My Favorite Woman, Ms. Carrie L. Jacobs
“Dedicated”
sung by R. Kelly & Public Announcement
Never thought that love could be so kind
Till you came and brought me peace of mind
I'll treasure every moment spent with you
'Cause no one does the things for me you do, so I'm
Dedicating this one (Oh) to my favorite girl (She's the only one)
She's the only woman in the whole wide world (In the whole wide world)
Dedicating this one (Oh, yeah) to my favorite girl
(She's the only woman in the world, world, woo)
In 1999, I moved to Atlanta at 20 years old with my son.
I was young, determined, and ready to build a life for us. His father had already secured a place, and once everything was set, I made the move.
We worked hard — real hard — trying to create stability for our child.
And like many young parents, one of our first challenges was finding someone to watch him.
The babysitter we had lined up quit the morning I needed her.
Just like that.
And then, out of nowhere, this woman stepped in.
She told me about her experience working in childcare and how much she loved children. Something about her felt right.
And I trusted that feeling.
That woman was Ms. Carrie.
What started as a simple babysitting arrangement turned into something so much deeper.
Ms. Carrie Wynn-Jacobs became more than a sitter.
She became a mother to me.
She was light. She was strength. She was love.
From 1999 to 2004, she cared for my children as if they were her own. And even after she stopped babysitting, she would still call and say, “Bring me my babies.”
That bond never left.
She taught me things I didn’t even realize I needed to learn.
She showed me how to move as a woman.
She helped me navigate motherhood when I was still trying to figure life out myself.
She always knew what to say.
And more importantly — she knew when to say it.
I remember her stories.
Her childhood.
Her family.
Her time working.
Her life experiences.
She taught me something I still carry today:
Be open — but don’t overshare.
Tell your story when asked.
And she lived that.
She claimed me as her daughter everywhere we went.
She would say, “Thank your mom for having you so God could send you to me.”
And I believed her.
Because that’s exactly how she made me feel.
Chosen.
We talked every night.
For hours.
About everything.
She would have her music playing, her cigarettes nearby, her little glass of brandy in hand — and we would just talk.
No judgment.
Just love.
Then life happened.
No argument.
No falling out.
Just distance.
The kind you don’t plan.
Over the years, I thought about her often.
On her birthday.
On random days.
In quiet moments.
And every time, I would say out loud:
“I love you, Ms. Carrie. I’ll see you soon.”
I never imagined that “soon” wouldn’t happen in this life.
The only regret I carry is not trying harder to find her.
Because she meant that much to me.
Today, as I sit here typing through tears, I find comfort in knowing she is no longer in pain.
She was a beautiful soul.
A strong woman.
A guiding light.
And though she is no longer here physically, her impact will live on in me forever.
I miss her.
That’s the truth.
Simple and heavy at the same time.
