I cried when she died.
Her demise, ripped me apart
Inside.
A shredded soul, wandering through life
Never healing fully
just bandaged enough to survive.
Time has passed—life has happened
bandages have come undone
wounds still exist…I try not to, but…..
each one beckons for my touch
as a reminder of her presence…
her touch.
I miss her, but I feel her
through the pain these wounds provide
I know she was here.
Aquarius.Soul © 2012
The Question: You marry someone. During the course of your marriage your spouse get a debilitating disease such as Alzheimer’s. Would you divorce the person and move on with your life?
My answer: You took vows, till death do you part and in sickness and health. So if you honor the vow you took, you should stay with the person and not tip out when they need you most.
Pat Robertson (we all know this Christian right-wing extremist) says otherwise. Check out this video:
I have to say I am surprised that this guy would advocate leaving your spouse. I mean Christians are all about marriage and family, so much so that they say gays and lesbians getting married would destroy the union of marriage, but its ok to dip out on your wife/husband if they get deathly ill. #MAKESNOSENSE
What do you think, do you leave, do you stay? What say you?
My mom died when I was 15 years old, so I never got the opportunity to have a relationship with her as an adult. These past few months I have wondered what kind of relationship she and I would have had at this point in life. Would we be close? Would we fight? Would we spend a lot of time together? Would we be friends? I hear friends talking about their mom did this and their mom is getting on their nerves etc and some days I just wish I could say such things. #JUSTATHOUGHT
Entry #16 (click here to read entry #15)
At 19 years old, I had been through more than some people twice my age. I had lost my mother, and 5 years later, I lost the aunt who raised both me and my brother. By the time I was 21 my father passed away and at 25 I lost my paternal grandmother who I adored. Life had not been a cake walk, but for some reason I was never knocked all the way down. There was always something in me that kept me going. My life at this time consisted of me holding down a part time job and going to college. My social life, for the most part was 90% church related and 10% everything else. I dated here and there, met some awesome dudes now that I look back on it, but dating was never that important to me. It was something to do…nothing more.
I spent a lot of time with Precious who basically became my stand in mother. School, shopping, and church related activities are what our time together usually consisted of. Once summer in particular, Precious was the young adult teacher for a national youth convention. This convention lasted about a week and since she was the teacher, we attended every session. It was actually a lot of fun spending the summer meeting people who were my age that were from all over the U.S. I hit it off with one girl in particular…I’ll call her VS. She was from Atlanta and was in Houston preparing to attend Rice U for graduate school. She and I became fast friends and since she didn’t know anyone in town, I became her tour guide for the remainder of her stay. VS went back to Atlanta for the remainder of the summer and we talked every single day. My long distance bills were outta this world at the time. This was before email, text messaging and cell phones were popular. We wrote letters and sent them thru what we affectionately call snail mail these days. Our talks/letters mainly consisted of religion, life, school, family and a little girl talk.
Nine months passed and VS was back in Houston for graduate school. The friendship that she and I developed all those months before continued once she moved to Houston. She became a part of my family, she joined the same church that I attended….wherever you saw one of us, there was 99% chance that the other one was close by. VS adopted Precious as her godmother and we all spent a whole lot of time together. Our friendship blossomed over the years: we ended up sharing an apartment, taking vacations together, visiting family together…doing almost everything together. I can say at this point that VS was truly my best friend…the best friend that I ever had. Graduate school ended for VS 3 years later and she told me she was moving back home for law school. I was devastated. I had this feeling that with VS being gone, my life would be boring and sad. I pondered whether or not I should go to Atlanta with her. I had always wanted to live there anyway and this would be the perfect opportunity. I didn’t go….I didn’t go at the time she did, It was one year later when I told her that I was gonna move; and move I did. VS and I were back together again…living the same kinda life we had in Houston. It was all good once again.
VS and I loved each other and it was 100% innocent. The line between friend and lover was never crossed. Frankly back then I didn’t know what or where that line was because sexuality wasn’t something that was discussed or even explored openly. Although VS and I never had a physical relationship, there was intimacy between us that no one ever knew about bout except she and I. I never had feelings for a woman until VS became a part of my life. At the time, I didn’t know that I was/ we were in love with each other. We went on like this was for nearly 10 years until our friendship dissolved.
My friendship with VS sparked something in me that I didn’t want to accept. Could I be? Nah…that’s not even possible.
Today marks the 23rd year since my mother passed away. Every Feb 21st, I quietly celebrate the 15 years that I spent with my mother and I also mourn the 23 years that I have had to live without her. Before today, I have never shared with anyone my private ceremony in honor of my mother; but for some reason I felt it was time to expose that part of myself…maybe it will help someone else.
Either way, the lose of a parent is never easy. As time passes, you learn to deal with the ups and downs that you’ll experience. You learn to live and move on, but there will always be a part of you that is wounded from the loss. The wound never completely heals, but only scabs. Sometimes I pull the scab off, in order to feel the pain of the loss because I want to know that my mother was there…I want to know that she is still in the forefront of my memory…I don’t want to forget her. After 23 years I still feel her presence in my life & and I am grateful.
Rest in Peace Patricia (1949-1988)
I did end up moving away from my aunts and moving in with my paternal grandmother who I have always adored. At this point in my life I was 19 years old with visions, goals and dreams for myself. My immediate goal at the time was to leave Houston and attend Spelman College…I even got accepted, but my father would not allow me to go that far from home. I was furious with him for this ultimatum, although I could have went anyway, but even my young ass knew that I needed financial support from my family…so I acquiesced and attended college in Houston.
My aunt died shortly after I moved away. I was a very sad occasion as deaths tend to be. From the time I left her house to the time she died, she and I sorta mended our fences and our relationship improved. I was actually glad this happened, especially since she left this world so soon. I remember her funeral being almost like my mothers, ironically, she was buried at the same cemetery that my mother was laid to rest. I watched her two sons go through the same pain that my brother and I had gone through 5 years earlier. The pain and anger in their eyes was all too familiar. I felt their pain…I knew their experience. It was as if I was reliving my life’s tragedy.
After this day, I was able to put that part of my life behind me and move forward into adulthood and find out who I was. This was the day I began my exploration of myself.
In the next 24 hours I will celebrate yet another birthday. This birthday however is one that I have obsessed over since I was 15 years old. Feb 1, 2011 marks my 38 birthday. Twenty three years ago, my mother died at this very same age…almost a week after I turned 15 years old. From my teen years, my life has been tainted by the early deaths of women in my family, especially my mother since she was the first one in our lineage to pass away. I have always dreaded getting to this age because of the uncertainty it brings for me.
No, I don’t think that I will drop dead tomorrow, but what I have struggled with is my life’s expiration date. We all have one, and it’s really nothing we can do to prevent “our time” from coming. However my experiences with death have been a major part of my life which I think has numbed me in a sense. Considering that my mom died at 38, her youngest sister died at 40, her niece died at 45 [I could go on and on]…it has been very hard to see beyond this “expiration” date. I have not lived my life with the intention of leaving this earth anytime soon, but I have lived with sort of a cloud looming above. Over the last few months I have found myself being reckless i.e. drinking more, not paying close attention to my health, getting less and less sleep, unable to focus on work or anything for that matter and pulling away from those that love me. I recognize that this behavior is a result of my being consumed with death, not life…so I stopped and changed course.
Talking with a friend the other day, she reminded me that my 38th birthday will be just like all the others, but it’s up to me to not dwell on the negative aspects of my life and its experiences. For the last 23 years I have only focused on the negative; which in this case is death and how it ravaged my family over the years. Living my life with this “who is next mindset” has somewhat hindered me in certain areas although I have failed to admit it. I believe that I could be so much further along with my life and my goals had this issue been dealt with many years ago. Even with that, I am a firm believer in the whole “time and season” philosophy and now is my time to deal with this aspect of my life. I have learned so much over the years that has been helpful in my journey..I have no regrets because I believe I am where I am supposed to be in this time and this season. Yesterday as I sat thinking, I remembered hearing a sermon years ago that admonished us to get busy with the business of living and let dying take care of itself. That memory has helped me clear the fog that has clouded my head and I am able to move forward.
So in the next 24 hours I will wish myself a “HAPPY 38th BIRTHDAY”
~My journey continues~
Entry #13 (click here to read entry #12)
To escape the madness of my life, I went to church as much as I could with my god-mother, who I will call Precious. I spent countless hours learning the Bible, doing stuff around the church…just whatever I could do to prevent me from being in that house. My god-mother was my savior. She and I initially became acquainted at church…she was my Sunday school teacher and for some reason, she and I because very close. The more I got to know her, the more I loved her. I loved her with all my heart…more than any other grown up in my life at the time. Precious was different than anyone I had ever known. She worked a great job. She and her husband owned a home. She had nice things…very nice things. She didn’t have kids of her own, so she took me as her daughter. She did everything for me…it was as if she was put on this earth to mold me into the person that I was to become. She exposed me to things that I would not have otherwise known about. She would go out of her way to make sure that I had what I needed and even the things that I wanted. She taught me to be a lady and what a real woman did. She read to me. She cooked for me. She cried with me. She prayed with me. She knew everything about me and didn’t judge me. She showed me that despite the hand I had been dealt, I could live and happy and healthy life but it was all up to me to do so. This woman became my mother…my second mother.
My aunt of course despised the relationship I had with my Precious. She would do her best to prevent me from spending time with her. She said that Precious was trying to make me her child, because she didn’t have any of her own. She hated the fact that this lady was giving me more than my own blood relatives gave me. Funny thing is that I told my Precious how my aunt bashed her, but when she saw her face to face, she was smiling and laughing like nothing was wrong. Precious would always say that she wasn’t worried about it, but that she would just pray for my aunt. I was always moved by her humility. This woman made the biggest impression on me, so much so that I begin to model my life after hers. My aunt did not like this and made life hard for me because I choose to elevate myself above what she was offering. This was the beginning of a long hard road with my aunt.
Aquarius.Soul © 2011
Entry #12 (Click here to read entry #11)
Where do I go from here? This is what I thought about after my mother’s funeral. I am 15 years old and my brother is 8….what are they gonna do with us? These and many other questions filled my mind as I was uncertain of what would become of us. My aunt, my mother’s oldest sister stepped up and said that she was take me to live with her and my dad, said that he would take my brother to live with him and his new wife. So y’all are gonna split us up, I asked? And the answer was yes. Before that could settle in, my other aunt, who was my moms youngest sister said: No, we will not spilt these kids up; they both will come and stay with me. Now mind you, this is the Aunt with the terrible sons that I did not like. Going to stay with her was like sentencing me to prison time. Surely there would be a discussion about this. Someone, at least my father would say no to this, but no one said anything…it was settled. My brother and I were moving in with my aunt…the aunt I didn’t like.
My aunt G was a decent woman but she was harsh and cold at times. She and her husband lived in a 2 bedroom apartment along with her two sons. The day we moved in, I wondered as the only girl where I would sleep. The place wasn’t terribly small, but it wasn’t large enough for 6 people to live in. My brother was put in the bedroom with my two male cousins and I was given the pull out sofa to sleep on and the hall closet became the place for my clothes and other effects. I spent the next 3 years sleeping on that sofa and it was the most tumultuous 3 years of my life. I couldn’t go to bed when I wanted, because the living room was where the television was. I had to wait until the last person was done with TV before I could sleep. The kitchen was a few feet from my make-shift bedroom and my aunt would wait until after 10pm to wash the dishes and clean the kitchen…so this kept me up most nights. Having to rise early for school was a chore because I didn’t sleep like I should have.
It wasn’t long before my older male cousin started making his way to my bed at night attempting to touch me. There were nights that I would wake up to him sliding in the bed with me or with him fondling my breasts. He never actually penetrated me; it was always touching and rubbing. I lay there, very still and let him do what he wanted to do. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I would move abruptly and he would jump up and run back to his bedroom. I never said anything to my aunt because I didn’t think she would do anything. The sofa was less than 50 feet from her bedroom…to this day I believe that she knew what he did, but refused to do anything.
My dad came around a lot after my mother died. He would come pick my brother and I up and just spend time with us. I never told him how I felt about living with my aunt, so he was under the impression that everything was well. I had been planning in my head that as soon as I turned 18 I was going to go and live with my grandmother (dad’s mom) I was only gonna stay in this apartment for as long as I had to.
Aquarius.Soul © 2010
Entry #11 (Click here to read Entry #10)
The day that my mom died was the day that my life changed forever. I was 15 years old with no clue as to what would happen to me or my brother. All I could hear was the adults around me, making plans to bury my mother. I would look across the room and see my little brother with swollen eyes and confusion on his face. I remember calling my dad the night mom died to let him know what had happened and before I could get the words out, he told me he was on his way over…it was after 3am and he seemed to arrive at our home within minutes. My father cried like a baby in front of us all. I never knew how much he loved my mother until this day. My dad changed that day and so did I.
I heard talk of what to do with my brother and I. Who should take us? Should they separate us? What did my mother want for us? My aunt, the one with the horrible sons spoke up saying: “Trisha did not want these kids separated so we are not gonna separate them.” This was the last I heard of the custody of my brother and I until after my mother’s funeral. Days passed and I grieved in my heart for my mother, but I had this unusual peace about the whole thing. Even though I was only 15, I understood that my mother was gone because it was her time and I also understood that God was comforting me and preparing me for a greater task. That’s a lot of a 15 year old kid to truly understand…but somehow, somewhere this had been planted into my being. My tears dried up although I still wept for my mother…it was a different kind of weeping. I loved her. I would miss her but God was going to provide for me…I believed this with my whole heart.
The day of the funeral was one of great sadness. My mothers mom sat in her room and wailed like her soul had been snatched from her. You see, at this point, my mother was the first to die in our family. It was difficult for all of her brothers and sisters to deal with. I recall sitting in my grandmothers living room, watching everyone hurry themselves and prepare for the funeral that day. The loneliness that I felt was overwhelming and stifling. My little brother sat so close to me that day that I could barely move. I felt the burden of responsibility weighing down on my back…but even still, there was this calm that pushed its way forward in my spirit. I know it was God. I knew he was gonna look out for me and help me make it through that day.
We arrive and the church and its packed. I still cant believe that that’s my mother laying in that casket. Many people got up and said wonderful things about my mom. It was a beautiful service, but all I wanted was for it all to be over. Finally the services ended and we begin to file out of the church as is customary in the black church. The funeral directors lead the processional with the pall bearers carrying the casket behind them. The family then files out behind the pall-bearers while “I’ll Fly Away” is being sung by the choir. I remember losing all strength in my legs as we were walking out…if my aunt had not caught me, I would have hit the floor. We finally get into the limo and being our journey to the cemetery. The entire ride, all I remember thinking was why this was happening to me…I am 15 years old…I need my mom…Why did my mom have to die and leave us here like this. Tears streamed down my face for the entire ride. My aunts held me and my brother in their arms until we made it to our destination.
I hate cemeteries; I always have, but that day was different. My mom was gonna be living here. This is her final resting place. As we embarked on her burial location, my dad walked with my brother and I holding our hands. He stood by us the entire time of the graveside service. This was the first time that I felt like he really loved me…like he was really my father.
The three of us watched as my mothers casket was lowered into the ground…ashes to ashes, dust to dust. I cried, my father cried, my brother cried. Goodbye mama.
Aquarius.Soul © 2010
