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The book publishes April 30 and isavailable for pre-order.
It was a little surprise visit to lift my moms spirits, and a big birthday present to myself.
Credit: Maarten de Boer/Getty Images Portrait
My mom cried with joy and relief when I walked into her bedroom.
I spent all three days with her there.
We blew out candles.
Knopf
We ordered in from a local restaurant and enjoyed our dinners on her bedroom floor.
Then I opened the presents shed ordered off her laptop from her perennial perch atop her bed.
She wasnt feeling well, but that was nothing new.
Wed done this ailment dance many times.
Her spirits were lifted by the company.
Love hungry and London bound, I ordered a cab to the airport.
It was a markedly quiet ride.
I dont remember music ever even being turned on.
But then my cell phone rang.
The caller ID said Mom.
Instead, when I said hello, my stepdads trembling voice rang in my ears: Your mother collapsed.
The medics got here.
They did CPR and revived her, but she isnt conscious.
Its bad, Lance.
I couldnt process it.
My mom was the one who kept everyone else safe and strong.
Her tough, stubborn heart didnt need a strangers help to keep going.
Soon we heard the siren.
Just like my mom, when things get bad, I get quiet.
The worse they get, the more silent I become.
The cabdriver looked back.
I hadnt taken more than half a breath since I told him to turn around.
I must have looked like a ghost.
I started to shake.
Until then, I hadnt considered that she might die.
My mom had grown up in the South.
She had been deeply religious.
Baptist, then Mormon.
She had worked for the U.S. military.
She had voted for Ronald Reagan and Bush Senior.
I had gone into the arts.
Heck, Id outright fought for progressive causes like marriage equality.
To outsiders, in this day and age, my mom and I should have been enemies.
Instead, my mom and I fueled each other.
Her oil lit my lamp, and eventually mine lit hers.
She was my reason.
And perhaps more could find a higher plane than politics.
He didnt need much convincing.
My red eyes had already made the stakes abundantly clear.
My mom had to live.
Because deep in my gut, I feared a storm was coming.
Excerpted from MAMAS BOY: A Story from Our Americas by Dustin Lance Black.
Copyright 2019 by Dustin Lance Black.
Excerpted by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Penguin Random House LLC.
