Thank You Very Sweet

My phone had been ringing non-stop. Many of those calls were from my sorority sisters.  several of my line sisters who were in the area had expressed interest in coming to see me.  they knew that I was out somewhere in the country and they knew that I had a group of friends from new york with me.  They offered to bring us food.

That’s a beautiful thing, when people decide to simply show up.

When someone that you care about has experienced something horrible, you just show up.  You don’t wait for an invitation. You won’t get one.  Just go.  Unless they ask you not to come.  Also, food is always a good idea.  Nobody really feels like cooking or going out to eat.  It’s nice to have options. Nice to have a variety of food at your fingertips.  I wasn’t eating, but I appreciated all of the food we had.  My friends did too.  And so did my mom, she was coming. She was really close by this time.

So my sorors were there; they found the country house in Hopewell. Katrina, Christi, Deb, Kim, Nakia, they all showed up.  Inside I was really thankful to see them, but unfortunately my thankfulness did not translate very well through my facial expression.  My face was still in that strange new position.  That sad blank position.  And I was sitting, lifelessly, on that same lounge chair outside.  They all sat around me in a circle.  It was hard for them to see me like that, because they know me as “Sunshine;” my sorority sisters call me Sunshine because I am always smiling.

But I wasn’t smiling….  there was nothing to smile about.

Kesner was still dead. 

I asked them how their husbands were doing, three of them are married to Kappas; Kesner’s fraternity brothers.  “So-so” they said.  Nobody was doing well.  Kesner’s death was a big shock to the entire community.

They told me that there had been a lot of activity in Trenton, particularly at Kesner’s house; lots of people helping.  Lots of people around, including his ex-girlfriend;  apparently she was doing a lot.

Folks were beginning to wonder where I was. They were wondering why I wasn’t there also.

I would be no help to them at his house, I’d resolved.  As it was, I could hardly move.  I was barely talking.  Not eating. What would I do there? Also, I figured that she (the ex) needed to be there.  For peace and closure. The house certainly wasn’t big enough for the two of us. and people grieve differently – sometimes ‘doing’ is easier than ‘dealing’.

Also –  I had given Kesner his flowers while he was still living.  My granddaddy always used to say: “give me my flowers while I’m living.”  by that, he meant that most people will show up with flowers after someone dies, but at that point it’s too late.  The person is already dead.  I had given Kesner his flowers.  I loved him until death.  Till death did us part.

My Grand Daddy, Mom’s Daddy.  A Southern Baptist Minister

And also I had found his dead body.  So there was nothing more that I needed to do.

I couldn’t do another thing.

As we (my sorority sisters and I) sat in a circle on the patio and talked, Klay, Monet and Jessie joined us…

But where in the world was Andrea? 

and then suddenly there she was:

Andrea…. a vision…  gorgeous…. beautiful and fly…

She was wearing a crisp blue button down shirt. She had a European scarf tied around her neck (in a way that only andrea can tie it) and black capris pants.  Her make-up was flawless and her hair was impeccable.  She sat down in a chair, crossed her legs, smiled,  and winked at me.

I immediately burst out laughing!   Andrea had done a Houdini!!!

All day long Andrea had on black capris sweatpants and a faded grey army/navy tee-shirt with a hole in the arm pit.  She wasn’t wearing any make-up and her hair was loosely tended.

When Andrea got the news about Kesner, she hadn’t had time to go home and pack an overnight bag – she came straight to New Jersey.  All that she had with her were her work clothes (the clothes on her back) and the clothes that she was planning to wear to the gym (the army shirt and capris sweats).

WELL…  she took her top and scarf from work and combined it with her sweats (you could only tell they were sweats if you looked closely).  And she created an outfit.

and it was fly!

“we have company” she said.  “And you must be presentable at all times.”

 Andrea

Andrea

Andrea and I met during the summer of 2001.  We were both summer interns at Merrill Lynch.  When we first met, she approached me and introduced herself:

“Hi, i’m Andrea, I’m an intern.”  My response was: “hi, I’m Kim, I’m and intern too…” 

to which her response to that was: “oh.” She thought that I was one of the full time employees at Merrill Lynch because of the way that I was dressed.  She was sharp too.  Competition immediately set in; typical of  black women.

We went through our entire internship training giving each other ‘the hateful-side-eye.‘  We were not going to be friends.  We were two crabs in a barrel; each out to win while we simultaneously pushed the other down.

But this sentiment would soon change….

On the first day of our intern rotation, we were both sent to the New York Stock Exchange floor (NYSE) for the day.  We were both wearing high heel shoes.  There are no seats on the NYSE; you have to stand all day long and by the time the closing bell rang at 4:00PM our feet were BURNING.

The New York Stock Exchange (NYSE)

We had both been standing all day long doing nothing;  just standing behind traders and trying to think of interesting questions to ask.  It was horrible.  When we met back up at the end of the day, hating on each other was no longer an option.  We were in solidarity because our feet hurt so badly.  The two of us literally found the closest street corner and sat down on the curb in our business suits.

and suddenly there we were:

Two yong black women, in business attire, sitting on a curb in lower Manhattan.

We laughed about how foolish we had been acting.  That moment sealed our friendship. Our guards were finally down.

And after that fateful day on the street curb, our summer together was a blast.  We were inseparable. We did everything together.  New York City was our playground. Neither of us had ever lived there before.  We would get on trains and just go.  Each time it was a new adventure; it was like visiting different countries: Little Italy. China Town. Spanish Harlem.  Jamaica Queens …

The New York City Subway opened up our world

We got all of the new york touristy stuff out of our system that summer.  It was so much fun.

Soon we were both working at Merrill Lynch full time after college.  I was on the New York Stock Exchange floor (NYSE) and she was working on the equity capital markets desk.  She kept long hours.  She worked really hard.  My hours were set around the stock market (9:30-4:00); but she often worked until the wee hours of the night.  Sometimes overnight.  And she was expected to be there very early in the morning.

Despite these demands, Andrea was doing extremely well;  and soon she had the opportunity to move to London.

“Should I go?  I don’t know Kim.  I don’t think I want to go to London.”

“WHAT?  not go to London?!?”  –  I wasn’t trying to hear that at all!

“you better go to London,” I insisted.

“You are going to London Andrea!” 

The truth is, it wasn’t just about her…  it was about us.  Andrea was going to London for us.  By this time my short little wall street career was ending.  It didn’t work out for me; the shoe didn’t fit, and I was preparing to transition to Seminary.

But Andrea had been asked to go to London.  This was the next step.  I needed her to go.

I needed her to go… for us.

and she went.

Soon after that, I began to live vicariously through my friend and her fabulous escapades.  She was becoming a world traveler.  She would be in a different country every weekend.  On different continents.  And I was always talking about her.  I was so proud of her.  And when she would come to visit, it was always fabulous.  She would get a room at the Soho Grand an I always stayed with her.

When she was around I felt like I was as fabulous as she was.

And traveling with her is fun also. Andrea is the type of person that you can travel with and you don’t have to think.  Either she has been there, or she has already thought it all through; planned everything out.  And she always chooses prime accommodations.  She’s fabulous.

Andrea and Me in Amsterdam…

I began to speak so highly of her to others that she became an urban myth among my friends in New Jersey and New York.  Whenever we thought we were doing something fabulous.  Something really great. We would say:

“Where’s Andrea?” 

… in other words: whatever we were doing, we felt it was ‘Andrea worthy.’

I mean this sister used to fly in town from London just to get her hair done in Brooklyn. And after London, her job moved her to Hong Kong.

This chick is bad!

Andrea

After several years of living a fabulous life as a world traveler and global business leader, Andrea came to a crossroads: She didn’t feel passionate about her work; something had to change

Was this truly her calling or was she meant to do something else?

On Andrea’s last visit from London, we were spending time together at the soho grand.  She was sick.  She had a horrible cough. Her spirits were low.  She was at the point of realizing that the wall street life was no longer for her.  It was the beginning of the financial crisis and things were moving downhill swiftly.  She said she felt like Indiana Jones running from a giant concrete ball.  She needed to get out quickly.

Indiana Jones

But what would she do?  So many of us tie our identities to our careers.

I wanted to help her, but I didn’t know what to say or do; so I took her to see ‘the Doctor:’

I took her to see Monet.   Monet gives people permission to be…. 

Monet used her Louise Hay book to diagnose Andrea’s condition:  she was fearful of the next step.  Her throat was sore because she had something to say, and it was now time for her to speak.

You see Andrea is a gifted writer and poet but Wall Street was stifling her creativity. She had come to a crossroads and she had to make a difficult decision: to continue on a traditional path or to take a road less traveled.

She chose the road less traveled, and she decided to pursue her passion.

today she is a writer for Uptown.com.  Here you can find a link to my favorite article by her, called Trayvon Was Followed by More than George Zimmerman

You can also click here to see a radio interview that I did with Andrea last spring:

Andrea is living her dream and her universe is on fire.

I am so proud of my friend.

And in that moment, back at the country house, my friend made me laugh….  

But I didn’t laugh long.

Kesner was still dead. 

And I was still miserable.

To my friends I seemed like I was in a far away  place. I was just sitting in that chair, lifeless and expressionless.

After some time passed, Jessie (Soul Friend) pulled me aside; it was time for her to go.  She was on her way to upstate New York.  Jess pulled me away from my sorority sisters and friends and she ushered me into the house.  The two of us sat down on the steps of the kitchen.  She sat next to me and put one arm around me and held my hand with the other.  I laid my head on her shoulder and wept.

Just then,  Monet, Klay and Andrea came into the house. It was like they sensed there was a moment in the making…

They all stood  around us.  I asked Monet to sing again.

“please, sing pass me not, Monet,” I whispered.

And she did.

And this time when she sang it, all of my friends sang the chorus.  Monet  sang the verses, and all of  my friends came in on the chorus:

“savior, o savior..  hear my humble cry

while on others though art calling…  do not pass me by” 

it was beautiful.

I desperately breathed the words to the song while they sang.

And after that moment, I returned to my lounge chair outside.  I’d said goodbye to Jessie, and my sorority sisters were beginning to get ready to go also.

“you’re in good hands” they said.

Deb hugged me.  She said: “we know you loved him.”  

“I did,”   i cried. “ I did love him.” 

Then suddenly…. 

In true dramatic, Margot James Copeland fashion,  we saw it: a black town car pulling up the long winding drive (she had a driver, of course).  My mother had arrived. 

The Black Town Car

My friends all stood at the top of the driveway to greet her.  When she got out of the car she could tell right away – by their facial expressions –  that it was bad, really bad.

I was bad; I was in bad shape.

She greeted them and then immediately asked:

“Where’s my child?”

© Copyright Thank You Very Sweet, 2011

I really had to go to the bathroom.  and I was sick of wearing that stupid orange tee-shirt.  I was mad.  I was mad about everything.  I was mad about everything that I thought was so important before June 9th.  And by this time I hadnt bathed in almost 30 hours. I couldn’t stand myself anymore. I thought my orange tee-shirt might actually walk off my body and have it’s own protest right there in the den.

It was time to get out of the chair that I had spent the last eight hours in and go to the bathroom.  and I figured that I would take a shower while I was at it.

I went into the bathroom and I looked at myself in the mirror for the first time since this had all happened.  I didn’t recognize myself.  My facial muscles had settled into a position that they had never been in before.  It was a cold and sad and angry face.  It was a helpless face.  It was an empty face.  My hair was a rats nest.  My curly tendrils had turned into nappy knots. I didn’t care though. Nothing mattered.

I took a shower and changed into a pair of dark blue jeans and a black tank top.  Black felt appropriate.  And I came back downstairs, but this time I went outside.  It was a beautiful day, I must admit.  It had rained on June 9th (appropriately so), but today the sun was shining.  It was just before the heat wave that struck the nation.  The weather was just right. but I only cared a little about the weather, Kesner was still dead. 

I sat on one of the lounge chairs on the patio.  This is where I would spend the next eight hours and most of the remainder to the weekend.  Soon Monet came out to join me, she had a can of canada dry in her hand.

Monet

Monet and I have a bright and vibrant friendship, a really fun friendship.  Monet and I became friends during her last week of seminary.  she was in the class ahead of me.  we had been friendly before that, but we became FRIENDS that last week.  We later decided that it was for our own good.  Had Monet and I been friends a minute sooner, neither one of us would have graduated.  Seriously. We have too  much in common. God protected us from each other.

If you have been reading these posts in succession then you know that Monet is a minister.  Monet is very gifted in preaching, she is wise, and she is a deeply spiritual person.  when I am preparing a sermon, I love talking out the scripture with Monet. She is always showing me new things.

She also has a health ministry. she is strikingly beautiful, 5’10’, and is in impeccable physical shape.  In undergrad she was a heptathelete in track and field at LSU. She is also an aerobics instructor, the kind that has people lining up to take her classes.  Monet is awesome.

Monet teaching a community fitness class in Brooklyn

One of the greatest gifts that she has ever given me is that Monet helped me launch “The Vagina Project.”  She was working for an historic baptist church in brooklyn that received a grant to promote HIV and AIDS awareness.  Monet was the administrator of this grant and she called me up one day and said : “I want to get a group of women together. I want to make Vaginas.  I want to have a Biblically based conversation about sexuality.  And I want you to be the facilitator…”    

Of course there is a back story…:

During my first year of seminary I was preparing to preach in the Spring. This was going to be my trial sermon and I was petrified.  In order to prepare myself for this endeavor, I began to do a series of things that I had never done before.  I danced on the liturgical dance team, I coached an intramural basketball team, and I performed in a play:  

The Vagina Monologues. 

In the last week before the play the director asked the cast members to create a visual expression that captured the experience of being in the performance. These would be displayed on a board in the lobby on the night of the show.   

What should I do, I thought??  

I decided to go to Michael’s craft store, buy a plastic frame for 7.99, and make a vagina.  It was an abstract piece of art.  kind of looked like a flower, or a butterfly.  It was made out of silk flower pedals, colorful feathers and a little fur.  And I placed a peacock feather in the center.  It’s pretty.  the kind of thing you hang in your bedroom or on your bathroom wall. And after the play, I hung it on display.

well the most interesting thing began to happen…  

first monet saw it.  she said “Make me one!  I want one!”  so I did.  Then my friend Tasha: “I want one, I want to make my own!” and she did  Then Jessie “I want one too friend, and I want to make my own.”  And she did  then Maya… same thing. 

So you get the point.  different friends of mine wanted their own vagina flowers and each time they would make one it would be a little different, it would reflect their distinct style. How they felt about themselves as women. 

I thought to myself: hmmm… what happens when women start thinking of their vagina as a flower?  how does that change our relationships with this veiled part of our anatomy? What if a woman had previously been assaulted? Violated? Abused? or simply ashamed?   

Perhaps if women thought about our vaginas as beautiful flowers then maybe we could be more careful about who we invite inside…..   hmmmmm??   Perhaps (by thinking of our Vaginas as colorful flowers) we could experience a resurge of connectedness to divine feminine energy…?  

But these were only thoughts.  things I pondered deeply in my heart.  “The church” was waaaaay to conservative for this ministry – I thought.  especially “The Black Church.”  So I was content to have this remain my little underground ministry.  A friend would stop by, want to make a Vagina and I would talk her through the process… 

But not that Monet. She said “if we are going to talk about HIV and AIDS we are going to make vaginas.  We are going to build a Bible study around it and we are going to talk about sexuality.  And you are going to be the facilitator of this workshop!” 

And we did it; and it was incredible.  First with a group of college women.  Then with a group of women, age 30-60.  We did the workshop in private homes. Even though this was sponsored by a church, Monet wanted to create an intimate and free atmosphere.  And what came out of that project was amazing.  Life giving,  in fact one of the participants wrote an article about the experience in Brown Eyes Magazine (a Brooklyn based publication).

Here is a exerp from her article:

“The women there took turns expressing their passionate stories. These sistahs were nurturing, intelligent women who were comfortable with themselves. We talked about our upbringing and how that played a definite role in how we express our selves, sexually. How culture and shame in families left us with too many painful secrets. We spoke of how the separation between sexuality and spirituality often leads to unhealthy suppression or expression, causing projection. That’s when other folk’s sexual depravity becomes projected onto us. We discussed the three women types that have been imposed onto women, the mammy-mother figures, the sapphire- masculizing woman and the Jezebel – over sexual, loose and immoral women. 

I believe that becoming more involved in women’s spirituality encourages us to appreciate more positive images of ourselves. This goes against all of our social conditioning. Our vaginas are to be recognized and held in the highest regard, first by us, then taught to whomever we choose to invite. We need to uphold and project healthier thoughts toward that part of our bodies, the place were life finally emerges. Our bodies are sacred, part of nature, and deserve to be loved and cared for as part of the Divine.” – Yendys Nefur-Adam , Brown Eyes Magazine – March 2009

Monet had taken my little underground ministry and had the audacity to go public with it.

And after the last event with her church, there were a few materials left.  I took the leftover frames, feathers and fur to womanspace (the leading provider of domestic violence services in Central NJ).  We did the project there with a small group of Domestic Violence survivors.  it was a beautiful night.  a healing night.

thank you Monet, for giving me the courage to violate expectations….

At the domestic violence shelter…

Monet is also a fighter. I remember this one time that we took on NYPD.  We had been falsely accused of running a red light.  It was police harassment. Monet was driving in my car and the po po gave us a $200 ticket!!  I was mad but I was ready to concede and split the ticket with her.  But Monet said: absolutely not!  we’re going to court!

I contacted the NAACP.  we got some great advice and we won the case.  a victory!!!  nobody beats NYPD… but we did with the help of the NAACP!!

Monet is a fighter

And one more short story, once Monet and I were on this “spiritual retreat” together.  Really we were just taking a short vacation to Bethany Beach Delaware.  We had a lovely time.  One night we were sitting on the screened in porch of this beautiful lake front condo and we were literally having what can best be described as a talent competition.  I don’t think there is another way to describe it.  Monet would sing a song, then I would sing a song.  Monet would say a poem – then I would say a poem.  We finally ended with a duet: she recited the poem “Deep River” while I sang the song in the background.  It was ridiculous.

So now you know about Monet and our special fun friendship.  She is a wise, deep, bold and gentle soul and I am lucky to call her Friend.

Monet… a bunch of fun!!

So there we were,  at the country house.  I was sitting miserably in a lounge chair on the patio.  Kind of like a rag doll. weak. sad.  angry. And Monet joined me in the lounge chair next to me with a can of Canada Dry.  By this time everyone was busy doing something:

Klay and Jessie had gone out to run errands. Andrea had a conference call for work.  She also had taken over with phone duty and was managing my incoming phone calls.  And Monet and I were just sitting outside looking at the grass and the trees and the sky.  Not saying a whole lot.  Just sitting.

Monet turned to me and said:  “You know I feel like everybody here has a job.  Klay and Jessie are running errands.  Andrea is taking calls…. 

And it’s my job to sit here and be easy with you.” 

In that moment, she unscrewed the top if the Canada dry can and pulled out a neatly rolled joint…

And so we sat…  Easy and together.

We were silent mostly, calm…   numb….

but then I turned to her and I asked: “Will you sing to me?” 

You see there was this song that had been in my head all day.  As much as I wanted to be like Job’s wife, to curse God and die, I also didn’t want God to forget about me. I felt like God had taken everything away from me.  ….all I kept thinking was  please God..  please…  do not pass me by. 

‘pass me not’…  please Lord… ‘pass me not.’ 

I hadn’t communicated this.  I had not communicated much of anything all day.  But as Monet opened her mouth to sing, guess what came out:

“Pass me not o gentle Savior… Hear my humble Cry

While on others thou art calling…Do not pass me by” 

It was not a talent competition this time.  Instead I just breathed the words as she sang them.  I breathed my desperate pleas to God:

Please God…. 

Please do not pass me by… 

help my unbelief…. 

hear my humble cry… 

you took my Kesner… 

you took him… 

while on others thou art calling… 

do not pass me by…. 

Please God. Please do not pass me by… 

I was breathing these desperate pleas to God while she sang.  Please help me.  Please help my unbelief… 

That moment was so real.  So authentic.  I was at God’s throne of mercy and for a moment, while Monet sang, I did find sweet relief.  Just for a moment.  While she sang.

I sat…. and I cried… and I breathed…. while my friend sang me a healing song.

thank you, Monet.

© Copyright Thank You Very Sweet, 2011

It was morning of the second day – early in the morning, it was still dark.  I guess maybe it was 3AM or 4; honestly I had no concept of time even though I was staring at a clock.  It didn’t matter what time it was, Kesner was dead.  Nothing mattered.

I was laying in the king-sized bed in the master bedroom of the country house.  Soul Friend was laying next to me, still asleep.  I, however, was wide awake.  I had slept for maybe 45 minutes or an hour- but that was it.  My body was turned away from her and I was facing a wall.  And a window.  Tears were streaming down the side of my face and onto my pillow. It was a silent lonely cry in the dark.

I was looking out of the dark window, waiting for the sun to rise.  It reminded me of the trip that Kesner and I took to the Poconos:

It was right after the election.  Unfortunately Kesner placed 4th in the election (he never said that he lost. he didn’t lose. he was not a “loser.” he placed 4th).  He needed to get away for a couple of days.  He needed to leave Trenton and he used me as his excuse.  He sent a text to our friend Terrill and said:

“Headed out of town, I need to get Kim out of here for a few days…” 

It was an amazing trip.  We went horseback riding.  He canoed me for 6 miles down the Delaware River. I sang him a song as he paddled.  I complimented him on how strong he was to canoe us so far – 6 miles.  He told me: 

“You were my inspiration, Beautiful…”  

While on the canoe ride, we stopped along the way to have lunch and so that Kesner could carve our initials on a tree.  And as we sat and rested, I heard him say (under his breath):

Imagine a woman who loves the outdoors.” 

I do love the outdoors.

Kesner and Me in The Poconos

And while I was laying in bed at The Country House, looking out of that dark window, I thought about how thankful I was that I got up with him that morning.  That would be the last sunrise that we would experience together.  I had all these sunrises ahead of me now but I was going to have to go it alone. that sucked so much.

Laying there in the dark, crying, I was also still thinking about that whole Lazarus thing.  holding out a little hope for the miracle. For the miracle of Kesner being raised from the dead.  I even thought that maybe I would go with them to the morgue.  Maybe I would meet his mom there.  Maybe she and I would go in together?  The two people who wanted him to be alive the most – I mean everyone wanted him to be alive – but I think we wanted him to be alive the most.  Maybe the two of us could go in and our faith combined would make him get up.  We would have to be absolutely confident.  I pondered that for a while.  But I wasn’t confident enough.

my faith wasn’t strong enough.  I would mess it up.

Kim… you’re losing your mind – I thought.

When the sun finally did come up (this time it was about 6AM, I guess) I finally decided to get out of bed.  Everyone was still sleep.  I took Kesner’s Tee-shirt (I had laid with it all night and was now carrying it around with me like a child carries a blanket) and I went downstairs into the den and sat on an over-sized stuffed grey chair.  I would sit there, without getting up once (not even to use the bathroom), for the next eight hours or so.

Klay heard me.

Klay, Monet and Andrea were sleeping in the second bedroom.  Molly’s room.  Andrea and Monet were in the bed and Klay slept in the chair.  As I walked down the stairs I guess he heard me.  soon after I settled in the chair, I saw Klay standing in the doorway.  We were silent together for what seemed like a really long time.

Klay. 

By now you may be asking yourself why I chose this particular name for this note.  It is because Fabulous became Flesh and He dwells among us….  His name is Klay Williams.   WE behold the Glory of the Father of Fabulous!

Klay is fabulous in the flesh!  

Klay is fabulous!  let me say it again: FA-BU-LOUS!  I’ve never met anyone like Klay, and I count it such a privilege to be his friend. He is the type of person that leaves an impression on everyone that he meets.  everyone.  people who have had only one encounter with Klay still ask about him.  He’s always dressed to kill. He’s camera friendly.  He’s fierce. He’s confident.  and he’s always in the right place at the right time.  he also appreciates luxury and the finer things in life.

Klay believes in living your best life NOW.  He believes that there is only Plan A; any alternative is unacceptable. He is the Author of There is Only Plan A.

Klay is a lifestyle consultant and spiritual teacher.

If you know me then you know that I am always spouting little tid-bits of wisdom that I pick up along the way.  One of the Wisdom sound bites that I took from my Spelman days is: Perception is Reality.  Basically it means that whatever you think you are, you are.  Whoever you think you are, you are.  Our thoughts manifest.  For instance, if I say that my PhD program is stressful, it will be stressful.  But if I say that it is an absolute joy, easy as can be, it will be.  Our thoughts manifest.

Well Klay personifies this.  this is how he lives.  He speaks those things that are not as though they are. He knows the secret.  For instance, last night Klay sent me a text message.  One simple line:  “Kim, I miss Oprah.”  I wrote back: “I miss her too, been meaning to call..”  Keep speaking it.  Keep thinking it.  until it happens.

Oprah, we miss you…

If you don’t know him already, soon Klay will be on your radar; he is going to be a very famous man.

Klay is also a steward of friendship.  A bridge.  Klay and I have a routine.  I have a friend.  I introduce him to my friend.  And soon he becomes better friends with my friend than I ever was. classic Klay.

So you see, Klay is fabulous personified! 

But there was nothing fabulous about that moment in the den.  I was not fabulous at all.  I was sitting in that chair with that same orange Tee-shirt on and a pair of black sweat pants.  I cried and cried and cried and Klay just sat with me.  He kept my tissues fresh.  kept throwing away the old ones and bringing me new ones.  We were not speaking, this was all happening in silence.  He just sat with me while I cried.

At one point he went into the kitchen to make me a cup of tea.  He also found some Mandarin oranges in the pantry and poured them in a bowl for me to eat.  no oranges.  I didn’t want any food.  I didn’t want to eat anything.  I was just as fine to sit and starve and rot to death in my own filth.  I was miserable.  I did drink the tea though, which I regretted because it made me have to pee.  I didn’t want to pee.  I didn’t want to move, so I held it for about 5 or 6 hours.

At some point my friends woke up and joined us one by one.  first Jessie, then Andrea, then Monet (Monet is always the last one to get up).  They all sat around me in the room.  I wasn’t saying much, but my phone was beginning to ring off the hook.  Klay handled the calls: “Kim’s phone, this is Klay speaking…”  I could have cared less about my phone.  My mother had given up on trying to reach me on my phone and was now calling my friends directly.  She was on her way; she would be there that afternoon.

And then we got a call.  from my pastor, Lynn.  She was coming over to pay me a visit.

When Lynn arrived, she sat on the ottoman of the chair that I was still sitting on.  She faced me and said a few things.  I really don’t remember what she said but I appreciated that she was there.  I also appreciated the fact that she was showing emotion; it felt like she was sharing the pain of this experience with me.  tears were welling up in her eyes as she talked to me.

“It’s not fair” she said.

I looked at her, tired.  desperate.  and I said “I cannot do another thing.  I just can’t do another thing.”   And I meant it. I couldn’t do another thing, not even go to the bathroom.

Lynn said: “you don’t have to do anything.  You don’t have to do anything right now.” 

She said some other stuff, and then shortly after that she got ready to go.  She marked off a few scriptures in a Bible and left it for me, just in case I felt like reading the Bible.  I didn’t.  I didn’t touch it.  I wanted nothing to do with the Bible.

And then right before she left she said: “How are you feeling about God?”  

I had not given that much thought.  How WAS I feeling about God? 

“Im Angry”  I whispered.  Then she said:” Well God is BIG enough to handle  your anger. To absorb it, to take it all in. God is BIG enough for that.”  Then she left.

And I thought to myself: God is big enough, huh?  

Well God better be BIG enough, because I AM PISSED!!!!!!!!

© Copyright Thank You Very Sweet, 2011

‘The Country House’ deserves its own chapter.  Right now I wish I were a columnist for Architectural Digest, or an interior design expert, then I would do a much better job of describing this house.  But simply put, it’s fabulous.

Klay would say – in his best bougiouse voice:  “Well if you MUST grieve, best to grieve in style.” 

Andrea would say – in her best bougiouse voice (glass of wine in hand – looking out over yonder):  “Ahhh… I’m just so glad there’s a Country House involved.”  

My friends are so extra. 

But seriously, the house is wonderful.  It’s in Hopewell, NJ – farm country.  It’s really old and it sits on a hill on about 2 acres of land.  It’s an old farm house that has been renovated and turned into a perfect country cottage.  It’s stone on the outside and the inside is cedar. The house is light, peaceful and filled with great energy.

And the outdoor space is fabulous also. The front yard is a large open field that slopes downward and is cut off by a perimeter of trees.  So if you’re sitting outside on the front patio (which is the absolute best place to sit) all you see are grass, trees and tree-tops as far as the eye can see.   And the open sky.  It’s majestic.

Oh… and it actually sits adjacent to a farm, so on a good day you can see horses gallop by.  Or cows grazing, just off to the right.

Per Andrea: “If ‘Thank You Very Sweet’ were an August Wilson style play, the entire set could be the front patio with a backdrop of the stone house just behind…”

So basically you get the point, the house is classic.

The house belongs to a really cool couple named Pete and Mara.  We (Jessie and Me) met them about a year prior.  Jessie was representing the women center at a training for Project Homeless Connect.  Project Homeless Connect is an annual resource fair for Homeless people in the greater Trenton area; we were planning to have a resource table there.  Mara was planning to volunteer at the event, so she was at the training also.  She invited Jessie to sit at her table and the two of them hit it off immediately.

Soon after, Mara asked Jessie to house-sit for her.  Jessie used to tell me about how comfortable and pleasant the house was, but I was really only half-listening.  I had to encounter the house for myself for it to sink in.

I met The Country House one crisp evening in the fall.  Jason (Jessie’s boyfriend) had led us on a hike after work.  Afterwards the three of us came back to the house so that Jason could cook us dinner. As we drove up the long winding gravel driveway that led to this wonderful house, I was amazed. I fell in love.

I met the owners shortly after that, Pete and Mara.  They invited us for dinner.  They were interested in the work that we were doing, but more so they were interested in us as people.  They were interested in me and Jessie’s special soul friendship…  especially Mara.   They are empty nesters and Mara seemed interested in re-energizing some of her woman friendships; Jess and I provided some inspiration for that.

Soon we all became friends and I was splitting the house-sitting duties with Jessie.  The first time I house-sat I wrote a thank you note. Even though it was a ‘job’, I was so thankful to be there; and the house would grow to become VERY important to me…

When we first learned that we lost funding for the women center, I retreated there alone. 

When Jessie and I needed a comfortable place to write grants for the day (an attempt to “Save the Women Center”), we retreated there together. 

When we finally had to tell the women center staff that we were going to shut down, the entire staff retreated there.

And

My last weekend with Kesner was spent there.

We had our last dinner together there.  We had our last argument together there. We shared our last reconciliation together there…

And on our last Monday morning together (June 7^th), I asked Kesner to pray.  He prayed The Lord’s Prayer, and then he said “God please show Kim that I am different.”

And I said: “God please forgive me for being afraid.” 

Then we went outside and had a bowl of cereal, Kesner cut up a banana and put it in my bowl.  We ate outside on the patio, it was a beautiful day.  I watered the flowers in the garden and Kesner watched me.  He said: “you’re the sexiest gardener I’ve ever seen.” I laughed.  I got ready for work.  And as I came down the stairs I saw him laying on his back in the grass with his arms stretched wide like an angel.  He was looking at the clear blue sky as if to say: “I surrender.”  We kissed goodbye.

And that was the last time that I saw him alive. 

So as it was time to grieve..  Appropriately so, my friends and I retreated there.

© Copyright Thank You Very Sweet, 2011

So as I mentioned, I was detained by the police for 7 hours.  The first few hours were at Kesner’s house.  Talithea, Felicia and I sat in his living room while detectives swarmed the house.  They even had the guy that comes with the camera to take pictures of the crime scene.  I was not allowed back upstairs but I was not allowed to leave either.  I was interviewed several times by different people about the chain of events.  It felt like ground-hog day; I had to re-live the whole thing over and over.After several hours passed the representative from the coroner’s office arrived to remove Kesner’s body from the house.  They were going to bring him down the stairs and they suggested that I go outside so that I didn’t have to experience that up close.  I walked onto the porch where many had gathered by this time. They were mostly Kesner’s fraternity brothers and they let me know that they had reached Kesner’s brother and that he and his mother were on their way.

After they removed Kesner from the house we all left and I had to go to the police station to give an official statement.  Felicia and Talithea came with me.  My mother was calling for updates every 20 minutes and my friends were beginning to rally.

I have incredible friends.

I didn’t really know what to expect in a situation like this, nothing like this had ever happened to me.  I guess maybe I thought I would just go home to my apartment and go to bed – I hadn’t gotten that far in my thinking.  But my incredible friends knew the power of the ministry of presence. They were rallying. Dropping everything to come to New Jersey and be with me.

My friend Courtney, who lives in Ohio, got on the phone with the crew:  Klay.  Monet.  Jessie.  Andrea. and they were all on their way.  Klay and Monet were driving in from New York.  Andrea was on the train from New York.  Jessie was driving from Maryland.  (Tears are welling up in my eyes as I type this)

My friends were coming to be with me.

While the crew was making their way to New Jersey, Talithea, Felicia and I were STILL at the police station. I was telling the story over and over again to the detectives, and by this time I was absolutely exhausted.  When we were finally wrapping up – around 11PM – I received word that Kesner’s mother had arrived in town and she was on her way to the police station.  My heart jumped up to my throat. I wanted to see her but I was also afraid.  Would she blame me for this?

Would she blame me for not being there to save Kesner’s life?

After we’d been at the station for an hour, two of Kesner’s brothers and his mother arrived.  The detectives greeted them and spoke with them privately in a room. Then they called me back to join them. His mom spoke to me softly  – in a pain filled whisper – she said: “Kim, what happened?  Did he eat? I tried to reach him but he didn’t call me back…”

I don’t remember what I said.  I only remember that the interaction was very short and very sad.  Soon it was time for us to go.  We were being ushered downstairs to the lobby of the police station.

I saw Monet first. in a bright yellow rain coat.  She came up to me and hugged me and whispered in my ear :”Jessie’s here.”  What a selfless thing to say, I thought.  She was there too.

Then I felt Klay come beside me, on my right, he slid his arm around my waste.  I felt so weak and tired, it was becoming hard to stand on my own.

Then Jessie, Soul Friend.  Jessie approached me and stood on my left side and put her arm around my waste also; the two of them together were holding me up.

There were many people in the lobby. And then suddenly through the crowd of voices I heard my name:

“KIM!”

It was Kesner’s mother, this time very loud and audible. piercingly strong, she said:

“KIM, WHERE IS HE?”

She spoke with such authority, confidence and strength that the entire waiting room became silent.

“Where is he?  Take me to him! Tell them to take me to him NOW!  I want to see him tonight!  He is NOT DEAD!!  He is sleeping.  I will tell him to get up!  I will tell him to get up just like LAZARUS! Take me to him now, I WANT TO SEE MY SON!”

We were standing face-to-face.  She was flanked on either side by two people who had traveled with her, just as I was flanked on either side by Jessie and Klay.

I just looked at her.  eyes glazed over.  weak.   I couldn’t speak. I had no words.

I was thinking to myself:

yes. Lazarus.  Why hadn’t I thought about Lazarus?  Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead in John chapter 11.  Why hadn’t I considered Lazarus?  Maybe if I had gone into the house with absolute faith and absolute confidence and said:” Kesner Get Up!”  Maybe he would have gotten up.  Maybe he would be alive right now and we would be together praising God and laughing about how crazy that whole thing was.  Why hadn’t I thought about Lazarus?

The Raising of Lazarus - John Chapter 11

I couldnt speak.  no words were coming out.  I just looked at her, blankly.  And that is when Monet stepped in so gracefully.

Monet stood face to face with Kesner’s mother, she looked her in the eyes and she said softly: “I am a minister.”  Kesner’s mother said to her: “Do you know the miracles of God?“…Monet said: “I know ALL of the miracles of God.”  His mom said “Do you know about Lazarus?  God raised Lazarus from the dead!”  Monet said “yes, I know about Lazarus.”  His mom said to Monet: “I want to see my son.”

Monet went to go check with the officers to see if they would allow her to see him that night.  Unfortunately it was too late and she would have to wait until the following morning.  She was disappointed but Monet reminded her: “Remember, Lazarus was dead for three days and God raised him. You can see him in the morning.”  His mother said: “yes, three days. I remember.  I will see him tomorrow and I will tell him to get up.”

And I thought to myself: yes. her faith is strong. stronger than mine.  she will see him tomorrow and she will tell him to get up… and he will get up.

We left the police station and we headed to Talithea’s house.  I had to stop back by Kesner’s because my car was still parked there and I wanted to go inside and take two things:  The tee-shirt and shorts that he had been wearing on the last day that we were together.  I had seen them on the bathroom floor and I wanted them because they still had his smell on them.  I would need to smell him in the days to come.

Klay came into Kesner’s house with me and by this time there were many people in his house, including his ex-girlfriend.  Before all of this, his house seemed like our private one-on-one space,  but now our space was filled with many people and personalities and commotion.

Kesner and I both valued privacy and our privacy was gone.

I wanted to get out of there. I quickly ran upstairs and grabbed the clothes.  But as Klay and I were preparing to leave, a random woman (random to me) said “Let’s Pray!” This was a woman that I had never seen before (I actually had never seen most of these people who were gathered in his house). I think she was from his church.  She wanted us all to stand in a circle and pray.  I didn’t feel like praying but I acquiesced.

She prayed one of those really long preachy prayers where your voice just gets louder and louder but you’re not really saying anything.  I wanted it to be over.  I lifted my head and opened my eyes and looked around this room of people who I didn’t know.  they were moaning and crying and shouting “YES LORD!”  I would have left but we were holding hands. I couldn’t wait for this long preachy prayer to be over!

when we finally said Amen, Klay and I split immediately and headed over to Talithea’s house around the corner.  When I walked through the door, there was my Andrea; she was the last to arrive that night.

We all sat around and looked at each other.  They each told the story of their escapades in getting there:  Monet and Klay were inches away from a very dramatic car accident – they did a complete 360 spin on the NJ Turnpike in the rain.  Andrea had done the Flo Jo/OJ Simpson run through Penn Station to make one of the last trains out of The City.  And Jessie had to speed rush a goodbye with her parents in Maryland to make it to NJ.  But they all made it.

My incredible friends were there.

Then the door bell rang – Adela, my sorority sister, was there with a box of donuts.  And shortly after, Kim, another soror, also arrived.  Everyone was pretty hungry so Talithea started pulling appetizers out of her freezer and preparing them for my friends – this was around the time that I stopped eating.  But it was really random she had so many appetizers: shrimp skewers, baby beef patties, mini pizza’s, pigs in blankets – so random! My friends had a good laugh about it.

Appetizers

I was present but I wasn’t.  I kept drifting away into the recesses of my mind, I was in slow motion but every once and a while I would join the conversation.  The day felt like it had been split in half, like it had been two separate days.  There was the good part of the day: at the conference, presenting on the panel, having discussions about PhD funding.

And then there was the awful part.

I was reflecting: I remembered driving by Kesner’s house that morning at 7:30AM and not going inside.  Had I gone inside I would have found his dead body then and I never would have made it to Rutgers that day.  It was like a force had prevented me from finding him until I had made some significant inroads into my future.

It was a pocket of Grace.

We sat around Talithea’s living room for an hour or two.  It was almost 1AM when we began to consider where we would all stretch out and sleep for the night.  Talithea had been generous to open her home and invite my friends and I to stay.

Then Jessie said: “Friend, I can go by the house and feed the cats for you if you like.”

The House –  I thought.

The Country House!

I had forgotten that in the midst of all this I was still house-sitting.  And at this magnificent House!  Why were we trying to figure out where we would sleep at Talithea’s when we could all stretch out very comfortably at The Country House?

And then it was decided.  We packed up our things, and in two carloads, my friends and I embarked on the 30 minute drive out to Hopewell, NJ.

We were headed to The Country House.

© Copyright Thank You Very Sweet, 2011

On May 27th, two weeks before Kesner died, I went on a silent retreat to a monastery with my soul friend, Jessie.  She had coined that term “soul friend” a few years earlier to describe the type of friendship that meets you in your soul space.  A friendship that is non-judgmental, pure and kind, patient and loving.

Jess was my first friend in Seminary and one of the first people in my life to teach me the lesson of unconditional love and how to listen.  We had gone through several journey’s together:  seminary, relationships and break-ups, living in the same building in Trenton, working together with formerly incarcerated women in Trenton, and even a little public activism.

Me and Jessie at our graduation from Princeton Theological Seminary

On this day in May we were ritualizing a transition into a new beginning.  After five years of living so close, Jessie was leaving to move to upstate NewYork to start a new life with her boyfriend Jason. She was also planning to pursue her calling to be a hospital chaplain.  I was happy for her but I was very sad for me.  Sad to be loosing my day-to-day buddy, with whom I could process life with on a regular basis.  I had many awkward random crying moments the week before she left: at work… at Jack’s Wine Sense… at Walmart… on my couch while Kesner was resting his head on my lap – his eyes were closed and one of my tears literally splashed on his forehead – he opened his eyes and looked at me like i was nuts.   I was grieving my friend and our closeness.

Kesner worked really hard to try to understand what this impending separation meant to me.   At Jessie’s goodbye dinner he shared meaningful reflections about the noticeable impact of our friendship and the regard in which he held it.  He even opened his home and allowed me to host a small dinner for Jessie  and her twin sister there. He was such a nice guy.

This transition was also hard because while Jess seemed to have things figured out, there were a lot of unknowns in my life.  We had lost funding for the women center and I was not going to have a job after June 30th.  At that time I didn’t know where I would live or how I would pay for what seemed to be the inevitable choice, going back to school in the fall.

The silent retreat was her spiritual director’s idea.  The monastery was beautiful and lush.  The Nuns there prayed for us all day long.   The only times that we were allowed to talk were at the beginning of the day, at the end of the day, and during a private meeting with her spiritual director that took place at some point during the course of the day.

When I sat down with her spiritual director I immediately started crying.  This was all so overwhelming to me.  She asked me about my life and I was really confused about next steps.  The only thing that felt good was Kesner.  She noticed that when I started talking about him my eyes lit up and a bright smile came to my face.

Kesner was my stable.  My solid in the midst of so many changes.

After I laid all of my uncertainty out on the table, she was silent for a moment while she squeezed a small cross in her hands and closed her eyes really tightly, then she said: ” What Im hearing from God is that you need to ask the question – How is LOVE going to carry you through to the next season?”

My narrow conception of love was only thinking about romantic love.  yes love! Of Course, I thought.  Kesner’s love will carry me through! everything will be ok. deep sigh.   … little did I know that the ways that love would carry me through would be far more profound than that…

© Copyright Thank You Very Sweet, 2011

A word about grief…  it really sucks.  but today is not so bad. My counselor in Cleveland, Monica – who is pretty awesome (I know this only after going to a really bad counselor in NJ who kept asking me the same questions over and over again)  – said that grief  is like being caught in a wave.  There are calm parts of the wave – those times when you think you are ok –  and then just when things begin to smooth over a bit, you get jolted and completely flip upside down again.  it takes you under. deep. And you cant see anything but darkness.

Grief is like a wave

And the thing about people is that you pretty much are always ok when you are talking to them. otherwise you wouldn’t be talking to them.  so everyone thinks you’re ok. they check in…  ask: how are you doing?  you ok? 

“yes, im ok.”

but a lot of the time you aren’t … and you want to scream:

NO! Im not F-ing ok, would you be ok?!? 

But that would not be polite.  or very Christian. I say to myself: After all, Kim, these are the questions that you would be asking  if the shoe were not on your foot.  everybody wants their friend to be ok…

I was in a really dark place on sunday night.  sitting alone watching the Law & Order SVU sinful clergy marathon, drinking wine and screaming at God.  well maybe not screaming – I live with a nice retired couple who probably wouldn’t appreciate me screaming at God in their basement.  But I was definitely angry and sad and saying over and over HELP ME..HELP ME!   Help me what, you ask? well I figure if you go through something as horrible as finding the person you love dead in their house you shouldn’t have to go through anything else.  things should be easy.  but they are not easy. Im in the desert.  I’m broke for one.  A broke grad student.  at 30.  is this my life?  I just spent the last two years working harder than I should have for a small disorganized faith-based non profit who opted out of paying unemployment benefits on behalf of their staff.  so no unemployment for me. I am a PhD fellow at rutgers university but my fellowship sure is taking a long time to hit my chase account. urghh!

I do live in a mansion for free, which is consistent with the paradox that is my life – but in that moment on Sunday my cell phone service had just been cut off and I was screaming (aka speaking in a reasonably toned angry voice):

HELP ME GOD!

God led me to my car and I went for a drive.  My Tracy Chapman CD was in the player (her first album), and suddenly the song “Baby Can I hold you Tonight” came on.  I had two epiphanies: 1 – this was me and God’s song.  At first I was singing it to God, and then God sang it right back to me.  The second epiphany is that I am going to start writing about this experience.  And I am going to share it.

Me and God and Kesner’s spirit went home and I felt helped.  the wave calmed down just in time for Keeping up with the Kardashians.  I went to sleep after that.  Tomorrow would be another day and I could keep going..

For now

© Copyright Thank You Very Sweet, 2011