By Vinette K. Pryce

It was a late-evening phone call Tuesday, April 8, 2008 that alerted me to the passing of Cedella Booker, a woman known internationally as the mother of Bob Marley and to an inner circle of friends as Mother B.

Sure as death, the news caught me by surprise. I should have asked a zillion questions, the what, where, how and all the journalistic queries that complete a story but it seems a numbness set in and all I could say was “I pray she rests in peace.”

It has been three years since I saw the Marley matriarch. We were in Addis Ababa, for her big reflection on the birth of her famous son Bob. On arrival to the Ethiopian capital, Mother B took ill and was taken to the hospital. I recall Desta Meghoo being consumed with concern for the mother of the moment. While everyone hurried to ensure the Feb. 6 celebration would be spectacular, Meghoo and her mother as well as the mother of Andrea Davis focused on the well-being of Mother B. Her recovery was remarkable. So much so that when the mayor of Addis Ababa bestowed honorary citizenship of Ethiopia to her daughter-in-law Rita, Mother B sang with vim and vigor. Everyone knows she loved to sing “Selassie Is The Chapel,” a song she said her famous son encouraged her to sing.

Mother B endured the long flight home on Ethiopian Airways returning to Florida. Since that time, she has faced many health challenges but seemed to always overcome. She is now gone to Zion. For all the good she brought to Nine Miles, St. Anne’s Bay she will be remembered. For there is where I am told she will be interred close to her son. The school named in her honor is a testament to her legacy.

In Florida, the annual music tribute to her son will also claim the legacy she paved.
Her many grandchildren, great grandchildren, and a world music fraternity are indebted to Mother B for birthing such a messenger.
But mostly, the world is better because Mother B shared her love with the universe.
Bob Marley is a legend.
Mother B too is a legend.
And the following morning, Wednesday, April 9, 2008, the first news of the day found me again pondering the fragility of life.

I had known that Ida Mae Vandross had slipped into a coma but had heard last week that she opened her eyes. That little bit of news gave me hope of another miracle. But I thought again reaffirming that the mother of Luther Vandross has seen all her loved ones go to a place she is destined. That she is now there is surrounded by all of them is comforting to all the world who embraced her when her son Luther died leaving the “Power of Love” as his greatest contribution to the world.