Black history is not only made by names found in textbooks. It is made by the women in our homes, in our churches, and in our neighborhoods — the ones who held families together and left their mark quietly, but permanently.
Elaine, affectionately known as "Cookie," was born on February 14, 1957. From the beginning, she carried warmth. There was something steady about her — something grounding. She was not loud, not flashy, not attention-seeking. She had a calm presence that made you feel safe just being near her.
We grew up in a household built on faith, discipline, and strong family ties. Like many Black families who migrated north, our upbringing blended Southern roots with Brooklyn life. Church was central. Family was central. Showing up for one another was not optional.
Elaine had a gentle strength. She did not have to raise her voice to be heard. She did not have to demand space to matter. Her way was quiet but firm. When she loved you, you knew it. When she stood by you, she stood solid.She carried herself with dignity. She believed in family. She believed in showing up. She believed in doing what needed to be done without seeking applause.
She passed on October 15, 1998. Her life was not long, but it was meaningful. The impact of a life is not measured in years alone. It is measured in presence. In influence. In memory.
And she is still present.
Black History Month reminds us that our history lives in our bloodline. In our sisters. In our mothers. In the everyday women who may never make headlines but have shaped generations anyway.
Elaine was one of those women.
Happy Heavenly Birthday, Cookie. You are still loved. You are still remembered.

