Missing you, Freddie Lu

It has been six years since my beautiful second mom, Frederee Louise Ray, passed away. She was 95, and I still was not ready to let her go. I feel it when the anniversary of her passing arrives. Something reminds me of her, and I feel the loss as if it just happened. Then I looked at the date. Oh. No wonder. My soul feels it.

I called her Fe-Fe, Freddie, or Freddie Lu. When she called me, she'd say, "Hi, it's your moms." She was born in Tishimingo Oklahoma, lived in New York, and moved to Los Angeles to work for actress Patsy Ruth Miller and care for Patsy Ruth's son, Timmy. She started working for my family in 1956, before I was born. When I was born, apparently my mom said "Frederee, this one's yours." I think there may have been some baby blues going on.

Frederee came to work at 9 am Monday through Friday and left at 5:30. She took me to the park, grocery shopping, and sometimes to her house in South Central Los Angeles. She knew all of my friends by name. She told me who was really my friend and who to watch out for. She caught me kissing a boy and told my mom. She took me walking to find my friend Zogzema's house, only to come home and ask my mom where Zogzema lived. My mom replied, "Oh, didn't you know? That's her imaginary friend." She helped me earn my Girl Scouts cooking badge. I remember her coming to work in tears during the Watts riots in 1968. She talked about race a lot. She said the whites and the blacks have to learn to stand together. I did not understand why it was an issue to anyone. Love comes in every color. And so does hate, I guess.

After Frederee retired in the early 1980s, we stayed in each others' lives. We talked at least once a week and visited each other often. When she was ill in the hospital and could only receive family visitors, I told the nurse I was her daughter. Frederee confirmed that her child was there to visit. The nurse watched our interaction and said, "This is unusual." She was charmed by Frederee. Most everyone was.

When I went through a very distressing divorce, I spent time with Freddie Lu and she gave me a Barry Manilow CD. She knew just how to make me feel better. She could sing. She could dance. And she was smart. She could have been a CEO.

I wrote a song for her, and the chorus is "Love many, but only trust a few. Learn to paddle your own canoe. Take care of yourself girl, that's your job to do. No man's gonna save you from the blues." Those were her words.

Mere words can't fully paint the picture. She was my rock, my mainstay, and my biggest fan. And she loved Bob. She called him "Bobio." She knew he would take good care of me. And he has.

I miss you Freddie Lu. I remember everything you taught me. I remember your smile, your laugh, and your voice. Her granddaughter said "When she loves you, she loves you hard." Thank you for teaching me about loving that way. Your soul shines in my life.