I Declare This a Year of Celebration!

I'm broker than I wanna be, my car still hasn't made it to the shop yet, and I'm gonna have to take another math class before the year is over, but you know what, it's all ok, because I plan to celebrate along the way.

The last real get-away that I went on happened to be the very first real get-away that I'd ever been on. My baby was not yet a toddler, and I almost decided not to go, because, 3 days was just too long for me to be away from her. In the end I was happy to have had the experience with a group of good friends. Fast forward 8 years later, and I'm way overdue for a vacation. And not just a formal one, but also overdue for celebrating the little and most present of things in my life. I want to make some changes this year by putting myself back into the mix. Like I said in an earlier post, I'm always moving myself down to the bottom of the list, and also allowing others to bump me down a few spaces. It has to stop. All a part of my quest to add more self care into my days.

I've been busy this week thinking and planning my mother's celebration. I've been able to chat with my aunts and grandmother to pinpoint the things that she would most enjoy, the things that were most important to her, and also getting a good idea of how to include everyone in the event. I feel like I'm off to a really good start, and feeling a lot better about the process today.

Reflection

A high school friend was laid to rest yesterday. She was 27 years old. Although we weren't extremely close, I've taken her death in a certain kind of way since making the connection - emotionally bound by limited details and a c/o 2002 bond. I read the news article, "Woman, 27, killed by Amtrak train." At the time I didn't know that this "woman" was my friend. And once I did, it was hard to fight the images in my head of her standing in the path of an oncoming train, because, once the face and name filled in the blanks, the words of that article were received much much differently.

I researched every article online that I could find written about the incident, I read the comments that people left, I stumbled upon an article from a year ago about two other people who were killed by an Amtrak train in the same place, I wondered if my friend's death was accidental or a conscience decision, I felt a need to react-to protect-to enact better safety measures at that particular section of track, I felt sorrow for her bffs and family, I felt sick and sad and sorry for ever considering the same fate, and then I made a last minute decision at 10:00 the night before to attend her homegoing with the rest of our local high school family, and then I made another last minute decision at 1:00 that morning that I just couldn't do it. And then someone posted a picture of the photo memorial from her service and I knew that I had made the right decision not to attend. At this time, I wouldn't have been able to handle the sadness nor the grusome images plaguing my mind.

If this was the outcome of her own free choice, I can honestly respect that, and I can only hope that she is truly at rest now. If it was not her choice to leave her son behind, and even if it was, I am still deeply moved to look into the ways in which this particular stretch of track can be made inaccesable to pedestrians in hopes that it will stop claiming lives.

Tales of Dad

From my private blog...

There was a part of me that feared my dad.

I had been told how my mother didn't trust him with me, and how the unborn baby before me, never was, because of him. We didn't have many encounters. He was locked up in jail the majority of the time. When he was out, we might go out to eat, or over to see one of his sisters. When he wasn't out, we were connected through timed collect calls, letters and hand drawn cards. I had been told he was an artist...

He once asked me about a kiss. He wanted to know how I would kiss him. Would it be on the lips? I suppose he was asking because he was infected with HIV, but in that moment, all I could think about were the reasons that my mother didn't trust him with me. His inquiry made me nervous and uncomfortable. I didn't tell him that. We'd been separated. I suspected that he felt bad enough about that truth...

He gave me a ring. I spent a few minutes with it this morning as I poured through the stuff in my jewelry box. It looks like an engagement ring. Mama said he probably stole it. I kept it anyway. I also kept his letters and cards - in shoe boxes. There were so many. Now I only have the most recent. I re-read some, and felt the love that he had for me, through his words. And then I re-read the cards that he'd sent for Emma, and felt what he must have felt for her...

Near the end, I think our past must have flashed before his eyes. He say no future in us. Deep down he felt that he'd fucked off the perfect opportunity to be who and what I had asked him to be, up until the time that I made it clear to him that I wasn't going to ask it of him anymore. He decided that he should not burden me with his deterioration.

So, he died alone, in a hospital room, and left me with ashes and penmanship.

Happy Birthday Leslie Henry Jr.

I love you.

Dear Bigmama

I remember your 76th birthday. It fell on Thanksgiving back then, same as this year, and the year before you left us. I had not yet left you for Cal, had not yet become a mother, and you were not yet fighting. We were all gathered at Mama's house, comforted by the aroma of her soulful cooking, laughing out loud from a collective familial humor, genuinely feeding off of and enjoying the company of each other. Aunt Shalonda and aunt Vicki were there, and so was uncle John. The babies of the family were still babies back then, running around doing their thing, having to be told a time or two to stay out of the way. Those were the days.

You loved to wear your dresses. You were wearing one that day. You had your hair hanging in your signature press 'n curl and a big smile on your face. Plates were non-traditionally being served and reserved between the aunts and granddaddy, and wrapped up to be taken home by uncle. You made your way down the hall behind granddaddy as he had something to show you. It was then that Mama and I made our move. She placed your cake on the table, and I strategically placed a 7 and a 6 on top. Seeing you coming, aunt Vicki met you at the end of the hallway before you could make your entrance back into the party, with both hands cupped over your eyes. I can still hear the two of you. "I can't see!", you blurted out. "Hush woman", she replied in a laugh. She held you steady, until we were ready, and when she lifted her hands, we broke out in song. Happy Birthday to You. This moment forever lives on - when it is on its last breath, I revive the memory via visual media.

I asked Mama for this year's Thanksgiving plan. She said there wasn't one. She said she wasn't feeling it like she used to. Its true. Nothing is like it used to be. You, aunt Vicki and uncle John are no longer with us. I don't think this family has had any celebration like that since you began your fight and lost. I suspect there will be no gathering at Mama's house, or comforting aroma of her cooking because your absence is much too painful for her. To celebrate, would be to acknowledge that which we can not change.

Here's to wishing you were here.