Thank You Very Sweet

The next day, Tuesday, I sat still.  My mother and I had nothing planned, so we decided to sit by the pool in Qiyana’s complex. I sat on the steps of the shallow end of the pool and  my mom sat on a lounge chair close by.  She was on the phone mostly, and I just sat quitly.  I just looked at the water.  I didn’t want to get all the way in, and I  didn’t want to get all the way out.  I just sat on the steps…

still. 

Me and Kesner’s second date was at a swimming pool.  This date was two weeks after I told him that I couldn’t date him because I was seeing someone else.  “Just friends,” I’d told him.  Two weeks later he sent me a text message after work and said: 

“do you want to get together this evening?  just friends?” 

As it turned out, the guy that I was seeing had shown flakey that day.  He was a professional swimmer who lived in my apartment building (bad idea to date the guy that lives in your building) and we were supposed to go swimming on Princeton’s campus that day after work. But he’d canceled at the last minute… 

I responded to Kesner’s text:  “sure, feel like swimming?” 

Kener met me at the Princeton pool and we swam laps.  I wore a blue and white bikini, and he had on fatigue swim shorts. He swam in his lane and I swam in mine; we swam the length of the pool back and forth doing every stroke that we could remember from gym class… and summer camp.  It was fun, I must admit. 

But we were just friends. 

It was August; August was my “natural” month.  This meant that I could swim without concern for my hair because I was wearing it in its natural afro-kinky state. I was free. 

After we swam, I went to the locker room and pulled my hair back into an afro puff pony tail.  I put on a yellow cotton sun dress and some sandals and I met Kesner in the parking lot; he had returned to his business suit.  We went to a sushi restaurant and had dinner together, it was pleasant. 

We talked about life and community…  He told me he had diabetes; he had to be careful about his diet.. We talked about his involvement with the Big Brother’s Big Sister’s Program…  I told him I was traveling to Cleveland the following weekend, he joked and said he would come along..   We had a nice time together that night,

but we were just friends.

He later told me that the swimming date was his favorite date. 

After I’d sat on the shallow steps of the pool at Qiyana’s long enough, I got up and decided to go for a walk alone.  Mom had been telling me how I needed to get out and take a long walk by myself… to scream and cry.  I thought I would give it a try.  

I drove around the corner to a hiking trail in Princeton that runs along a narrow canal.  Many people use this trail for hiking, biking and running.  I have even walked miles and miles down this trail for exercise in the past. 

But on this day the purpose was not to excercise, the purpose was to scream and cry.  I was a mess.  Disheveled.  I was wearing a loose coton dress that was too big; it was hanging off of one shoulder.  And I was wearing flip flop sandals. I simply did not look like anyone who belonged out there in that moment.  I think I looked like some sort of savage crazy woman; walking down a dirt trail, snotting and crying and screaming in my loose cotton dress and flip flop sadals.   And to make it all worse, when I wasn’t screaming, I was desperately panting and breathing his name over and over: 

Kesner…   Kesner… 

I felt so vulnerable, so exposed and alone.  Kesner was my solid; I felt so safe with him and it was like I was desperately trying to call him back to me.  My pleas got lost in the air.  I couldnt find him anywhere.  I was desparate.  I wanted him back. 

Bikers and runners were passing by with strange expressions on their faces; ‘who is this crazy Black woman on our preppy Princeton trail?’  

 waling, crying, hollering.

 When I had enough I returned to Qiyana’s.  Talithea had arranged for her cousin, Marquita, to come by and wash my hair.  I didn’t care about my appearance but I knew deep down that I needed to pull it together.  I had to get myself ready for the Kappas.  The Kappas were doing a dinner for mom and I the following night and even if I couldn’t pull it together for me, I could do it for Kesner.  Kesner used to love the way that I put myself together, and I loved getting pretty for him… 

when he was alive. 

He was dead now, but I could still pull it together for him.  These were his fraternity brothers, after all.  And I was his woman.  It was time for my savage state to end,  I had to get ready for the Kappas.

© Copyright Thank You Very Sweet, 2011

Now it may seem trite that in the midst of tragedy a priority was to get my clothes organized for the Links convention. This was actually very important. The Links convention was less than two weeks away and it was going to be a big week for my mom. At the time she was the sitting national vice president of the organization and she was preparing to run for national president. A lot of people were going to be paying attention to her that week and, by default, me also. Clothes were important.  Mom knew that I would not have the energy or will to get myself ‘wardrobe ready’ for the week, so she staked out Monday as the day that we would go to my apartment. She was planning to go through my closets and pick out my outfits for the assembly.

So here it was Monday morning and we were preparing to go back to Trenton. Over the weekend I’d sent a text message to DaNae and told her: ‘I need to see the baby, bring Naomi to see me on Monday.’ DaNae was my eighteen year-old AmeriCorps intern at the women center and Naomi was her 6 month old baby. If I was going to go back to my sad little lonely apartment, I needed a baby to be there. I was making very few requests during this time. I didn’t care much about anything. I wasn’t talking much. Kesner was still dead. But when I did want something (like my tree, chicken salad, or to see a baby) it came out like a very direct demand. Since I was going to be in Trenton, I demanded that DaNae come see me and that she bring Naomi and Vicki also.

DaNae and Vicki were the only two remaining employees at the women center. It was June 14th and we were preparing to shut down operations on June 30th. Our program was state funded and shortly after Governor Chris Christie won the election in NJ, our funding was eliminated from the state budget. After June 30th, 2010 the women center would no longer be the way it was;and I would have to say painful goodbyes to the remaining members of my staff and to my clients. I was planning to stay at the center through the summer to help close things out administratively;  my plan was to leave in August and head to Rutgers to start my PhD in September.

But since I had just found Kesner dead in his house, everything seemed up in the air and I didn’t feel like doing another thing.

I especially didn’t feel like doing anything hard like saying goodbye to staff and clients and shutting down the program that I had grown to love….

But the women center hadn’t closed yet. It was Monday June 14th, Vicki and DaNae were still at work and I was still their boss. So I asked them to shut down the office and come visit me at my apartment. While my mom was busy going through my closets, I would sit with them and hold the baby. It would be the only way that I could stand being in my apartment.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

The women center.

After Princeton Seminary I was planning to move home to Ohio. I loved my home church, Olivet, and it was my plan to go home and work on staff as a minister there. My Pastor at the time, Dr. Otis Moss, Jr., had always been such an important part of my life and I wanted nothing more than to work with him.

We had discussed me coming home to Olivet, but as the time drew near I sensed hesitation from him. I soon realized why he wasnt making any commitments…

Dr. Moss was planning to retire.

This would change everything.  What would I do now?

At the time I was working part-time at a small faith-based non-profit in Trenton, NJ. as a case worker for women living at and below the poverty line.  And as graduation approached, I was extended the offer to become director of the program. My salary offer was less than my lowest bonus on Wall Street.  I didn’t know how I would live; but my passion for what I would be doing outweighed my perception of need, so I took the job.

I started as the director in July 2008 with the challenge of trying to figure out how to make our services meaningful for women.

I began working with a small group of women who were required to take our job-skills class, as a condition of welfare.  They didn’t want to be there so they gave me a hard time.  In order to get on the same page I needed to make it fun.I brought in a radio and several old school cd’s. I had women in my class that ranged from age 18-65 and the one thing that could connect us all was music. I started teaching the job skills class with Cameo, Soul-to-Soul or Chaka Kahn playing in the background.  Soon work became fun.

Women would be moving their shoulders to the beat and working at the same time. The music set a mood. people were having a good time in my class. I was earning their trust.

And I didn’t feel the need to teach every day. Sometimes I liked to sit and learn from the women in my class.  They shared their experiences with me and I shared mine with them.  Some days I simply allowed space for down time and casual conversation. Time to just sit around the table and share. It was cool.

Some classes would not be structured at all; rather we would just talk about the things going on in our lives. Here the focus was not on work but family, relationships and concern about the community and connecting.

I also taught some job readiness classes in the prison system.  I did the same activities with incarcerated women that I was doing with my welfare-to-work class, and I brought my radio and cd’s with me wherever I went.

Before long, the women center was building and growing. The cornerstone of our work was imparting wisdom and hospitality. If women walked away from my classes with nothing else, they left knowing The 4 Agreements by heart:

1) Be impeccable with your word

2) dont assume

3) dont take anything personally

4) always do your best

I also made sure to affirm them constantly. I would recite the Maya Angelou poem “phenomenal Woman” – a poem I learned by heart when I was fourteen –  and as I shared it with them, I  let each woman know just how phenomenal I thought they were.

I was beginning to love my work, but I needed some help.  I began to pray for the right people to come and help me…

Julie was my first hire.  I met Julie first, she was working in the prison. She is an artsy/quirky Jewish woman from Long Island in her late 40’s. She was very blunt and had a sarcastic sense of humor. She was the GED teacher at the prison and there was always a lot of laughing and excitement coming from her classroom. Upon introducing myself to her, I learned that she’d earned her doctorate in education and that she was working as a consultant with the local community college to teach adult basic education classes in prisons. At the time, I’d developed concern for the women in my class who could not read.  Julie could help. I hired Julie to teach an adult basic education course twice/week.

Then God sent me Tina.

There was this woman in my job skills class who was head and shoulders above the rest.  Her name was Tina. Tina shared her story with us and she allowed me to interview her later.  She was very open about her life journey, and her story went something like this:

Tina is Black. She was born into poverty and molested by cousins and uncles growing up. The men in her family used to call her a ‘tease’ and tell her she had ‘bedroom eyes’ when she was just a little girl. She tried to tell her mom, but nothing happened. She had nobody to trust. In her home there were always parties and lots of alcohol around so at the age of six she started drinking. By the time she was 13 her aunt introduced her to crack. She was smoking marijuana with her aunt and her aunt laced it with crack. Tina never felt so good. So free. She never had so much energy. She felt like she was miles away from her chaotic world and she loved it. She had to have crack again and again. For her, crack was salvation.

She began to do whatever she needed to do to get crack. After she sold everything she could, she began to sell her body.  Each morning her goal was to make enough money to buy beer and crack to get her through the day. And even though her high was never as good as the first time, she kept going back. All the while she was having children that, once born, she would have to give to family members or to the state because she was in no position to raise them. She was powerless over her addiction.  She hated the way she was living, but her life was out of her control.  She told me:

‘The world thinks that people on drugs have no feelings, Kim, like we are less than human because of our addiction.’

Tina was still a feeling person, she was just sick.

She told me about how she was treated on the streets. She was violently raped on several occasions and the police would just pick up her naked bloody body, wrap her in a dirty blanket, and drop her off on her stoop in the projects. Her rapes were never investigated. She was treated as if she was less than human, just simply a “crack head;” never a victim. worthless. And the pain of it all kept her in her addiction.

Pause – I hope this story is breaking your heart. It broke mine. This story is not unique. it is reminiscent of the stories of so many poor Black people in America.  And not only that, but our collective understanding of who are and are not “victims” in our culture needs to change.  Drug addicts can be victims, they typically are.  Poor Black people can be victims.  Any human being can experience victimization, in the United states we are just partial to (and passionate about) the victimization of white people.  Hopefully this will change.  But I digress…

One day, as Tina was preparing to earn her daily money for beer and crack, she got in the car with a man and they drove around the corner so that she could perform tricks on him. When she took off her clothes, the man was disgusted and ordered her to get out of the car. He said; “you are nasty!” By this time Tina wasnt giving much consideration to self-care. And in that moment she was less than 100 pounds and she had eczema covering 60% of her body. But still, she had never been rejected and she was devastated. She stood on the street corner and cried and cried because someone had just called her ugly.

Drugs or no drugs, no woman wants to be called ugly.

She was so ashamed and that triggered something in her – a desire to get better. God would bless her with the means….

When I met Tina she was beautiful and healthy and very much in control. She was an inspiration to me and I decided to hire her as my assistant.  Tina was so honored and excited that I offered her a job, but soon after she accepted, she was called away to join the army. This was her life’s dream. I had to say goodbye. But even though we were not together long, Tina’s story left a print on my heart and on my work – this is why I share it.

I still needed help though, I prayed that God would send someone else.

God answered by sending Vicki. Vicki came to see me one afternoon. She was unlike the majority of the women that I had been serving. Vicki is an Italian-American single mom in her mid-forties. She came to see me for a basic one-on-one computer lesson. She had been working for the same employer for 28 years and she had just been laid off. she saw our brochure at the local unemployment office and scheduled a computer lesson with me. Fifteen minutes into the lesson she began to cry. Being laid off had really broken her. She was a single mom with no way to pay all of her bills. She was so sad.

As we continued to talk I asked her to tell me about her job search and what she had been doing to secure new employment. She opened a very detailed portfolio of all the jobs that she had applied for. She was so organized in her search, so resourceful.  I offered her a job. The title that I gave her was “Job developer.”  Her role was to usher women through the job search process, and also to develop and maintain relationships with local employers. Vicki was superb. And she was so very very loyal to me.

So then there were three: Me, Julie and Vicki. Things were beginning to pick up and more and more we were getting women walking through the door. And we began attracting a diverse group of women from within and outside of the community. We were growing.

One day a woman from the NJ parole board came to visit me and she brought another woman with her. The other woman represented a private foundation in NJ that was interested in funding reentry programs. These two women wanted to know about our involvement with women in prison because they were interested in offering us funding for a program called FORGE. FORGE stands for female offender reentry group effort, and the two of them had been traveling across the state looking for centers that could house this initiative. They were very impressed by the fact that we were already offering classes behind bars and in the matter of a few weeks, they committed to funding a new staff position: A Reentry Specialist.

This was so exciting!!!!! There was only one person that was fit for the Job: Jessie, My soul friend. Jessie is empathetic and she has a special way about her that makes people put their guard down. She is a great listener and she naturally reflects back and makes you think. That, combined with her natural concern for disenfranchised people, makes her a very special person; and for me, the ONLY person that I wanted for the role.

We continued to grow…

Around that time we were also inundated with clothing; many people began donating clothes to our center but we had no organized way to give them away. A group of college students at Rutgers were interested in volunteering with us, so I gave them the task of organizing our clothing closet. These students created what later became known as : “The Clothing Exchange;” One of our signature projects.

The clothing exchange would become a shopping free-for-all that took place on the first Friday of each month. We would transform our women center into a boutique and sell  clothes for $1; everything was $1.00.  It was a big success. What woman doesn’t want clothes?

Our staff and volunteers became personal shoppers and helped women find exactly what they were looking for. This also helped to bring many women together from all walks of life. Whether they were donating clothes or buying clothes, women were sharing resources and it was a beautiful thing.

In the midst of our season of growth, we were also given three americorps positions to fill. Vicki, Jessie and I hosted a series of interviews and decided on three special people: Linda, Terri and DaNae. Linda is an extremely resourceful Latina woman from the Bronx who knows a lot about a lot.

We hired her and gave her the title of “Community Advocate”. She was so proud and confident in her role. She developed a ‘street team’ comprised of mostly children and they were responsible for promoting all of our events in the community and for cultivating resources for women.

Jessie and I met Terri at the domestic violence shelter that we partnered with. Terri was a professional black woman in her late 30’s who had been previously married to an abusive minister. On Sundays he would bring her to church and smile and pretend they were perfect and during the rest of the week he kept her locked in the basement and chained to a bed. She escaped. And she had the most amazing resilience. She is a survivor. She was in transition and didn’t want full-time work, so the americorps position seemed just right for her. We hired her as the FORGE assistant and she also served as a liaison between our program and the domestic violence shelter.

And Lastly there was DaNae. She was quiet and sweet, a 17 year-old who had just graduated from high school.  She didn’t have work experience, but she could learn.  And she was 5 months pregnant; she was going to be a mom. And her baby – Naomi – would become our “office baby.” DaNae became Vicki’s assistant working in job development.

And there we were, a team. A machine. Me, Julie, Vicki, Jessie, Linda, Terri, DaNae and pre-natal Naomi. We became a family. We were three black women, three white women, one Latina woman and a fetus. We came from different walks of life. We represented different generations. We were diverse and thus could accommodate diverse women. It was a beautiful thing!

Amazing things were happening with the women center and it had only been 18 months since I accepted the job!! This was my calling. My life’s work. The sole reason for my being. This was it!

Our climactic moment was the day that Naomi was born.

We were all so excited about the coming of this baby and she was finally here!! We were a family and now we had a baby. All was well in the world.

Ujima Urban Women Center

…………………………………………………………………………………………………….

That is until Governor Christie cut our funding.

MY LIFE’S WORK WAS ENDING AND I WAS ONLY 30!!!  – WHY!!!????

It was all VERY dramatic!

As soon as I got the news about the budget cut, I sent an email to Mara, the owner of the lovely country house that I’ve been writing about. She and her husband own and operate a branding and communication strategy firm in Princeton, and in that moment I knew that she could be an invaluable resource to us. My mom is always saying that “a good leader knows what they don’t know.” I knew that I needed a communication strategy and I didn’t know how to do it. Mara responded immediately. The next morning I was on a 6AM conference call with her and her husband and the two of them walked me through the steps of developing a strategy to “SAVE THE CENTER”. Our strategy included communication with key supporters, a lobbying campaign with state legislators, an aggressive grant writing strategy, a media campaign, a client letter writing initiative, a Tee-shirt campaign, AND an effort to engage national celebrities like Oprah and Mary J. Blige.

Our entire strategy centered around the tag line: Prevention is Cheaper than Incarceration.  At the rate that New Jersey spends per prisoner/per year, we argued that if we just kept three women out of prison then our program has paid for itself.  Mara and Pete advised that we needed to make a financial argument that would resonate with taxpayers.”Prevention is Cheaper than incarceration..”  That became our slogan.

My staff was fully on board and they were helping me as much as they could. Jessie and I applied to many funders,we developed a promotional video, wrote letters to Oprah, developed orange protest tee-shirts, wrote op-ed’s, lobbied with legislators and tried to garner support from key constituents in the community.

Programs for At-Risk Women on NJ Gov’s Chopping Block

Nothing was working.

When it appeared that this was really out of our hands, Jessie and I took the staff to the country house. we had a day long retreat there and we focused on transitioning and next steps. The retreat was our goodbye.

…but I was not going out without a fight.

My last stand was at that conference at Rutgers on June 9th. I sat on that panel in my orange protest Tee-shirt and made one more plea on behalf of our sweet little center. I was down to just two staff members at this point, and I traveled to the conference alone. But I gave one final argument for why we should not be zeroed out. We were different. We were special. We prioritized hospitality. We treated women like human beings. We were gracious and welcoming. We created a safe place for women to open up and share their stories. We were sensitive, diverse and culturally competent.

We were special.

As I sat on the conference panel and I told our story to the audience, I fought back tears. The most important thing I had ever done was ending.

Why God, Why!?!     Why was this happening???!!!???

And then I came home that afternoon and I found Kesner dead.

Perspective.

Oh.

………………………………………………………………………

So there it was, June 14th. Kesner was dead and I didn’t care about anything anymore. I had no more fight left in me. When mom and I walked in my apartment my white sparkle gown was out and hanging in the same place where I’d left it. I was planning to wear it to the Kappa Ball that weekend and I was at home trying it on while Kesner was at home dying. I looked at the dress with disgust and sat down on my couch miserably.

Vicki and DaNae showed up with a bottle of wine and some sandwiches. And most importantly they brought the baby. I held sweet Naomi in my lap as we talked. They told  me that my boss at the non-profit had been questioning them about my whereabouts – but no one had called me directly to see how I was doing.  Upon overhearing this, mom said: ‘they don’t care about you. And they’re supposed to be ministers! Hypocrites! That’s it – I’m taking you home to Ohio with me.’ She was disgusted at their lack of concern.  I was too.  The program was fabulous but the host agency leadership left a lot to be desired.

Vicki and Danae were disgusted with them also. By this time we were all tired of working for the agency, there was too much messiness. And we had bumped heads ideologically on several occasions. Vicki and DaNae jumped on the bandwagon with mom and made plans to collect my belongings from the office and bring them to me. I was not returning to work, it was decided. After the funeral I was going home to Cleveland with my mom.

Mom began to organize my clothes for the Links convention and for the rest of the summer. She worked in my bedroom while I sat and held the baby. I didn’t care about my clothes, whatever she chose would be fine. Nothing mattered.

Vicki and DaNae left, and mom and I were preparing to leave, when we got a text from Kesner’s brother. Mom had been communicating with him all weekend about different details leading up to the funeral. We had been trying to reach Kesner’s mom also, but nobody was answering her phone. His brother said that he wanted to stop by my apartment and see me. He wanted to make sure that I had some input into the funeral. I was so honored by that. He came by and asked me about any Scriptures that Kesner and I read together and any songs that we sang. None of the Scriptures that we read seemed appropriate for a funeral, but I did suggest two songs: ‘Just as I am without one plea’, and ‘Pass me Not O Gentle Savior’.

Kesner’s brother and I agreed on those two songs. He also showed me an obituary that had my name listed in it as Kesner’s girlfriend. And he said they were putting together a slide show of pictures and he asked me for any pictures that I may want to include. I had lots of pictures and I let him upload some, and I told him that I would email some more to him later that night.

There were also two things that I wanted from him: my tree and a painting. By this time we had connected with Mara. She said ‘yes’ we could plant Hope (my tree) at her house and she had picked out just the right spot for Hope. Now I just needed to get permission to dig Hope up from kesner’s backyard. I asked his brother for my tree and at first he said no, he wanted it.

But then he thought about what he was saying and he changed his mind (Kesner’s fraternity brother was already planning to dig up the tree  for me anyway…)

I also asked about a painting. Kesner was an oil painter and he had a collection of original pieces around his house. There was one in particular that I wanted. It was the only painting that he created while we were together. I felt it captured the energy of our love. It was striking and had a vibrant splattering of red in it. I loved it from the minute I saw it. I told Kesner how much I loved it. It was my favorite. He hung it in his bedroom. I wanted that painting so badly. I would treasure it forever.

His brother said no, he wanted it.

He wanted to keep all of Kesner’s paintings.

I decided not to press my luck then. He had agreed to deliver my tree to Mara’s and in that moment the tree was my priority. I haven’t given up on the painting, maybe one day…

Before he left, mom and I asked how he was doing; so much weight had fallen on him to plan everything and we were concerned. He said he was fine. I think he needed that stuff to keep him busy. But he did mention the fact that they had found all that medicine in Kesner’s house. High blood pressure medication and insulin needles… ‘it looks like he wasn’t taking his medication….’

NO!! – I thought.

They’re wrong.

I wished people would stop with this nonsense. Kesner would never let this happen intentionally…

© Copyright Thank You Very Sweet, 2011

We were fifteen minutes from departure when the familiar gold Lexus pulled up the stone driveway.  Felicia went out to greet the driver and passenger:

Our sisters were here from Maryland,  Gloria and Kristen.

Gloria and Mom are not really sisters but they were roommates in college and in grad school.  They met on the campus of Hampton University (formerly Hampton Institute) in 1969.   Gloria had come to Virginia all the way from Indiana and she didn’t like it.  She arrived early and spent the first night in the dorm alone.  By morning she was ready to pack her things and head back to Indiana.  She called her parents from the one telephone on the dorm hall and it was settled, they were making arrangements for her to come home.

An hour  later a beaming social butterfly walked through the door with a bright kool-aid smile and said:

Hey Sack!!

Her roommate had arrived.  Mom plopped her stuff down on the bed and said: “What are we doing in here?  Let’s walk around the campus and see who’s out!” Mom had been at Hampton all summer in a pre-freshman summer program; she felt like she knew a few things.

The pair spent the next eight hours walking around the campus and socializing.  They had a ball and soon Gloria abandoned those thoughts of going home.  When they finally made it back to the dorm that night, somebody rushed up to them and frantically said: “Are you Gloria?  Your parents have been calling the dorm phone all afternoon looking for you; they got you a plane ticket home!” Gloria had to call them back and let them know that she changed her mind; she was staying at Hampton with her new friend, Margot.

Gloria and Mom have lived parallel lives since then, and they have a very special bond; they are truly sisters.  Beyond going to college and grad school together, they pledged Delta together, they got married at the same time, had babies at the same time, got divorced at the same time.  And several years ago, Gloria’s daughter lost her fiancé in a tragic accident.

Gloria lives in Maryland and she had been trying to get to us in New Jersey all weekend.  She decided that she would come up for the day on Sunday and she would bring Kristen.

Kristen is more than a friend to me, she is my sister.  We grew up together in New York City..

Kristen and I both went to Spelman College and we met there three weeks prior to graduation.  She is from South Carolina and I am from Ohio and both of us were planning to move to New York after Spelman.

We graduated in the class of 2002, eight months after 9/11 and in the midst of the Enron corporate scandal.  Because of the changing climate, there were not as many people hired to wall street jobs as there had been in past years.  Both Kristen and I were looking for roommates but neither of us had friends that were heading to the Northeast.  We were introduced by a mutual friend and we agreed to live together.

Kristen and I are polar opposites.  I am impulsive and she is contemplative and methodical.  When we looked for apartments I wanted to make decisions based on feeling and energy while she had a list of requirements that needed to be met.  Thankfully we found a place that we could both agree on.

Over the course of our sister-friendship, Kristen has taught me two important lessons:  how to slow down and how to have a good time.

Kristen is slow.  It takes her a long time to do most things. But slow is not always bad.  Kristen is also slow to anger; she’s slow to wrath; slow to judge; slow to jealousy. She is a calm and patient person with a flexible approach to living life.  Her attitude and flexibility have been blessings to me.

Kristen also knows how to have a good time.  Prior to moving to New York and meeting Kristen I was a boring college co-ed.  Most of my Saturday nights were spent in the living room of my apartment engaged in passionate debates with my close-knit circle of friends.  We would vehemently argue over who has it harder in America: black men or black women.   However living with Kristen taught me how to let my hair down and not take myelf so seriously.  Kristen and I had fun. We partied.  We partied in different area codes.  We kicked it. And in the process Kristen became my sister.

Kristen had been trying to get to me ever since she heard the news about Kesner.  It worked out that she would come with Gloria.  When she came in the house she gave me a hug and said,  “I made a treat for you: Haystacks.”

A Haystack is a homemade candy that consists of Chinese noodles, melted butterscotch chips, and peanuts (optional).  That’s it.  Haystacks are Kristen’s specialty and they are my favorite snack that she makes.

Kristen was so sweet to bring me my treat. But I didn’t want any.  I didn’t want anything that tasted good.  I would only eat Felicia’s chicken salad and only when I was desperately hungry.

Kesner was still dead. 

Mom asked Kristen and Gloria to meet us at the country house and then the four of us would drive to our next comfortable place:  Qiyana’s condo.

Mom got in the car with Gloria, and I got in the car with Kristen.

We didn’t talk much in the car on the way to Qiyana’s. What was there to say? Kesner was dead.  The radio was set on a gospel station.  The frequency was low and there was a lot of static.  But we kept it on the station and drove from Hopewell to Princeton in silence – static gospel playing in the background.

Qiyana lived in a comfortable two bedroom/ two bathroom condo in Princeton.  Her condo had an open concept with a balcony.  Her living room had an over-stuffed L-shape couch that faced a 62 inch flat screen television with surround sound.  And her development had tennis courts, a resort style swimming pool, a fully equipped gym with racquet ball courts, and locker rooms with saunas.  There were also a bunch of man-made lakes with benches, gazebos and walking paths along the way.  I had decided that I would live comfortably forever and Qiyana’s was the second comfortable place where I would stay.  I was glad to be anywhere but home, I didn’t want to go back to my apartment.  It was all too sad.

When we got to Qiyana’s I settled into the corner of her  couch and sat there for five or six hours.   I wasn’t moving. There was commotion in the house though; and deep inside, I was glad that Kristen and Gloria were there.  They couldn’t tell though, my face was blank and expressionless.  I was silent and miserable looking.

My line sister Katrina stopped by and so did my dean of pledges, Latriece.  Latriece came by with a rotisserie chicken, with which Felicia could make chicken salad.  We had a cool Delta moment.  Mom and Gloria, who were line sisters at Hampton, started singing the Delta Sweetheart Song in two-part harmony.  It was beautiful and brought a little peace into the painful moment.

Around that time, Talithea and Felicia arrived with a bushel of live crabs.  Mom and Gloria were going to take us all out but when Gloria saw the crabs she said:

“We’re not going anywhere!”

Felica and Talithea steamed the crabs right there in the apartment and they also made clams and steamed shrimp.  Mom and Gloria were happy.  Mom is from Virgina and grew up eating crabs and Gloria has an annual seafood party were Crabs are the hot item.  They didn’t think we had whole crabs in New Jersey but people forget our proximity to the Atlantic Ocean.

They spread newspapers over Qiyana’s dining room table and the five of them: Gloria, Kristen, Mom, Talithea and Felicia sat around the table and ate.  Mom and Gloria told stories about their friendship.  Gloria talked about how bossy mom is and how she made her become a Delta and she made her become a Link…  They talked about the dynamics of having a forty-year-old friendship in a way that was particularly inspiring to Talithea and Felicia.

While they ate, Qiyana and I went for a walk outside in the rain and we sat and talked under one of the Gazebos.  Qiyana was going to go away for a few days.  She was going to the beach in Maryland with her best friend, Pierre.  All of this had been a little heavy for her and I think she needed to get away.  She would be back for the funeral.  In the meantime she gave her condo over to Mom and me for as long as we needed to be there.  I was thankful.

That evening we said goodbye to Kristen and Gloria; they got back on the road around 6PM to return to Maryland.  Kristen would be back for the funeral.

Later that evening, as Mom and I settled into bed, mom said:

 “I know you don’t want to, but we need to go to your apartment tomorrow…  I need to get your clothes organized for the Links Convention.”

I thought to myself :  “Right…  The Links Convention.”

© Copyright Thank You Very Sweet, 2011

It was time to go.  It was sunday morning and Pete and Mara were on their way back from Scotland.  It was time to return their lovely country home to them.  We decided that we would leave the house by noon.

There was a lot of scurrying around in the morning. Klay and Gayle were collecting their things, Qiyana was going to drop them off at the train station.  Talithea had to get home to her family.  And Mom and Felicia were cleaning up; Felicia had returned that morning to help clean up and get us packed to leave.

While all of this was happening, I was sitting miserably on the couch in the living room doing absolutley nothing.  Nobody expected much from me. I hadn’t moved or spoken much. Instead I just sat blankly on the couch.

I didnt care about much.   …and Kesner was still dead.

but in that moment I did make one decision:

I had to get my tree, Hope. 

It used to be our tree, Mine and Kesner’s.  We bought it one Monday afternoon from Home Depot:  We had gone to see my friend, Joy, preach her senior sermon at Princeton.  She preached about surrender, she was excellent.  afterwards we went to a diner for lunch and then drove past Home Depot when Kesner said: 

“lets plant a tree.”  

What a good idea, I thought.  I love symbolism.  I began to imagine this tree growing and growing as a symbol of our love and the life we were building together.  

“what kind of tree should we get?” I asked.  “we’ll know it when we see it.” he replied. 

Home Depot had been completely cleared out the weekend before, it was April and it was unseasonably warm.  people were planting. The only trees left were fruit trees; apple trees and pear trees. 

A fruit tree,  perfect!   – we thought 

We were going to bear fruit together; a fruit tree seemed like the perfect symbol. we bought a baby apple tree. I immediately began to fantasize about our children eating apples from our tree one day….  I was excited.  

Kesner told me to name it.  I named it Hope. 

Kesner planted Hope in his back yard.  Hope was so  cute and skinny at the time.  We used to sit on his deck and look at Hope.  And speak to Hope when we walked by.  We even prayed over Hope.  Hope was our growing baby.

Kesner planted Hope in a strange spot, however.   Hope was right next to stone path.  And Hope didnt have a lot of direct sun light because Kesner had this massive other tree that hovered over Hope and created a lot of shade.  I asked him why he chose that spot and he said that Ce-Ce dug a hole there on the morning before he gave her back to her owners. 

Ce-Ce is a sweet dog that followed Kesner home one night when he was going door-to-door on the campaign trail.  He took her in and got her shots and fed her and adopted her for a few months, but he never stopped looking for her owners.  Her owners finally connected with Kesner and one week after we started dating seriously, Kesner had to give Ce-Ce back. It was sad. I always held out a little hope that Ce-Ce would find her way back to Kesner’s house, but she never did.  So I didnt argue with him when he wanted to plant Hope in the hole that Ce-Ce dug.  

The tree’s name was Hope, after all.  Hope would grow against all odds. 

But Hope wasn’t growing.  By now Hope had become completely overtaken by the shade of that massive other tree and I didnt think the concrete path would allow much room for Hope’s roots to spread out.  Plus, now that Kesner was dead, what would happen to his house?  They would sell it , I suppose.

I had to get my tree. 

I made a decision.  I wanted Hope,  and I wanted to replant Hope at Pete and Mara’s country house. Hope would be safe there.  They would take good care.  Hope would have all of the sunlight that it needed.  AND this was the last place that Kesner and I were together… 

I wrote a letter to Mara.

I don’t remember exactly what I said in the letter, but I know I told her about Kesner. I also apologized for two cracked wine glasses, the orchid that had been stripped of its pedals and a cracked clay pot outside of the back door.  And I asked if I could plant Hope at their house.  I think I also mentioned that Plaque on the wall: Bidden or not bidden, God is Present.  Even though I was  pissed, I knew that God was present.  I also thanked them for their beautiful home and I let them know that it was even more special to me now.

When I was finished writing the note, I went back to doing nothing.  I just sat on the couch while mom and Felicia got us organized to leave.  The couch was the last place that Kesner held me tight.  We spooned on that couch on the last evening that we were together.  

we had been arguing all afternoon. Towards the end of the argument,  I was lying on the couch pouting, crying and being miserable, and he just wanted the argument to be over.  He finally said: “can I climb in there with you?”  and i said “ok.”   He climbed behind me and held me tight and said “I’m sorry for whatever I did to upset you.”  and I said “Im sorry for judging you and calling you mean.”  he gave me three kisses on my shoulder and arm,  and he held me there…  that was our last night together. 

So I didn’t want to leave the couch.  ….but we were getting close to departure.  I began to cry.  Felicia saw me and she stopped everything and came over to the couch and held me in her arms like a child.  (Tears are welling in my eyes now as i type this).  My friend, Felicia, held me close and allowed me to cry aloud in her arms.  That takes so much maturity and love.  I sobbed and sobbed, and she held me until the moment passed.

Thank you Felicia. 

When the moment finally passed and I prepared to say my goodbyes to the country house, I looked around and I made one more decision:

I would definitely live comfortably for the rest of my life.

© Copyright Thank You Very Sweet, 2011

It was day four.  Saturday. Early in the morning.  My mom and I were lying in the bed in the master bedroom at the country house. I was in a catatonic zombie-like state, staring at the ceiling.   I didn’t have much to say.  Kesner was still dead.

Mom was trying to make it better.

She would say small things here and there.  She read me emails and text messages that she was receiving.  She wanted me to know how many people were praying for me.  A few people called during that time.  Aunt Carole.  Aunt Pepper.  I listened to her end of the conversation as she talked to them on the phone.

We were just lying there.  Just the two of us.  Me and Mom. In the morning.

Mom asked me what Kesner’s last words were to me.  I told her:

“Thank you very sweet.” 

That was the email that he sent me after I left the bag of groceries on his back porch.  One simple line.  no comma.

It was at that exact moment that I began to consider the greater meaning and possibility of that sentence.  It was as if he had said, thank you for this very sweet little romance just before I died.  Thank You Very Sweet.

It was sweet.

Mom thought that was a perfect goodbye.  She said:

“That should be the title of your book.  ‘Thank You Very Sweet.’ I know you’re feeling badly now, but when you’re feeling better, I think you should write about this.  You have an incredible story to tell…”  

She was right.  But I didn’t want to think about writing then.  I would think about that tomorrow…

Around that time we began to hear stirring in the house.  Klay and Gayle were up and moving around.  Mom got out of bed to have a few words with Gayle.  The two of them were conspiring to force feed me.

Gayle 

Gayle, otherwise known to me as ‘Glitter Pop,’ is my friend and my Link Sister in the Metro Manhattan Chapter of Links.  A few of us call her ‘Glitter Pop’ because that is how she refers to her jewelry collection.  According to Gayle, any basic outfit can be made fabulous with a little glitter and a little pop. Gayle is always iced out in diamonds, sapphires, emeralds, etc.  And Gayle’s ‘basic’ style is St. John head- to-toe.  She is always well appointed and simply,… fabulous.

I had the pleasure of meeting one of Gayle’s college friends over the summer.  She said that in college they used to call Gayle ‘Whitley’ because she reminded them of the character from the popular TV show: “A Different World.”  Monet said once that she’s never met a Gayle that wasn’t fabulous.  I agree, I think the name Gayle carries fabulous expectations with it.

But Glitter Pop is more than fabulous to me, she is my friend.  Gayle and I have been friends for several years now.  She is so positive and happy.  She loves life and she embraces each moment with joy and fullness.  She inspires me.

But in that moment, at the country house, there was no glitter and no pop.  No ice.  Just Gayle in a satin floral moo moo with a tray of Activia yogurt and two blueberry mini muffins.

They sandwiched me in the bed.  Gayle on one side and mom on the other.  they were gearing up to force feed me!

Mom was growing weary of my food fast.  And truthfully I was getting hungry.  But I only wanted to eat the minimum amount.  I did not want to indulge.  I did not want to enjoy anything.  I would eat just enough so that I could have energy for one more day.

And so the three of us sat up in the bed.  Gayle to my left and mom to my right.  Gayle spoon fed me yogurt until it was all gone.  She fed me two mini muffins also.  They made me eat every bite.  I rolled my eyes.  But inside I felt thankful.  For the LOVE that was resting on either side.  Just then, LOVE also walked through the bedroom door.  Klay came into the room to join us.  It had been decided that I also needed to take a bath. They had done so much conspiring in such a short amount of time.

Klay drew me a bubble bath in the heavenly soaking tub.  The bath was made complete with fresh floating orchid pedals and a comfortable white robe to put on when I got out.  I was thankful.  But still very sad.  They left me alone and I sat in the tub, knees to chest, and looked blankly out of the window.  Kesner was still dead. 

How had this happened? 

When I had enough, I got out. I put on the robe and proceeded to get dressed.  I came back into the master to find my mom reading a plaque on the bedroom wall:

‘Bidden or not Bidden, God is Present.’ 

Whatever – I thought.

I didn’t feel like I knew God anymore.  I was angry.

I put on a simple green cotton dress and I went outside to the patio and returned to my lounge chair.  I spent the rest of the day there. Felicia was among the first to arrive that day.  (Qiyana, Klay and Gayle had stayed over from the night before).  Felicia came with her son, Baby Craig.

Baby Craig was a blessing.  He arrived with an arm full of colorful silly bands.  Each band had their own little shape.  Felicia suggested that he give me one of his bands ‘to make Miss Kim feel better.’  He gave me two green bands that matched my green dress.  When he took them off and handed them to me, I looked and they were both in the shape of angels.

Baby Craig had given me two angels. 

Of all the animal shapes that adorned his arm the two that he gave me were angels.  It was in that exact moment that I began to feel Kesner’s presence for the first time.

He was with me.  

I wore those green silly bands all summer long.

Baby Craig didn’t stay with us too long after that.  He was mesmerized by the large sprawling front yard. He immediately took off running.  It was the most precious site.  He was smiling and laughing and happy.  It made us happy to watch him run.  Felicia pulled out her i-phone and captured it on her camera.

Children are such a blessing.

Talithea came by also.  She had just been sitting for the Principal’s exam and she was beside herself.  She thought she failed.  Talithea is an educator that fully understands and embraces the challenges and complexities of teaching in an urban school in today’s world.  She should be a principal. She gets it.  She had been preparing for this test for weeks, but she had not expected the kind of week that she was going to have leading up to the test.  I knew that she was feeling anxious, so I prayed for her.

It was my only prayer during that time.  The only communication between me and God, who I was mad at.

I told her so.  I told Talithea that if my prayers mean anything, “I want you to know that I prayed.”  She was thankful but still sad.  She didn’t want to bother me with her sadness, so she left me outside in my chair and went in the house to talk to my mom – The Comforter.

Mom was frying fish by this time and Talithea came in and just cried.  I don’t know many details about their encounter because I was not with them, but I know that my mom gave her comfort.  She made her feel better.  And soon Talithea joined us again on the patio with a glass of wine.  She was going to be ok.

It was around this time that they (the conspirators) had developed another food strategy.  They made me trade food for wine!  I could not have any wine unless I ate something.

The Horror!

Felicia made chicken salad.  She placed a plate of it next to me with some crackers.  If I wanted wine I had to eat a few bites.I  begrudgingly scooped a little onto a cracker and took a bite.

Oh..My…Goodness…!!!!!!!!!!!  Chicken salad never tasted so good!!  Oh my goodness!! What in the world was in that chicken salad?!?  I couldn’t deny it. I didnt want to let on that I was enjoying it – I wasnt supposed to be enjoying food -Kesner was still dead! But, food fast or no food fast, that chicken salad was the bomb!!!  I made one exception to my fast.  I would only eat chicken salad.  Nothing else.  And only enough to survive.

It was a small victory for the food conspirators.  Chicken salad it was!  As long as I was eating something.  And it would be that way for the rest of the week.  If I was hungry at all, Felicia just seemed to be right there to whip up some chicken salad on the spot.

That evening my mom went to the Kappa Ball for just a few moments to connect with Kesner’s fraternity brothers and give regards on my behalf.  They confirmed that the funeral was going to be the following Saturday.  They also expressed interest in doing a gathering, a visitation with me and my mom on Wednesday of that week.

When my mom returned, she took a bath and went to bed. Gayle and Klay enjoyed each other’s company by wine and candle light in the living room.  and I sat outside in the dark with my sorority sisters, Talithea and Qiyana.

It was the second week in June and fireflies were lighting the night sky.  It was beautiful. It looked like Christmas.  Twinkling lights. I felt like Kesner was putting on a show for me.  Wanting me to know that he was there. He was present.

The three of us talked for a bit and then Talithea soon retired to bed, she stayed with us that night.  Our last night at the house.

Qiyana and I sat a little longer.

I began to cry.  It was a loud pain – filled cry into the night.  I was still sitting in the lounge chair that I had been sitting in all day and Qiyana was sitting quietly by my side.  I cried and cried into the darkness. And then I stopped for a moment and  I looked at my friend with cancer and said to her with absolute authority :

“Don’t you dare die!  Don’t you leave me!”  I said “Qiyana, don’t you stop believing for one second that you are going to live!!!”

She looked at me and was silent for a while..    then she whispered:

 “Ok.”

And that was that. We went inside and went to bed.

© Copyright Thank You Very Sweet, 2011

One Sunday after church, Talithea and I had brunch in New Hope Pennsylvania; a cute little town on the Deleware River.  After brunch we walked past a shop that said “Readings by Edith,”  Talithea said she wanted to go in and get a $15.00 palm reading. 

We prayed first. 

I wanted to be sure not to make an idol out of this.  I prayed that God would close our ears and hearts to things we weren’t meant to hear; that he would protect us from ourselves.  

The man who did the reading (Edith’s grandson, Robert) introduced himself and asked for Talithea’s first name and her birthday; then he proceeded to read her palm as if it were a book.  He read her very well.  How did he know so many things about my friend?  I was impressed.  I decided to get my palm read also.

Robert told me that I had a very old soul and that it probably wasn’t coming back after this lifetime.  He told me that the theme of my soul is justice.  He said that I am a very spiritual person, but that I am concerned with everything in the world right now (he said that twice).  And he told me that I would have two great loves. 

We left that afternoon, keeping all that we heard in perspective.  It was just an experience; an interesting one.  But I went home and I thought to myself:

Two great loves, huh?

That thought remained with me through my relationship with Kesner.  He was my first,  my first great love.  But I didn’t know what to make of the fact that I had been told that I would have two.  I tried not to think about it often. but when I did, I wondered if my second great love would be something else.  Maybe a hobby, a child or a dog. Nothing was going to happen to Kesner, right? 

Recently, and in the time since Kesner has been dead, friends in New York have been encouraging me to see a particular tarot card reader in Brooklyn. I’m afraid.  I dont want to know anymore.  I have been told that if I decide to go I should have questions for her.  About career, finances, stuff like that.  But I don’t really care that much about those things anymore.  Im sure my career will be fine and my finances too.  If I were to ask a question, I suppose it would be about love.  

Will I be mature enough to love and be loved for the rest of my life?  

A friend told me once that  Kesner died on a pedestal. That we weren’t together long enough for me to see his bad sides.  That I will forever have a glamorized view of who he was etched in my heart.  Kesner loved me incredibly. He loved me like somebody who knows they are dying. He seized every moment and made it special.  He was patient and forgiving and kind and thoughtful and romantic. His love was pure.

While he was living, I was not concerned over whether or not he would change.  My concern was about me.  Could I stand to be loved like that for the rest of my life?  Could I accept it?  Not doubt it?  Not question it? Ever?  Would I always be the kind of wonderful that he thought I was?  Did he see more in me than I saw in myself?

It was not him on the pedestal.  It was me. Could I stand it?

I had to be broken to receive love.  And I was finally broken.  When Kesner died I felt like someone took a club and knocked my knees out from under me.  I felt like somebody took a shovel and dug hole in my chest.  My heart was missing.  I was on the ground. I had nothing to give.  All I could do was receive  LOVE.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………….

And back at the country house, just two days after Kesner died, LOVE was all around….    

When my mom and I returned from our lunch in downtown Hopewell, LOVE was waiting for us in the driveway.  Talithea was sitting in the driveway and she had Qiyana and TJ in the car. TJ is Talithea’s six year old son.  I didn’t realize it until I saw him, but children are wonderful at a time like that.  They help to keep you in the present moment.  My mom wanted to go to the grocery store, so she and Talithea went to the local market while Qiyana, TJ and I sat outside on the patio in the afternoon sun.  And for a few moments, I stepped outside of my personal hell; because TJ was there.

The afternoon passed quickly after that. I don’t remember many details.  TJ’s dad came to get him.  Mom and Talithea returned and Felicia came by. I remember that they brought me a newspaper.  Kesner was on the front page. “Candidate Dead at 35,” the headline read.

This was the article that we forwarded to friends and family.

Before we knew it, it was evening and Klay and Gayle had arrived from New York.  Klay entered wearing a seersucker jacket, a white v-neck tee, fitted seersucker bermuda shorts and matching flip flops.  He was carrying an Hermes weekender.   We all commented on how great he looked:

 “It’s just basic” he said.  We laughed.

Gayle was there also.  Glitter Pop.  She was wearing a rhinestone studded Tee shirt and blue jeans, and she was bejeweled in diamonds and sapphires.  “Just Basic,” she said.  We laughed again.   Talithea and Felicia had gone to pick up Gayle and Klay from the train station.  And while they were out, they picked up one more surprise visitor.

Hussain.

Hussain came in wearing a red Kappa Alpha Psi Jacket and blue jeans.  That’s all I saw. The red.  The jacket.  Kappa Alpha Psi. Kesner might as well have walked in the room.

Hussain is Kesner’s fraternity brother and dear friend.  He said that he needed to see me. He sat next to me on the couch in the living room and he put his arm around me and I rested my head on those greek letters.   Kappa Alpha Psi.

Hussain reiterated that they had been missing me around Kesner’s house.  They were wondering where I was.  He said that Kesner’s ex-girlfriend had been doing… a lot.  And that the fraternity brothers wanted to see me.  He tried to get me to come to the Kappa Black and White Ball, it was happening the following evening.  I didn’t want to go. So we decided that my mom would go in my stead, just for a few minutes; to give my regards to the Kappas.

So that night, all of us: Gayle and Klay, Hussain, Mom, Talithea and Felicia, and I sat around the candle lit living room of the country house.   We had a nice time.  We looked at Pictures of Kesner on line.  One of them had logged on to their facebook page and we looked on line at all of the tributes to him.  Different people expressing their feelings about him.  All sorts of pictures. It was pleasant.

Before Hussain left he told me one other thing.

“We found all of this medicine in his house.   A bunch of insulin shots in his fridge.  And a lot of high blood pressure medication that he wasn’t taking.  I don’t think Kesner was taking care of himself….”

No!

I shut that idea down immediately.

“There’s no way.  I saw him take his shots.” 

They don’t know what they’re talking about; I resolved.  There was just no way. Kesner would never have allowed this to happen intentionally… 

There was just no way.

© Copyright Thank You Very Sweet, 2011

In the months after Kesner died, I struggled over whether or not to keep Kesner’s phone number in my phone. We weren’t broken up.  We weren’t finished.  Wasn’t he still my man?  even though he was dead?  My emotions were jumbled and confused.  We weren’t over.

I spoke to my counselor, Monica, about it.  She told me that I didn’t have to erase his number if I wasn’t ready.  She even suggested that I give him a call or send him a text message if I needed to.  So I started with the texts.  Every once and a while I would send a text: 

Hey boo.  Love you.  Miss you.  Thinking of you.  Love you.  Love you. 

 It helped. 

Well one Thursday afternoon in October, I got a call back from Kesner’s phone number.  My heart stopped when I saw : ‘Kesner Calling.’  I answered. It was a man.  He asked me to please stop texting “I love you” to his son.  

Whoa. 

The phone company has given his number away.  

“Sorry, that’s my boyfriend’s old number, he’s dead.” 

Thankfully this all happened as I was pulling up at the Marriott Marquis in Times Square; I was there to meet my mother, The Comforter.  When I walked into the hotel room she was laying on the bed wearing a white fluffy robe taking a “nap.”  She looked cute; she was only half sleeping. I didn’t tell her about the text thing right away but I did start to tear up.  She said “I know, this really sucks.” 

She went on to tell me how she had just had a good cry for herself.  She was looking forward to being in the next mom season; the season where you are planning a wedding with your daughter.  And she waslooking forward to grandchildren.  She was grieving the season that we were so close to and now felt so far from.  She said, “I know you’re sad, but can we talk about me right now?”  that made me laugh. 

I love my mom. 

That night we went to the ELC dinner at the Hilton.  The ELC (Executive Leadership Council) is a group of the top 300 black corporate executives in the US.  The dinner was fabulous and Klay joined us.  We had a nice time together. 

After the dinner my mom and I had chocolate martinis at the Marriott.  We talked more and I finally told her about the text thing. She was troubled that I was still texting his phone, but she tried not to show it.  She said “I’m so proud of you.  you’re so strong.  I’m so proud of you, baby…”

I know it pained her to see me that way; I’d shaved my head by this time… 

My mom went on to say another thing.  She said: “There is someone out there for you, baby, and I think he’s at Rutgers.  Be open.”  I told her about this guy that I always see in the library; the second year law student. He seems..  different.  He’s really nice to the librarian, Phyllis. I like Phyllis. And I like that he treats her well.  But that’s it. ‘I’m so clearly not ready,’ I said.  My mom agreed. 

But I miss being in love.  It wasn’t over between Kesner and me, and I miss love.  I want to give and receive love.  I feel like I’ve learned new lessons about love; Kesner taught me so many. And I’ve learned even more in this season of loss.  I have done a lot of reflecting; I’ve taken inventory of my shortcomings.  

How could I have loved differently?  More freely?  Without pride? 

I feel like I’m being prepared for the incredible love that I will share with my husband; the father of our children. There is part of me that wants to get started right away; I want to love in the new accepting and patient way that I have learned. But the other part of me knows that I will have to wait.  I’m not  ready.  And he (whoever he is) may not be ready either. 

Sometimes I think about who this special guy might be, the love of myfuture. Is he reading this post right now? I get excited thinking about how incredible he is.  He is creative and sensitive. He is forgiving and patient. He is wonderfully complicated; my complexity matches his. I love him already.  And our children that we will raise together. I love them also. 

Thinking about all of these things had my emotions all balled up that week. By the time I got to church on that Sunday morning I was an emotional train wreck.  Lynn preached about the four men who lifted the roof off of a house to lower their friend to see Jesus. 

Back Story: 

Jesus was preaching in a house.  There was a man who was paralyzed and needed a healing.  Four of his friends brought him to Jesus on a mat, hoping that Jesus would heal him.  When they arrived there were too many people around, so they dug a hole through the roof and lowered the man in from above.  “When Jesus saw their faith, he said to the man: your sins are forgiven…pick up your mat and walk.”  The man was no longer paralyzed and he picked up his mat and walked home. He was healed.

Lynn talked about the kind of determination it takes to tear the roof off of a house to get to Jesus.  She talked about the faith of those friends that dug and dug and pulled a roof apart with their bare hands to bring their paralyzed friend to Jesus (the roof was probably made with mud and clay). 

I cried and cried as I listened to her sermon.  I was that man; that paralyzed friend.  And my friends, and my mom, and my brother, Michael; they were digging.  Whether they knew it or not, whether it was intentional or not; they are the ones who have been carrying me to Jesus. 

I had two emotion-filled conversations after church that day; one with Laura and one with Andy.  Laura is a massage therapist and she’d wanted to give me a massage for the past few months.  Massage is one of her spiritual gifts and she is open about her faith in her work.  I was already planning to have that massage after church that day, and I was so thankful because I really needed it.  She followed me home and we talked as she was setting up the table.  I cried and shared many thoughts with her.  She told me about a book “Embraced By the Light” which she subsequently loaned to me to read.  Then she gave me the best massage I’ve ever had.  I am usually not a massage ‘table talker,’ but we talked the entire time.  We talked about deep and meaningful things.  On the table, I felt like the paralytic receiving a healing – yet another one.  I was so thankful when she was finished.  It was time for me to pick up my mat and walk.  As soon as she left, I immediately returned to telling my story… 

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

It was morning of the third day; the third day after Kesner died, Friday.  My mom and I were sitting on opposite couches in the living room at the country house.  Everyone was gone.  Klay, Andrea and Monet left early to return to New York.  It was pretty depressing. Just mom and me.   I wasn’t saying much and I could tell that my mom was hurting to see me this way.  The only interesting moments were when she would get a phone call.

when mom would get a call, I would just sit and watch her.  I would listen to her end of the conversation:

“yeah”…. “not so good” …. “thank you, please keep us in your prayers.”  …”he was an incredible young man, and he loved my child.”

But beyond the phone calls, we were just sitting there looking at each other. Both of us realized that we needed some more energy in the house.  People.

Around that time, Klay sent a text message to my mom.  He said that he’d made it safely back to New York but he was willing to come back to Hopewell if we wanted him to.  Mom and I said “yes, please come back…  and bring Gayle with you.”  We also gave a call to Talithea.  She was coming as well and she was going to bring TJ.

And then a text came in: “Hey Sis, I’m on my way.  Been trying to get to you but I had Chemo yesterday. I had to wait to build up my energy.”  It was…

Qiyana. My sister. My line sister in Delta Sigma Theta. Qiyana was trying to get….  to me?  That’s the sort of thing that gives you pause.  Qiyana has cancer.

FUCK CANCER!!!

When you’re grieving you can become very selfish.  Self absorbed.  But when someone leaves Chemo Therapy to come see you and spend time with you in your grief, you have no choice but to step outside of yourself for a moment.  Obviously you can see how I feel about cancer.  More about that in the next chapter…

So company was coming.  Talithea and TJ, Gayle and Klay, and Qiyana.  We would also have two more surprise visitors before the night ended.  We had people to look forward to.

It was lunch time by now.  While we waited for our company to arrive, mom suggested that we walk around the town of Hopewell and get something to eat.  We went to a café in town.  Mom ordered me a bowl of pea soup.  It just sat there.  I wasn’t eating.

There were two women sitting at a table close by.  It was clear that they were gossiping.  They really made me angry.  I wanted to walk up to them and flip over their table. I wanted to tell them how stupid their conversation was and how precious life is.  But I didn’t have the energy. or the will.  Instead I just sat there in contempt.

Refusing to eat.

And then I looked again.  The waiter had brought them the most decadent looking piece of chocolate cake.  It was beautiful and yummy looking.

That piece of cake would be just the sort of thing that Kesner would have wanted to eat but wouldn’t have been able to eat.  He had diabetes.  He had to watch his sugar.  In that moment I decided that whenever I did start eating again, I was going to enjoy sweets.  I was going to enjoy them for the rest of my life…  for Kesner.

© Copyright Thank You Very Sweet, 2011

When Jesus was preparing his disciples for his death, he told them that he would send a comforter.  He was talking about the Holy Spirit.

Now far be it for me to compare my mother to the Holy Spirit, but she was indeed “ The Comforter”  in this situation.  And not just my comforter, she was everyone’s comforter.

When she arrived and asked for me, my friends pointed in my direction.  She saw me sitting in that lounge chair, lifeless, and she approached.  I stood just long enough to fall into her arms.  She held me so tightly and I cried aloud into her chest.  It was the first time that I cried aloud.  I screamed and hollered a muffled cry into my mother’s bosom and she held my waist and the back of my head and whispered: “Jesus…JESUS!”

It broke her heart to see me like that. so weak. so tired. so sad.

She told me later that she needed to see me.  She needed to lay eyes on me. She knew that I needed her but  – after this horrible event – she needed to see me also.

Mom is always saying that “a good leader knows what she doesn’t know;”  so in typical mom fashion, she had done her research prior to coming.  She had spoken to a few women who lost significant loves.  She asked them what she should do; what she should say.  They told her not to say anything; that there was nothing that could be said. They told her to simply be present and listen.

She was good at that.

After our moment outside, we said goodbye to my sorors;  just Klay, Monet and Andrea remained.  We went inside and decided to sit down for a meal, there was food everywhere.

My mom looked around the house with a confused look on her face.

“Where are we?”  – the wonders of the country house were not lost on her.  We had only given her an address, but not much detail about where we were and how we ended up there.  After a brief explanation, she shared Klay’s sentiment:

“Well if you MUST grieve, best to grieve in a place like this…” 

We all sat around the small wooden table in the kitchen. They made me a plate of food but I was not eating.  Instead I chose to listen as each friend shared themself with my mom.  And she in turn shared herself with them.  Klay, Monet and Andrea were intending to leave and drive back to New York that night, but instead they decided to stay.

Aunt Margot was there. 

My mom is a special lady.  She is incredible.  Most people know her as a Key Bank Executive, or the National President of the Links, but I know her as mom.  And my friends know her as “Aunt Margot.”

My mom is compelling.  She is the type of woman that walks into a room and commands space.  She is very approachable though, and friendly.  And funny.  And wise.  She knows a lot about a lot and can engage on many topics.  She’s an amazing story teller. She’s a magnet of energy.  She is beautiful.

I have always enjoyed sharing my mom with my friends.  Even as a child, friends used to say: “you have such a cool mom.”  She is the person that many friends confide in and seek motivation from.  Her anecdotes and funny sayings become jokes that are repeated over and over  – they last for years and years.

I honestly don’t know how she does it.  I don’t know how she balances having such a busy professional and social life and is still able to be so present with us.

My mother has been so present with me in my grief. 

And she was physically present then.  At the country house.

Sitting around that table and watching my friends talk about life with my mom was a gift.  I was thankful to share her.  I didn’t have much to say, but my friends were getting to spend quality time with my amazing mom in a house in the country around a small wooden table.  It was precious.

And that is how it would be for the next nine days, until the funeral.  My mom would be a gift.  A gift to my community of friends and loved ones.  Anyone who dared to come around and spend some time with us, got to spend quality time with The Comforter.  And that is significant.  My mom is very busy; she is typically scheduled months out in advance.  She rarely has this much time.  But she took the time off to be with me.  She canceled trips and meetings.  She cleared her schedule.  And I was so thankful.

The Comforter had arrived. 

Soon after that we all went to bed.  Klay Monet and Andrea would stay one more night. I snuggled in bed with my mom.  This time I slept for 3 hours or so.  Tomorrow would be another day.

But Kesner was still dead.

© Copyright Thank You Very Sweet, 2011