdom, compassion, humor, creativity, and conviction. She does not need to perform or pretend to fit into any image. She has always been herself. Comfortable. Confident. Clear. Her storytelling has its own rhythm. Her camera has its own eye. Her films are unmistakably hers.

This is someone who deserves her flowers now. Not as an afterthought. Not later. Not once history tries to rewrite the story. Now, while she is still creating, still giving, still here.

Vera Edwards is not simply a filmmaker.

She is a foundation.

She is a legacy.

She is a legend walking.

And it is time people honored her as such.

OH MOTHER OF MINES

On March 26, 2017 my mother lost her battle with cancer. I will never forget the day that the doctor informed us that my mother had cancer. By the year she was diagnosed in October of 2016 she was already in the fourth stage. My heart skipped a beat. I took a deep breath before I inquired about her life expectancy. When the doctor informed me that it would be six months to a year I wanted to break down and cry. I couldn’t. She was right there. I had to be strong for her.

The cancer was progressing rapidly. My mom who was already a very small woman began to loose weight rapidly. Still she was a fighter. She woke up everyday and lived life. Just before Thanksgiving my mother was hospitalized. It was during that stay that the doctors told me that my mother was incapable of taking care of herself. She had two options, a nursing home or at home hospice care.

My mother refused the nursing home care and chose to move in with me. The hospital social workers and doctors tried to convince me to talk her into doing into an impatient hospice facility or nursing home. Instead I did what I felt was my responsibility as a daughter and moved my mother in to my home.

The transition was a difficult process for my mother. She lived independently since the age of eighteen years old. I had a full time work and school schedule along with a 5 and 3 year old. Life was busy. Still I did all that I could to keep my mother comfortable. Watching her decline was unbearable. I prayed endlessly. First I asked God to take away the cancer and heal her. Then I began asking God to end her pain. At one point I even asked God to take her up to heaven. I even begged my mother to stop fighting and let go.

I was tired of seeing her in pain. I was tired of the parade of nurses, home attendants and social workers in and out of my living space. I went through all of the stages of grief.

When my mom left me to claim her spot in heaven it was a Sunday evening. That weekend I invited her closest family members to come spend time with her so that they could say their goodbyes. I knew her life was coming to an end. My mom’s body began to shut down. She had no desire to eat food or drink liquids. I called up the nurse and asked her to come check my mother out. She confirmed what I already knew. My mother was end of life.

We arrived at the Haven Hospice Unit inside of Bellevue Hospital about 2:30p.m. I felt numb. I knew what was about to happen. I called my daughter to the hospital so she can bid her grandmother farewell.

A little after 9p.m. I stood by mother’s bedside. I turned on Take Me To The King by Tamela Mann and sang the entire song to my mother. When the song ended I kissed her and my mother took her last breath. I remember that day like it was yesterday.

Caring for a loved one with cancer is very difficult. You are forced to watch your loved one disintegrate. I watched my mother who was strong and independent become weak and fragile. It hurt me to see her in pain and not be able to do anything to help her. Every time I came into my home I feared that I would go into her room and discover the worst.

I am thankful that I was able to be there for her. I am blessed to have been there to care for her as a way of thanking her for giving me life. There is not a day that goes by that I don’t think about my angel.