Can you please get your people??? Especially the ones who keep admonishing folks who are afraid. I don’t mean GET THEM. I mean get them. Can you let this virus kill religious dogma? We could start there. These religious folks are I R R A T A T I N G and dangerous. Confessing fear is indicative of a lack of faith? God’s got you. So, you can still be in these streets? *face palm*
I cannot be afraid and have faith???I do not want that religion.
The bible says God is my strength and refuge. He is my hiding place and my shield. When do people hide? If I am not allowed to be afraid, if I have risen above every adversity; why do I need strength, refuge, a shield or a hiding place? Why do I need God? All this religious dogma and hierarchy amongst human beings has folks either lying or denying the fullness of this emotional and mental experience in an effort to appear more closely connected to God.
The truth is, God has given us a place to hide in Him.
This week while Gayle King was interviewing Lisa Leslie she asked and assertively pursued a line of questioning in relationship to the allegations of rape against Kobe Bryant. The clip quickly went viral. Folks were deeply offended by the line of questioning, with Gayle prodding Leslie to acquiesce that Kobe was indeed guilty and that his legacy was tarnished. Leslie held her ground and reinforced that her friend, Kobe Bryant, would never have engaged in the behaviors that he had been accused of(The case was ultimately dropped). Folks are BIG mad at Gayle. Snoop Dog took to instagram to call Ms. King a “funky dog head bitch.” He went further to say, “Respect the family and back off before we come and get you.”
End scene.
I only added the above paragraph to provide context. Although, I am not convinced that context is actually necessary to say what I am going to say next. We could insert any name into this interaction and my interpretation and response would be the same. It’s just that some folks start acting exceptionally obtuse when they are called out because the very delicate fabric of their moral slip is showing.
This isn’t about the allegations of rape made against Kobe. This isn’t about if Gayle King was right or wrong in her line of questioning. I have opinions about both. They do not matter.
When death comes to visit, it can be so devastating. All we feel is loss. We feel that our heart bank is in the negative, but that’s just our pain. Grief is really just an overabundance of love that doesn’t have a receptacle to receive it. Think of a bottle filled with your favorite beverage poured right onto the counter… The beverage is amazingly delicious and refreshing from a glass, but when you pour it onto the counter it makes quite a mess… an inconvenient, unpretty, unpredictable, nasty mess. The drink… is amazing when it has a place to go, but when the designated vessel is missing— the drink… the love… the thing that once brought so much joy suddenly hurts like hell. That’s grief.
I choose to believe that in each loss, when someone is taken from us… something is left behind.
I am so happy to be writing today. Describing the last almost three months as difficult would be a major understatement . I have wanted to write— to tell you what my family and I have been facing. I have wanted to write about the truth of walking my child through a traumatic experience. I have wanted to share the intimate details of a helpless mother… the heartache of watching the best parts of you become the darkest part of you.
But this is my safe space… my joy.
This is a blog read by many people and yet it still feels so intimate to me. I didn’t want to tarnish it by discussing an experience I haven’t healed from. I didn’t want to transfer these negative emotions. I’ve been so angry and sad and angry and enraged.
I can’t sleep. It is currently 2:06am and ya girl is sitting at the kitchen table talking to you. Not that I don’t enjoy y’all, but you know. The room is the right temperature, my bed is super comfy and I’m freakin sleepy. Not to mention my handsome, lightly snoring husband is up there. Buuuuuuut so is my toddler. So there’s that.
It’s raining cats and dogs, which usually equates to excellent sleep. Not today. Today I am awake. Because this rarely happens to me— I know something is up. I’ve always been a night owl, but this ain’t that. I am not currently choosing to be awake. My mind is trespassing. It won’t stop wandering over my life.
I returned to my thoughts from the funeral I attended days before. Why are we more compelled to spend time celebrating a persons shell rather than the actual living person? How are we showing up in the lives of people we say we love while they are still living?
I guess I just want us all to think about the cost of being too busy. Too busy for a phone call, too busy to visit, too busy to have lunch, too busy to sit a while longer, too busy, too busy, too busy…
KD Bowe, an Atlanta radio personality made a Facebook post, on 1.24.13 following the death of his mother. I will never forget his words. It reads in part:
“At this stage in my life, I just stay busy. The ironic thing is I did in death what I could never seem to find time to do in life … I made time to come home for a week.”
I imagine his mom would have preferred he come home for a week while she wasn’t laying in a casket… he clearly does too. This is no indictment on KD Bowe. No shame. No guilt. He is living his choices. Still, it begs the question…
Why do we make time for dead people and excuses for the living?
Growing up Black is a be seen and not heard kind of existence. In my experience, to find a Black child with the authority to fully BE, in the presence of adults is the exception; not the rule. Control, rules, excellence and respectability are major components of the Black child rearing experience. Black children need to grow up with their shit together. This didn’t happen in a vacuum. It’s a direct result of slavery, Jim Crow, the Civil Rights Era and a post racial America *side eye*. The privilege of speaking about anything at anytime was snatched from us and whipped out of us on slave ships, auction blocks, in the fields and in the big house.
Saying the “wrong” thing or being at the “wrong” place at that time could get an adult or even a child, literally killed— It still can. We have too many examples. Being seen and not heard is not a simplified way to parent; it’s a safety mechanism. Part of the Black experience is simply trying to keep your children alive in a way that it isn’t true for other races. The same is true of how we are steered towards career choices. Careers that are perceived as frivolous, i.e. dancer, artist or musician are not routinely supported.
I’m a sunshine girl. The sun makes me feel invigorated. It makes anything that I am doing so much better. It’s funny because as much as I love the actual sun; I am a huge proponent of carrying your sunshine on the inside. I determine my mood; not the weather. I am the thermostat.
Still, I’m not feeling it today. Which proves the journey of positive thinking and practice is ongoing.
Reflection helps me to be more intentionally empathetic. As an individual who isn’t living with anxiety, depression or grief, but who still feels”UGH!” During repeated overcast days; how do folks who regularly live with these negative emotions feel?
I was pretty rough and tumble as a child. I played with my brother and his friends all the time and wore my tomboy title like a badge of honor. I even earned a few bumps and bruises along the way. So, the scab didn’t concern me at all. I'm not a free range parent, but I'm also miles away from helicopter parenting. I mostly let children being children. They run, they play, they fall. The end.
My boy was up in his Nana's lap when she noticed the atrocity on his knee."What happened to my baby’s knee!?!” If your children have a Nana like my children; you know she acted like the boy had staples in his knee. She was appalled. So, I quickly told her what happened according to his father who was his caretaker at the time in question *snicker. At the end of my explanation, I gratuitously added, “And he didn’t even cry.” *insert my proud face
We live in an age where even when it’s your fault; you don’t want to be held accountable. The issue is so pervasive that not only don’t you want to be caught— you don’t want perfect strangers to be caught either. That’s the reason I used to flick my lights at people I didn’t know. I was projecting my desire to not be reprimanded or punished by letting other people know how not to get caught.
I have learned that true restoration comes from being mature enough to hold yourself accountable without attempting to buy or overlook the healing process. Healing can’t be bought and overlooking only suppresses the pain. Shout out to my mama for always loving me!
I know the heart wrenching impact of suicide and the extreme, desperate heart and mind space one has to be in to make that choice. I also have friends who suffer from depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder and perhaps other mental illnesses I know nothing about. I worry about them. I worry when they get to quiet and when they stay away too long. I wonder if my phone is gonna ring with the grief of a parent or sibling telling me they’ve chosen their own final act on the stage of life— I am sometimes terrified by the knowing… the knowing that no matter how beautiful, intelligent, witty and resourceful I find you— that if you don’t see it in yourself what I think doesn’t matter.
I cannot imagine the turmoil, the pain, the absolute heartbreak of her absence in my life. As Mother’s Day approaches many will be faced with the reality of more than “almost”. They will wake up every single day with their beloved mothers still in heaven. While the Christian thing to do is to rejoice knowing that she is with her heavenly father… the heart of a motherless child can hardly find peace; let alone rejoice.
I was enjoying music as I often do when it struck me that I hadn’t listened to Ed Sheeran in a while. So I went to his album and chose one of my favorite songs on it. Supermarket Flowers. My dad, also a music lover, was the one who introduced me to this song. I immediately loved it. Yes it’s melancholy, but it’s beautiful. Music is about more than a beat. So I’m always here for whatever it makes me feel. I just didn’t expect to feel it in the McDonald’s drive-thru.
I experienced my first really great loss in many years this summer. Did I just quantify death? Yes. Yes I did. If we’re honest there are levels to everything… even the feelings we have for people in death. Anyway, she was an amazing woman. An elder, a mentor and also my friend. My dear friend. So I’m listening to this song and then I feel that thing in my throat and the sting in my eye right after I ordered hotcakes for Blake. “Are you gonna cry, Stephanie? Yes, and there’s nothing I can do about it.” File that exchange under conversations with myself. Lyrically, the song is just… Whew!
“A heart that’s broke is a heart thats been loved”
“And I know that when God took you back he said Hallelujah. You’re home.”
— Super Market Flowers Ed Sheeran
My God!!! We’re lucky I didn’t have to call my husband to come get me from that drive-thru. There’s so much to unpack in the first lyric. We have to pay a price; don’t we? If we love wholly and are loved wholly when that love ends it’s gonna hurt. And it’s gonna hurt badly. Knowing what I know about that hard truth I’m still gonna love hard as I can. Because those 12 years we had together… even just the last 3 or 4… they were worth every single time I’ve picked up the phone forgetting she wouldn’t be there on the other end… worth every tear I was able to swallow back and worth every one that leapt from my eyelid and ran down my cheek. Love is always worth it. Even with its’ sometimes shitty expiration date.
As we lumber towards the most joyous time of the year. We must be aware that what brings joy to others may usher in a very real pain for others. I try to be mindful of this every year, but especially this year when I am missing my friend. When her loving husband, children, grandchildren and other friends are thinking about what this new normal is going to be like. I cannot count the number of people I have seen grieving great losses this year. It lead me to think… what can I do to help? What can we do to help?
Checking in on friends who are grieving is a great way to let them know they are not alone. After all, loneliness, the feeling that no one understands is a large part of grief. And it’s true. We don’t understand and we shouldn’t assert such. The loss of my grandmother is not the same as the loss of yours. It is disrespectful to claim understanding. Instead, ask: What can I do? Would you like some company? Do you have plans for the holiday? Do you wanna hang with me? Also, this isn't about you. Realize that you could offer yourself up as a soft place to land and your offer may get declined. Respect that.
All sorts of emotions get stirred up during the holiday season. Be there for who you can when you can. And in the middle of it all remember to live the life you’ve been given as completely as possible. For me, that’s how we truly honor those who have gone on before us. And listen, love is a verb. Love those you say you love. When it’s over it’s over. As for my friend, I know when God took her back He said, Hallelujah. I know she’s home— and that…. that brings me joy. Give love. Be loved. Live this life fully. Choose you. Until next time…. Merry Christmas. Love y’all.
I’m not here because I’m an expert. I’m here because I have experiences.
