on: the 8th of march

it feels weird to be writing about my brother and my father on international women's day, but here we are. 

my brother james died 14 years ago today. he was 46. 

it feels weird to be writing about my brother on the anniversary of his death when i'm the same age he was when he died, but here we are. 

i've managed to keep myself just busy enough lately to not get completely bogged down in sadness when thinking about my father's birthday and the anniversary of his death a week or so apart, the anniversary of my mother's death to start women's history month, james' death date today, and my mother's birthday later this month. this is not a new coping mechanism by any means. sometimes past me makes great decisions and current me is along for the ride until my brain goes "wait, this isn't quite right" and i realize that another birthday/anniversary is coming up or just happened and then i have to feel things.

but this isn't all about me. this is about my brother and my father and how they helped make me the woman that i am. 

it's about how they showed up for the women in their lives so i'd know what to accept and what to call bullshit on. how they showed up for everyone in their lives, really, but particularly the women they loved. they loved out loud, if not always in words then by actions, even when some of it seemed contradictory. never did i ever have to wonder if they loved me, even if we didn't verbalize it. i kinda wish we'd said it more, but here we are. 

if you've ever seen my work ethic and determination in action, blame them. if you've ever wondered how or why i go so hard for the people i love? that's all them. the mentality of "everybody eats" or "if i got it, you got it" or however else you want to define it? yup, that's them.

it feels weird to be smiling through my tears while writing this, but here we are. 

i'm here because they were there for me. i hope i can keep being there for me and mine like they were for theirs. 💜

on: turning 46 and this year's #alldecembereverything

confession: i've been feeling a way about my birthday this year. i know that may come as a surprise to some of you, so go ahead and take a second to process that however you need to before you continue. 😉

it took a little while for me to realize that my feeling a way about my birthday this year is because i'm turning 46. not in a "holy shit i'm OLD" way, even though that's true, but because james was 46 when he died. 

i am going to be the same age my brother was when he died.

it's taken a while for me to say this online because it hurts. it hurt when i first said it out loud to my therapist and to a close friend. it hurts as i type this. i wrote about it in my journal earlier and definitely cried into my emotional support bourbon. 

i say that to say that i am feeling a way about this year's celebration. yes, i have plans, and i will likely be at a bar at least once or twice to drink with friends because that's how we roll.

but it doesn't feel "big." part of it is because this year has been challenging and exhausting and i'm letting myself nope out. also, y'know, ongoing pandizzle and the dumpster fire clusterfuck that is the world these days. 

there will still be celebrating, though, because i'm me and it's my birthday and the celebration can be whatever i want or need it to be. it doesn't have to be "big" to be real. 

one thing i'm going to try to work on during 46 and beyond, as i've started calling it in my head, is being more open and vulnerable. part of that is being able to say publicly that i'm going to be the same age my brother was when he died and hey, this shit is hard. i might lean on y'all more than usual in the coming year and hopefully that looks more like me being vulnerable vs. me being needy and clingy. if it doesn't, then i need y'all to be open enough to call me on it. i want us to be as honest with each other as we can be. deal? deal. 🤝

on: grace and grief

as i mentioned previously, i ordered a copy of my mother's death certificate a few weeks ago. it arrived today. i opened it knowing that i didn't really have any set expectations. i didn't think i would learn anything new about how or when she died. my memory of being told of her death is still quite vivid and i'm kinda tearing up just thinking about it.

i also remember being told at some point that she'd had a heart attack. this is what i told people for years because it's what i had been told. i think i was in high school when my father told me that while yes, she'd had a heart attack, it was really the cancer that killed her. i think we were in the car on a road trip, maybe. i just remember sitting there stunned because up to that point, no one had mentioned cancer and if they had, i shut it down with "no, it was a heart attack" because again, that's what i had been told. 

i thought about that while i read the death certificate. sure enough, it basically said that she died of a heart attack and she had cancer. none of this is/was surprising to me. what i found noteworthy, though, was being able to forgive my family for...i don't know...softening the truth a bit. i mean, no 7 year old should have to figure out what cancer means and why it took away someone they loved. all i knew is that my mother was sick and had been in and out of the hospital and then one day i came home after school and she was gone. 

like, current me can appreciate the fact that my father and everyone else let me continue making imaginary food to feed her. here, have this invisible soup. or a slice of make-believe cake. my father would request rabbit stew and i wish i could remember how/why that became a running joke - maybe i had a stuffed toy rabbit - and so i'd make imaginary rabbit stew. sure, why not?

as dysfunctional as my family was/is, they somehow managed to keep things relatively "normal" for me during that time. i still went to school and went to my best friend's house after school, which was convenient not only because our mothers were good friends, but also because we lived on the same block. my father still had to go to work every day, as did my brothers, and then come home and take care of my mother and me. i don't know how they did it. 

hence the extension of grace while reading my mother's death certificate. i'm choosing to believe that they did the best they could with what they had. maybe they needed to believe it was "only" a heart attack (and by no means am i trivializing the severity of heart attacks) in order to wade through their grief and, by extension, help me manage my own. i'm going to believe that there was no malicious intent behind them not disclosing her cancer. i'm ok with thinking that my father was waiting until he knew i could handle it before telling me. 

it's still #fuckcancer forever and always, amen. 

88 and/or grief hitting differently during a pandemic

my father would've been 88 today. i'm not entirely convinced he would've lived to 88, given his health issues and, y'know, systemic racism, but part of me likes to think he would've made it. i would've liked to see how our relationship continued to progress once i finished college. there was a definite shift once i turned 18 from "this is how i'm raising you" to "this is how i raised you" even though i was still under his roof and therefore following his rules. i can only wonder.

his birthday kinda snuck up on me this year. february into late march tends to be my annual time of blah due to birthdays and death anniversaries of people i love. i've been feeling anxious and sad and depressed but didn't think too much about it because, um, hi, we're still navigating our way through a pandemic. 

i have to remind myself (and my therapist has to remind me) that it's ok to be tired. to give myself grace. to feel whatever i'm feeling in the moment and do what's best for me. the degree of difficulty in doing that right now has definitely increased by...a lot. a metric fuck-ton, even. 

one thing that struck me last night is that i am usually super busy this time of year with concerts and plays and dance performances and museum visits and other social activities, all of which help me keep my mind off things and therefore lessen my desire/need to curl up into a ball and cry. can't really do that these days. on one hand, yay for having more time to sit with my feelings. on the other hand, ugh, more time to sit with my feelings. yes, i know virtual performances and events are options and yes, i've been taking advantage of those when/where i can, but we all know it's not the same. i'm actually signed up for a virtual talk this evening, with another tentatively penciled in for right after work, but i just want to go to bed. i'm sleepy and tired and exhausted and i'm having lots of feelings and leaving the house to do other things isn't the best option right now b/c cold and snow and covid. 

another thing that struck me last night? i don't have a copy of my mother's death certificate. i have my father's and i have one for james because i needed them for life insurance cash-out purposes back when i was (unsuccessfully) trying not to get evicted, but i don't have one for my mother. i guess i never needed it. i ordered a copy earlier because why not just lean into the morbid feelings when you've been crying off and on all morning? ugh, zero stars, do not recommend. 

we can all agree that grieving during a pandemic can and does look a bit differently than "usual." i know i've had conversations about how our coping mechanisms can only go so far b/c we can't gather together or travel or whatever like we used to. very few of us enjoy going to funerals, but not having the option to have a traditional service? it sucks. i reread what i wrote about grief in 2018 and while it's still true, it's also different. can't really meet your friends for drinks and food and hugs and conversation these days. i mean, i suppose you could if you and said friends are willing to take that risk and mask up and be socially distanced...which basically rules out hugs. sigh. 

it just occurred to me that pulaski day is on march 1 this year. march 1 is also the anniversary of my mother's death. luckily i have that day off b/c pulaski day is one of my favorite random holidays and thankfully i have enough vacation time to make that happen. luckily i made a reservation at the bar for that evening earlier this week. nice job, past me. way to be considerate!

so, yeah. grief is palpable and constant and i don't really have any advice or comforting thoughts right now, aside from muddle through it as best as you can. that's what i'm doing today. also today is national drink wine day so if that's something you're able and willing to do, feel free. i'll probably open a bottle as well. cheers. 

on: mutual aid

i've been thinking about mutual aid lately. not so much the networks/societies that have popped up and/or become more prevalent during the pandemic, but a more...i dunno...organic version. for me, it's more a notion of "if i have, you have." 

as i was pondering this the other night, it occurred to me that i learned this from my father, but not in any sort of overt kind of way. if you were hungry, he'd feed you. i don't think i really appreciated this while he was alive, but it's really been sinking in the past few weeks/months/years. whenever he came to visit me at nu, there was food involved. if i went home for a break or a weekend or even just for a day, i'd come back to the dorms with food. it didn't matter if i'd just been home or if he'd just been up for a visit the week before. "i see you, i love you, here's some food and maybe $20 if you want to order more food" seemed to be a prevailing theme. hey, remember when $20 seemed like a near-fortune in terms of ordering food? those were the days...

and it wasn't just me and it wasn't just food. one of his girlfriends needed to do laundry, so he went and picked her up so she could use our washer and dryer. never mind the fact that he "accidentally" locked her in the basement when another one of his girlfriends showed up unannounced. she needed help, he was in a position to help, problem solved. (if i remember correctly, girlfriend #2 left before girlfriend #1 tried to come back upstairs, but this was decades ago and my memory is fuzzy, lol)

it can be challenging, especially right now, to offer support when so many people are struggling. how do you choose? how much can you afford to give? is it even worth giving if it's a small amount? (yes.)

obviously you should do whatever makes sense and is comfortable for you. for me, it might be using what i'd normally spend on a weekend's bar tabs to virtually "tip" my bartender boos or donate to a couple of fundraisers. even before the pandemic, i'd sometimes buy extra groceries to share with un(der)employed friends. i miss showing up at the bar with snacks or the occasional dinner for all of us to enjoy. you need to eat? cool. let's eat. you want a drink or 2? that can totally be arranged. we might have to do it at a socially acceptable distance while wearing masks, but if you need and i have, let's try to figure something out.

do what you can, where you are, with what you have, for who you love. the "who" can be friends and family, or your favorite bar/restaurant staff, or people you haven't met irl but still feel a sense of community with, or some other definition. 

i realize this is sorta kinda preaching to the choir because almost all of y'all are doing this in some shape form or fashion, but it's good to have a reminder every once in a while, no? 

miss y'all. love y'all. try to stay as well as possible. 😊

holy crap it's august

seriously. august. how? when? what? 

this week in adulting so far:

• monday - got my latest breast mri results back and all is well

• tuesday - finally rescheduled my fibroid surgery (which was supposed to happen in june but, y'know, pandemic) for late october. managed not to throw up from nerves after i finished that phone call.

• today - james would've been 58 today. he's been on my mind a lot lately which makes sense, given the whole birthday thing, and i'm glad that i still have so many great memories. gonna treat myself to bacon burgers and a virtual whiskey tasting later, not necessarily in his honor, but because i deserve nice things and james would support me on this.

in other news, bourbon women's annual conference is going virtual this year. you should register. it's free! it's next week! i know the "curated for women, by women" tagline may be problematic for some folks, and i wish it was a more inclusive slogan, but please know that everyone 21+ is welcome. well, as long as you're not an raging asshole. you can stay away. life is stressful enough, especially right now. no one wants or needs that energy.

hope y'all are staying as safe and healthy as possible. love y'all. mean it. 💜

on: saying goodbye to the end of an era

bishop tears is dead. 1st c. will never be the same. carol and her sisters lost their father. carol has now lost her father and her husband in a nine-year span.

i tweeted a mini thread when bishop died. i don't think i can say it any better than i did there.

i still can't believe he's gone. i'm glad he's no longer suffering or in pain, but it's still kinda mind-boggling to me that i won't see or hear him live and in person again.

i don't know what's next for the church. i really don't know what's next for carol. i'm hoping to find a way to show my support for her based on what she wants/needs and not what i or anyone else might think is best. sometimes it's hard to get out of my own way and my own head.

if i haven't already thanked you for your condolences/thoughts/prayers/etc., please accept my thanks now. i appreciate it, and you, more than i can say.

on: grieving however tf you want

(originally written around 3pm today)

grief has been on my mind a lot lately. makes sense, given that this is the time of year when i go knee-deep into my feels because 4 of my favorite people died in february and march. today is actually the 21st anniversary of my father's death and i'm not really sure how i'm upright and functioning right now, tbh. i have definitely found myself on the verge of tears more than once today for no reason other than i miss my father, and my mother, and my brother, and my play auntie. all of them. fiercely. like, the pain is still kinda raw. surprisingly raw to me, even though i know enough to know that this time of year knocks me on my ass every single time and yet i find myself wanting to just dissolve into a puddle of my own tears and self-pity and bemoan the fact that almost all of the people i would walk through fire for are no longer around.

so, yeah. grief. y'know how people say that there's only one way to grieve and there's a distinct time period in which you're allowed to grieve. THAT IS BULLSHIT. it is complete and utter bullshit and i find myself getting riled up every time someone says it because it is so fucking false. we're all human, yes, but that does not mean that we're all wired to mourn and grieve the same exact way. some folks laugh through their tears because it's all they know how to do in that moment. others go completely silent. others still may hunker down and work and do all of the things in what appears to be a manic frenzy because that's their current coping mechanism. guess what? you and i have no say so whatsofuckingever on how they deal. none.

i really hope that, in my unfortunately long experience as a grief expert of sorts, i haven't inadvertently made y'all feel even worse than you already do by telling you that there's only one way to mourn someone or something. you are entitled to feel, or not feel, whatever you feel or not fell. everyone is different. every circumstance is different.

some examples for you. we held a wake for james the evening before his funeral. i don't remember crying much there, but i do remember marvin sapp's "never would've made it" coming on and carol and i, while involved in separate conversations, both calling for someone to turn that song off because we just couldn't handle it in that moment. after the wake, i met up with some friends at south loop club, where y'all had come through with balloons and brownies to help me feel better and i'm pretty sure a round of shots was involved. ok, possibly probably multiple rounds of shots, but you get my point. how dare i be out with friends knowing that i had to bury my brother the next day? what kind of mourning is that?

the same kind of mourning that had me hanging out with some of those same friends after james' burial. a friend's parents graciously offered their home as a gathering place, and so i found myself in northwest indiana surrounded by friends. i needed that, and god bless my friends for knowing me well enough to know that i'd need that and for giving me the space and ability to make that happen without having to vocalize it or organize it because i was not organizing a single solitary thing after all of the funeral preparations, thank you very much.

fast forward from 2009 to 2015. lori's funeral was on a sunday evening. i've written previously about how difficult that service was for me. i remember sitting in the choir stand after the funeral ended, bent over double and sobbing uncontrollably. i may or may not be tearing up as i'm typing this part. did i mention how i've been on the verge of tears off and on all day today? i'd sat in that choir stand next to or near lori for years when i was still an active choir member back in the day, and without asking anyone or saying anything, i decided to sit there during the funeral. it just felt right to me and i regret absolutely nothing about it.

anyway, there i was, seemingly inconsolable. i couldn't have moved in that moment if i wanted to. i remember a few folks just sitting there with me and passing me tissue once i started coming up for air, because they knew how much lori meant to me, to all of us, and that my breakdown was part of my process.

so of course i wound up at pippin's afterwards and drank as much jameson & ginger ale as i could physically tolerate. i don't quite remember how i got home after that, but i do remember one of my bartender boos asking if i wanted a regular sized drink or a "i had a bad day" drink, and me replying that i'd just come from a funeral and therefore i needed the most ginormous drink possible. i may have drank those cocktails from pint glasses that night. one of those drinks had grenadine added by accident because bartender boo wasn't paying attention, and i drank it anyway because feelings are the worst and so what if i was probably dehydrated from crying so much and couldn't remember if i'd actually eaten anything that day? grief does that, you know.

grief does lots of things. lots of different things. daddy died right before finals and therefore i tried to focus on finishing assignments and being ready to take exams once i got back to campus. i was staying with my oldest brother & his family, and i remember hearing him on the phone talking about how i hadn't broken down yet and how worried everyone was because i was, to their eyes, keeping everything on the inside. if you know about my family's dysfunctional tendencies, then it will come as no surprise that i was holding back around certain people because i knew i couldn't trust them to honor or respect my feelings or that they wouldn't know how to deal with whatever i'd decided to share.

no big shock, then, that i fell apart at daddy's grave site. i remember someone from the army presenting james with a flag in honor of daddy's military service. i looked over at james and the tears were just streaming down his face, and i honestly think i blacked out at that point. next thing i knew, i was sitting in a car with lori, appropriately enough, and another one of my aunts, i think, and being told to take some deep breaths. to this day, i don't know how i got from the gravesite and into that car. i don't know how long it took or how far away the car was or how long i was out of commission. i'd ask james or lori about it, but...well.

is it any wonder that i get irrationally angry whenever someone says that you must grieve or mourn a certain way and/or for a certain time period? my mother has been dead for 34 years as of march 1 and if you'd like to tell me that i should be over it by now, please meet me outside so i can fight you we can discuss this like mature adults. sure, there are days/weeks/months when the pain isn't as acute or fresh, but let's not pretend that everything is always puppies and kittens and unicorns and tacos and whiskey. it's not true for me and, if we're honest, it's not really true for any of us.

grief sucks. it's weird and complicated and the rules are ever evolving and changing even though grief itself seems to be a constant in our lives. it feels like it's never going to go away. sometimes it doesn't, really. sometimes, grief just shrinks enough so you can continue trying to live your life the best way you know how, but it's still there and will occasionally tap you on the shoulder like "o hai! let's have a good crying session at a really inopportune time because i'm an asshole!"

grieve however you want. whenever you want. anyone who says you have to get over it within a certain time frame is also invited to meet me outside so i can fight them we can discuss this like mature adults. if you're able to find some joy in the midst of your grief, whether it be enjoying the company of friends or remembering a lighthearted moment or going to a movie or just treating yourself because dammit you still deserve nice things, even better. if you're able, surround yourself with the people and/or things that you think will help you. if you'd rather get through it solo and just update folks when you're able to think coherently long enough to send a text or tweet or email, that works too. the world is going to shit, yes, but some semblance of it will still be around when you get back.

as always, i'm around if you want to talk/cry/scream/vent about or through your mourning, of if you just want some company while you sit silently, or if you want/need me to play enabler and help you eat and/or drink your feelings away, or whatever. selfish as it sounds - and maybe this is why people have a hard time dealing with folks who are grieving - this is about you and what you need to get through. it's definitely a "your mileage may vary" situation. what has worked for me may not work for you, and that's ok. you might not know exactly how to feel, or you may feel guilty that you're not feeling enough, and that is also ok. take a deep breath if you're able to, because sometimes breathing is hard when everything hurts and you just want to be still and not feel anything...not that i know anything about that whatsoever. nope, not me. totally well-adjusted and normal over here! 😜

reach out to your support system in whatever form that looks like for you. go online or use social media if it's easier/better than dealing with folks in real life. if anyone comes at you in a malicious way, ask them to meet me outside so i can fight them.

love y'all to the moon and back. keep trying to treat yourself the best way you know how. you deserve nothing less. 💜

85

my father would've been 85 years old today. if you've been around for a while, then you know that his birthday tends to be a rough day for me. hell, this stretch of february through mid-march does a number on me every year, what with all of the death anniversaries and birthdays and accompanying feels. my therapist actually brought it up a couple of sessions ago, and i realized that i'd been so busy and so focused on getting through january (seriously, january was like the longest month ever for a lot of us, right?) that i hadn't even turned my attention to february and march.

but here we are. daddy would've been 85 today. the last time i saw him alive was on this date 21 years ago. holy shit. does that count as a lifetime ago? sometimes it feels like a lifetime ago, and there are other moments where the pain still feels as fresh as i did when i got the call that he was dead.

i try not to dwell on how my life would be different if he was still alive. instead, i wonder if he'd be proud of me. if he'd support the decisions i've made along the way, even if he didn't understand them. i like to think he would. that he'd realize that he gave me the tools to navigate through life and how to adjust when things didn't go quite according to plan.

i hope he knows that. if heaven exists, i hope he knows that he did the best he could and that i'm doing the best i can.

i wish this for all of you, really. that the people you care about - family, parents, friends, role models - know that you are doing the best you can with what you have. and if you don't feel like you're doing the best you can, that's ok, too. doing the work is hard work sometimes, but we keep trying. that's the victory in it, i think: that we keep trying.

so this is august...

today is august 1st.

i am 10 days away from having an mri exam on my breasts. please don't panic (because i'm doing enough of that for all of us, trust me) - i have not detected anything amiss, nor have my doctors, but given my family history and risk factors, we all want to err on the side of caution. also i want to do it while i still have employer-provided insurance because god only knows what's going to happen with that.

after i made the appointment for the exam, i called quasi-landlord to ask if i could crash with her the night before so she could drive me to the hospital, because i realized that worry about the logistics wasn't something i really wanted to deal with. i also asked the staff to prescribe some sort of anti-anxiety meds for the exam because we all know my hospital phobia is real as fuck and no one wants me freaking the fuck out. also the exam is supposed to take 45 minutes (heh) and there's no way i'm going to be calm and still for that long in that setting. q-l says we can go have breakfast afterwards because she knows i won't be hungry beforehand and the meds will have me loopy enough to need something on my stomach.

let's talk about how proud i am of myself for 1) remembering to make the appointment in the first place and 2) reaching out to q-l for help. y'all know how forgetful i can be. i can also be stubborn as hell and feel as though i can do everything by my damn self and then i'm wondering why i'm so fucking tired and anxious and depressed. sometimes you gotta outsource some shit.

so, yeah. i haven't said much about the exam even though it's been on my calendar for damn near a month. i am actively trying (and failing) to panic as the date gets closer. i am super duper vigilant about breast self-exams and i've already had 2 mammograms this year, thanks to the first set of results being inconclusive. that was fun, let me tell you. i know in my heart of hearts that there is nothing wrong and that there should be no surprises when the exam results come back. this is not just me being ridiculously optimistic. i really do believe this.

and yet, my brain works in mysterious ways and sometimes it likes to overthink things and panic when there is no logical reason to do so. it's a blast. if, heaven forbid, something goes wrong, i know that i can pull together some semblance of a plan and go forward after i have my initial "omg wtf is even happening right now" breakdown. that's what i do. i freak out for a minute (hour, day, month, whatever) and then i get back to work. sometimes, though, my brain doesn't allow me to work through things in a sensible way and i wake up in the middle of the night unable to breathe because "what if they find something?" i am a goddamn ray of sunshine in those moments.

this month is also momentous for me because james would have been 55 this year and that is totally and completely fucking with me. sometimes i forget that he was only 46 when he died. when i'm really committed to wallowing in self-pity, i rage about how fucking unfair it is that he died so goddamn young and how dare he be taken from me and carol and everyone else who loved him when it's so obvious that we still need(ed) him around? if i allow myself to be honest outside of my therapy sessions, i can acknowledge how selfish i'm being and how i obviously had no control over when/how my brother was going to die and of course none of it is my fault. then i start feeling like a big bay because i miss him so much still that, again, if i allow myself to be open and honest about it, it physically feels like a part of me is missing. like there's a hole in my chest that can't be repaired. it stinks. i don't like it.

i was all set to get a tattoo (both daddy and james had the same first and middle initials, which made my decision easier) on what would've been on james' 55th birthday this year, until i realized it's the day before my friends' wedding. the tattoo will happen before the year is out, though. it's the only remaining item on my original "get your shit together" list. you may recall that the other items on the list were paying off my eviction, having fibroid surgery, and moving into my own place. all of those boxes have been checked and unpacked. i will somehow power through my dislike of needles and get this tattoo on at least one area of my body.

james would have been 55 and lori would have been 56 this year. did i mention how much this sucks? because it really does. of course their birthdays are a day apart because god in his infinite wisdom wanted to make sure that i could suffer in concentrated chunks of time vs. spreading that shit out. i'm ok with that part, actually. i tried explaining this to my therapist during my annual february/march doldrums and i'm sure she thought i was protesting too much at first, but when i broke down the schedule of dates and how/why they have such an impact on me, i think she came around.

my mri exam is on lori's birthday, which is the day before james' birthday. my friends' wedding is two days after the mri exam. i didn't have the birthdays in mind when i scheduled the exam but i was thinking of the wedding, since i was already taking that monday off as a recovery day (because drinking), so i figured i might as well get an extra long weekend out of it.

with that said, my current approach to this month is to make it to this wedding without completely losing my shit. if i survive the next, oh, 2 weeks or so, then i should be able to get through the rest of august relatively unscathed. hopefully. *knocks on wood* *crosses fingers* *prays to saints* *lights candles*

on: feeling isolated while surrounded

talked to carol today. there's all kinds of drama going on, some of which i alluded to on twitter, and i can tell it's taking its toll on her. she's been thrust into the role of caregiver again, this time for her father (and our pastor), and she told me how she feels like no one really understands what that's like for her, especially knowing that barring a miracle, there will be no recovery for her father. i understand it to a certain extent, having lost countless loved ones, but i don't even want to pretend to know what it would feel like to potentially lose both your husband and your father in a span of less than 10 years.

carol's like me in a lot of ways, and not just because we were born in december. we're both way too stubborn for our own good sometimes. we know friends and family would do their best to help out if we could articulate what we wanted/needed instead of just saying that we're tired. sometimes we believe that it's just easier to shoulder the weight and do it ourselves and worry about the consequences later. way deep down, we know that this isn't healthy, but we've so conditioned ourselves that this is the way it has to be that it's difficult to break that habit.

at one point during our conversation, carol mentioned that she'd called a family friend of ours to be potential backup in case some of the aforementioned drama gets even uglier. i had to laugh because i was already mentally writing a text to a friend on how i might need them to be ready to show up at a moment's notice due to said drama. then i had to pause because i heard a hint of loneliness in carol's voice and i knew better than to call her on it in that moment.

that's another thing we have in common. we can be surrounded by people we know and love and still feel like we're utterly alone. y'all know that this is something i've battled and am continuing to attempt to work through.

then i started thinking about jordan hankins. i didn't know jordan personally, but i can see the similarities in our stories. being a black woman at northwestern is not easy. i knew a fair number of black athletes while i was there and one of their constant complaints was feeling isolated from the rest of the black community on campus. knowing what i do about current campus conditions, my guess is that not much has changed. let me be clear in that i do not and would not dare to claim to know what jordan was going through. i would submit that it is possible, though, that she felt a sense of isolation even while being surrounded by teammates and friends and family. i hope her spirit is at rest now, and that those who knew her and loved her are able to find some peace.

foundations of a foodie?

a big part of my relationship with my father revolved around food. mcdonald's on sunday mornings before church or on road trips. countless trips to ponderosa or sizzler or shoney's or shakey's. feeling grown up the first time i ordered chopped steak because daddy was nice enough to wait until later to burst my bubble. :-) 

are you hungry? let's eat. not hungry? let me know when you are and we'll get you something to eat. i don't remember the first time i joined my father in the kitchen during meal prep. it wasn't a big deal for me to see him cooking (and cleaning, at least until i was old enough to take on kitchen duty) and then we'd sit down to eat. i don't remember being a picky eater so much as i was really clear on what i liked and what i didn't and i had the space to express that (within polite boundaries, of course).

like chitlins. family lore has it that someone gave me a forkful of chitlins when i was 6 or so, and i promptly threw up all over james. i haven't touched them since and no one in my immediate family would even consider offering them to me unless they had a memory lapse of some sort.

daddy would never force me to try new things or eat something i didn't like just because it was there. like spicy food. i told the popeye's in kokomo story on here a couple of years ago and it's still one of my strongest memories.

tamales are another strong memory for me. daddy became obsessed with making tamales, to the point that on every trip to mississippi, he'd ask around for so-and-so's recipe and how did such-and-such make their tamales and, of course, have a few samples. he'd come home, add his findings to whatever he'd already collected, and tinker with the recipe. next thing i knew, the kitchen table would be covered with masa and corn husks. i don't know when he'd decided that he'd mastered the recipe, but i do know he'd sell tamales to friends and family and made enough to cover his costs and a little extra. i also remember bringing a batch to school once for a class potluck or something like that. everyone went crazy over them, and deservedly so. those tamales were delicious. one of my regrets is not getting that recipe from daddy before he died.

as meat and potatoes as he was, i appreciated daddy's willingness to branch out (like with the tamales) without making it a big deal. i've said before that my smoked sausage and broccoli dish was one of the first things i made up on my own in high school. i'm not sure i would've done it if daddy had made a face or expressed disgust or displeasure. it was just, try it out and if you don't like it, that's ok. if it doesn't work, let's try to figure out what went wrong. if you've read my recipe reviews, then you've seen a little bit of that in action.

i think that's one helluva lesson to take away, not just for food, but for life in general. try it out and if you don't like it, it's ok. if it doesn't work, try to figure out why and go from there.

music sounds better because of you

i saw a tweet that asked people what song(s) reminded them of their parents. answering this for my mother is easy - the theme from "m*a*s*h." no, really. apparently she disliked that show so much that whenever it came on, one of us had to run over to the tv and change the channel immediately. i still have a somewhat visceral reaction when i hear that theme song that i find myself turning away from it, whether it be changing the channel or hitting skip on a music player or whatever.

answering this for my father, however, is way more difficult. i'm not sure i could narrow our musical memories down to a single song. music was almost always playing in the background during my childhood. one of my brothers played drums at church every sunday and there was almost always a radio on. i remember daddy going through a country phase in the late 80s/early 90s and i made what is to date my only country album purchase as a gift for him for christmas or his birthday.

when daddy, james, and i would all be home together, there would almost always be three different songs playing. james had the run of the basement with his stereo system, i had a stereo (with a record player and a 8-track b/c hand-me-downs weren't just for clothes) in my room, and daddy had his setup in his bedroom. r&b or smooth jazz would be on james' system, i'd have a radio station on, and daddy would more than likely be listening to gospel or blues, having passed through his country phase.

what i can appreciate is that daddy never yelled at us to turn off that "rappity rap" or anything along those lines. at least, i can't remember such a thing happening. my brothers might remember differently but maybe he mellowed out by the time i came along. obviously he had some opinions on what i was listening to since i was still a minor and omg won't someone please think of the children, but there was never a flat-out dismissal. wait, i take that back. wkkc would play gospel on sundays until about 3pm and then switch over to house music. if we were in the car when that shift change happened, daddy would flip to another gospel station because he didn't want to hear "secular" music during the day on sundays. sunday nights were ok, somehow, but whatever. i knew i could turn on the radio in my room and have a dance party and not worry about daddy coming in yelling at me to turn it off.

besides, who else would ask one of their girlfriends to take their daughter to the budweiser superfest at soldier field? i was still in high school and i can't remember if daddy had to work or if he just didn't want to go, but there i was with his lady friend, doing the humpty dance and making friends with other folks sitting nearby.

when i'd come home from northwestern and it was just the two of us, there'd still be two stereos blaring and possibly the tv, if i was watching videos (yes, boys and girls, there was a time when music videos actually played on tv on a regular basis. i didn't always like what daddy played and being the know-it-all teenager i was, i'd voice my loud and probably wrong opinion. i'm sure he hated a good chunk of whatever i was into at that point, but if he judged it, he kept to himself.

road trips were fun because it was my job to change radio stations until i found something we could both agree on that wasn't full of static. this was also where we'd catch up on somewhat deep conversations that we hadn't had at home for whatever reason(s). it was on one of those trips that daddy told me that my mother had cancer and hadn't died of a heart attack as i'd believed for years. i don't remember my immediate reaction but i remember thinking later that he thought i was old enough to handle it and being proud that he thought so highly of me.

don't get me wrong. there are certain songs that could start playing right now and i will immediately think of my father. i think one of the biggest gifts he gave me was to listen to the music and not dismiss it outright, and for that, i am thankful.

happy father's day, daddy. you're still missed and i'm still grateful that i'm your daughter. i'm sorry the musical selection in heaven's improved the way it has so far this year.

on: finding and keeping joy at home

i'm having a helluva time with today being the one year anniversary of the charleston massacre. i think it's taken me this long to reconcile the sheer sense of fear and disgust and anger that i still feel about that shooting.

even though i wasn't directly impacted, it hurt me in a visceral way. i grew up going to an a.m.e. church with daddy and still went with him on occasion after i'd joined 1st c. daddy's funeral was at that same a.m.e. church and while i no longer considered it my home church, i still felt welcome. that's a great feeling, especially after the heartbreaking gossip that swirled about me. nothing says awkward like your father sitting you down to confirm that no, you haven't been sleeping with random deacons at his church while you were still in high school. yeah, that happened. ask me about it offline over a drink and i'll fill you in.

before charleston, i'd have the occasional nightmare of being at 1st c. or some other church gathering and some gunman (or woman) coming in and causing chaos. needless to say that i experienced that particular nightmare more than usual after the shooting last year. it still happens and it still hurts like hell. i can visualize myself sitting on a pew, surrounded by family and friends and their kids (some of whom are actually adults now but i still think of them as my church babies b/c i'm that kinda auntie) and trying my damnedest to make sure they're ok when the gunshots start ringing out. i don't think i can understate how fucking nervous i was the first time i went back to 1st c. after charleston. luckily i know that building well enough to know where the exits are and where i can duck and cover and the simple fact that i feel like i have to keep that knowledge somewhat handy is some bullshit.

sorry. got distracted and riled up there for a second. *takes a deep breath*

despite the people and policies and politics, churches are a place of refuge for me. i can sit and have a little talk with god (shouts to stevie wonder). i know i can do that anywhere and trust me, i do some of my best praying outside of church walls. but there's just something different about being in a church for me. it's soothing, really. i haven't been to 1st c. in months but i know i could walk in and be at home.

home. longtime readers know that i have strong thoughts and feelings about what home means for me. home isn't always about a physical place, which is a lesson that has been reinforced constantly for me during the past few years. if home is a physical place, though, you should feel safe there. the charleston 9 should've felt safe. the crowd at pulse in orlando should have felt safe. there are countless other incidents i could name where the people gathered should have felt safe. it breaks my heart and my spirit when these places of refuge are violated. y'all have heard me say god knows how many times that all i want is for the people i love to be safe and free and happy. that we are more than enough just as we are. it gets difficult to keep reminding myself and y'all of that in the face of horrific events like the charleston massacre and the orlando hate crime and yet it bears repeating. we are seen and we are heard and we are loved and we are more than enough. joy may be fleeting but it's ours, goddammit, and i for one am too stubborn to let someone just snatch that shit away without a fight.

on: having or not having role models for living to a ripe old age

my boss' great grandmother celebrated her 107th birthday this past weekend. 107. there are days when i can barely count that high, let alone dare to dream of living that long.

and remember the 106 year old dancing with the obamas at the white house? that video makes me weepy every single time i watch it. there is just so much joy there, y'all. it hits me right in the feels.

but then i get to wondering about having those kinds of older women in my life; or, to be more precise, not having those kinds of older women in my life. my maternal grandmother died before i was born. my paternal grandmother died while i was in my early 20s. i'm not sure anyone in my immediate family has attempted to trace our ancestry beyond my grandparents and if they have, i certainly haven't heard anything about it. i'm sure i could and i probably will at some point just out of sheer curiosity.

instead of having older relatives or friends to marvel at because they're still alive and active and dancing and raising hell, i got to attend a funeral on saturday for a family friend who died at the ripe old age of 53. i know it's selfish to want an extended circle of folks all living long and prosperous and happy lives, and i know i obviously have no control over how or when folks die. the logical side of me can process all of that and accept it as valid.

can you blame me for wishing i personally knew a 100-something year old so i could listen to all of their stories like i'd never heard them before? that i could share their joy over dancing or music or a good meal or just laughing themselves silly? i totally plan on being the crazy aunt on someone's porch drinking spiked iced tea and saying whatever comes to mind and doing whatever the hell i want (within some semblance of reason, i suppose) and i'm just saying it'd be nice to have some personal role models for that kind of thing. thank god i can live vicariously through other folks' connections to the elderly.

i'ma go watch that dancing video again.

what they don't tell you re: growing up

if you were anything like me back in the day, then you couldn't wait to grow up and be on your own. occasionally a family member would say something like "aw, don't be in such a rush to grow up. you'll have to pay bills and be responsible and you only have one childhood," or something along those lines. that was a trade-off i was willing to make, dammit. i'm more or less willing to be responsible and earn money and pay bills and do what i want, within reason.

here's the thing, though. i don't think anyone bothered telling us that one particularly sucktastic part of growing up is coming to terms with the fact that you will begin to lose family members and friends at an alarming rate.

some might think that since i've lost so many family and friends throughout the years that i'm more resilient than most when it comes to dealing with loss. oh man, would those folks be wrong as hell. i found out on friday night that another family friend from church passed away that day and the news sent me reeling. luckily i was sitting down when i heard about it and by the time my brain actually processed the words, i was mid-sentence and had to stop talking because i wasn't sure if i was going to start crying or screaming. neither happened, but there was lots of swearing. lots. a tapestry of obscenities may still be floating near the ceiling as i type this.

at one point, it slowly dawned on me that i am at the age where i have to be prepared to say goodbye to my play aunties and my play mothers. i do not like this. this is a pretty fucked up part of adulting and i would like to opt out.

i have been beyond fortunate to have a circle of older (relatively speaking - they're all older than me but i wouldn't call them "old" per se) black women, both from church and from other spheres of my life, that i can call on for advice or gossip or a quick word of encouragement or to read me the riot act or to just be there when i need them. this circle has been in constant formation for as long as i can remember. these were the women i could lean on when my family was driving me up the wall and i didn't think i'd survive high school without losing my mind. they held me up. stood by me. sometimes stood in front of me when i couldn't defend myself. they still do, but i have to accept that death will remove some parts of that circle and it hurts like hell. it really fucking hurts.

i told someone that this timing was particularly egregious because i'd just gotten through the stretch of february/march with all of the death anniversaries and other remembrances and now i can add april 1st (seriously, god - if this is your idea of a joke, I AM NOT AMUSED AT ALL) to that list. the hits just keep on coming and i might have to start adopting the tuck and roll position because attempting to remain upright is exhausting.

on: being a disappointment to family

i saw a tweet a few days ago that discussed being a disappointment to your family. i said it kinda depended on how one would define both "disappointment" and "family." y'all know that i think of a good number of you as family - i've said countless times that the family i've created is preferable to the one i was born into, and i stand by that.

here's the thing about being a familial disappointment, though: i've learned that i can still function and be myself without worrying as much about their expectations. don't get me wrong - there is still a really small part of me that wishes, and probably will always wish, that i could fit into the box certain family members set up for me decades ago. but i don't, and i won't, and i likely never will, and that's ok.

one of the things i mentioned in response to that tweet was how, in my opinion, my independence plays a large part in the how and why of my family tends to be disappointed. it's noteworthy to me because they raised me to take care of myself and be independent and resilient and all those other things, and yet the fact that i'm independent enough to not rely on them is always in the background.

i told myself when i finished high school that i wouldn't move back in with a sibling of mine unless i absolutely positively had to, and i've stuck by that. even through the eviction/couch-sitting/quasi-nannying period of 2011-2012, going "home" was a last resort that i only seriously considered for the briefest of moments. see, i knew and still know that going home would be the end of that independence. not just because of the relative geographic isolation, but feeling like i had to fit into the box of expectations and, well, y'all know how stubborn i can be. that would not end well.

i gave up on being the "good little girl" decades ago. it was me - or at least i tried to make it work - when i was younger and lived at home and didn't have any autonomy. this is not to say that i've developed into a super duper evil person, although we all know i can be an outright bitch at times. :P


y'know how i keep saying that i'm working on meeting (and occasionally leaving) people where they are? i have to remind myself to do the same thing with my family. i remember ages ago being upset that they just didn't get me the way i thought they should, and i had to make peace with the fact that they probably never will. hell, i don't really get them 100%, either, and i am more than ok with that. i can meet them where they are and then leave them there because if i've learned nothing else, it's that i can't expect everyone to travel on this journey the same way i am. it's unfair to everyone involved and if that means disappointing someone as you try to be your best, most authentic self, then so be it.

it's the most wonderfully depressing and emo time of the year!

january kinda sucked for a lot of people, so i was happy to see it go. i then realized that my glee would be short-lived, as february and march are historically difficult months for me and this year will be no different. my annual wallowing in all of the feelings has nothing to do with the weather, though.

now i get to embark on my yearly quest to power through february and march without falling apart. whee!

— auntie lori is my og (@queeneulalia) February 1, 2016

i don't know exactly when the death anniversaries of my mother and father started to impact me as an adult. my father died on february 27, 1997. my mother died on march 1, 1984. maybe it was after james died in march of 2009 (march 8, for those playing along at home) that i realized that hey, there's a method to this sadness.

dealing with those three anniversaries would be enough, but this year marks the first anniversary of lori's death (february 4, 2015) and just typing that makes me want to cry.

every year at the beginning of february, i tell myself that if i can make it to march 15 without completely falling apart, then i'll be ok. i am usually able to get through those 6 weeks or so without any major meltdowns. sure, there's crying and there are days when i just wanna wallow in my feels, but nothing too traumatic.

i'm not so sure about this year, which is why i'm writing about it and putting it out here for y'all to see. i might need to lean on y'all more than usual between now and the ides of march.

gonna try to be better about reaching out for support or just saying i need to stfu for a while during this timeframe. i know y'all got me.

— auntie lori is my og (@queeneulalia) February 1, 2016

my annual swan dives into a pile of emo have already started. i was at work earlier and a song came on that reminded me of some recent conversations i've had both with myself and with some other people, and i felt that being an empath/caregiver wasn't really worth it if i couldn't actually fix at least some of the things we're dealing with. i wanted to reach out to someone who would basically put me in check and remind me that i am not here to solve the world's problems and that there's only so much i can do. i wanted that person to be james, or lori, and the reminder that i couldn't text or call them just about shattered me. i was already missing james thanks to a different song i'd listened to earlier in the day, so i was already susceptible to a grief fit or whatever one would call it. i managed to pull it together by watching highlights of game 6 of the 2013 stanley cup final, which will always make me shed happy tears b/c holy shit that was awesome.

when i was at the bar later tonight, my friend asked if i was ok. i said yes and they immediately called bullshit, b/c they saw something in my expression that wasn't quite right. i amended my answer, saying that i was ok overall but that i had some things on my mind, which was true. i was still processing the wave of grief from earlier and trying to figure out how the hell i'm gonna get through the next month or so without sobbing myself silly.

i don't know if it'll help that i currently have plans on lori & my father's death dates. maybe it'll be distracting enough that i won't completely fall to pieces and if i do, maybe i'll be lucky enough to do it in private and just sob myself to sleep.

this is one of the many reasons why i tell people that there is no timetable or proper way to grieve. i know i can still be knocked flat (figuratively and literally) by grief after all of these years and therefore everyone should be allowed the space to mourn in a way that feels right for them.

i have no idea what's going to feel right for me this year. i know enough to know that i owe it to myself and to y'all to be a bit more vocal about how this season (for lack of a better term) impacts me so it's not completely out of left field when (not even gonna lie and say "if") i have some sort of reaction.

so, yeah. happy february! :P

on: leaving and redefining "home"

yesterday, i read a tweet from a woman that really struck a chord with me. she was basically saying how she needed to go on a journey to become who she wanted to be and that she couldn't do that at home. i can so identify with that.

as longtime readers and friends know, "home" has always been a bit of a tenuous concept for me. i actually wrote about this a couple of years ago and it still rings true.

there are those people who wonder(ed) why i didn't just move back home when my life started falling apart in earnest back in 2011. the simplest answer is that i don't really consider any of my siblings' domiciles as "home" for me. moving in with one of them would be disastrous. this is my life and i know it sounds incredibly selfish, but i need to live it on my terms. i can not afford to move back or look back. i have worked too hard during the past 20 years and some change to make myself into the person i am and i don't want to risk reverting to the person i was in high school when they still had a major influence on me. hell, the fact that i still haven't actually told them about everything that happened with the eviction and couch surfing and bouncing around should speak volumes. i mean it when i say that i love my family, but it's best if i continue to love them from a distance.

in hindsight, that stretch of time i spent couch surfing and quasi-nannying and housesitting and whatever else it took for me to get back "home" to chicago taught me a lot. it showed me once again that i have some of the most amazing friends on the planet. it reminded me that i am way more resilient and resourceful than i tend to give myself credit for. it was difficult and if you were around back then, you know there was crying and gnashing of teeth and i might've pulled out some of my hair and banged my head on both proverbial and literal walls. there were times when i could not figure out how the hell i was going to make this shit work. there were a lot of times when i thought i'd fucked everything up beyond repair and i might actually have to phone "home." that was enough to make me cry even more, to be quite honest.

chalk one up to my tenacity, or stubbornness, or both. some positive things happened and i made some steps forward and look at me now. i am hoping to be in a place of my own by my 40th birthday and there's no way i would have publicly committed to that kind of timetable a few years ago. hell, just reading that sentence has me freaking out a bit like "omg what if it doesn't happen by then?" it's ok. i am in a stable place and i have the luxury of time to figure out what i really want to do in terms of moving and i don't need to rush into anything.

this has been one helluva journey and if i'm truthful with myself, i wouldn't trade it for "moving back home" at all. no way. i think it laid a lot of the groundwork for the whole "this is all part of the work" thing i've been focused on this year. it was worth it. i'm proud of myself and thankful for y'all at the same damn time. :-)

for a colored girl who had a rainbow connection on her birthday

i was in my hotel room last night flipping channels (there's a channel called planes trains and automobiles and i totally got sucked into watching it for a good half hour or so) before i went to bed and "the muppet movie" was on amc. it was technically no longer my birthday since it was after midnight, but i was still counting it as a birthday miracle.

i love the muppet movie. it is one of my all-time favorite movies. i mean that without any irony. i love that movie even though i cry at the ending every single time like i don't already know that "the rainbow connection" won't hit me directly in the feels.

so to close out my birthday with the last few minutes of one of my favorite movies was great, especially since i actually heard from more family members than i thought i would on my birthday.

my family, my brothers in particular, hated the muppet movie. family legend has it that my parents took me to see the muppet movie in theaters and when it was over, i bawled b/c i wanted to see it again. my father had to bribe my brothers (i feel like this is something james would've had to do as the youngest brother, but maybe all 3 of them were involved) to take me back the next day to see the muppet movie again.

i have no idea how my family feels about the muppet movie these days. i honestly have no idea how they feel about a lot of things and i'm ok with that. what i know is that yesterday was my birthday and they managed to get their collective acts together and call/text me to wish me a happy birthday and actually mean it. and then i closed out my celebration by crying while singing "the rainbow connection" for the 5011th time. it was almost too perfect and i tweeted that i had to tell this story today b/c i knew i was a bit too sleepy (and, let's be honest, a bit too unsober) to do the story justice last night.

thanks, universe. you sure know how to make a girl feel special on her special day. more of those kinds of awesome coincidences and not so much the ones that completely suck, mmkay? thanks.