Thank You Very Sweet

Kesner’s mother invited me over for dinner one evening in the fall, after my semester began.    Beautiful Simone and I talked and cried together that evening, as she showed me pictures and told me more stories about Kesner. It was so nice to meet her in the context of her home and to imagine what it must have been like for Kesner growing up. Simone is such a powerful woman, a single mom who sacrificed to put all five of her sons through Catholic school and  then college.  She is amazing. I was there until midnight that night, sitting at the kitchen table and talking.

At some point I told her about the dream I’d had that Kesner had a stroke and not a heart attak . When last we spoke, I’d told her that I thought it was a heart attack; but now I was certain it was a stroke. “Kez wouldn’t have wanted to live like that..” She said.

I also told her again that Kesner was indeed taking his insulin shots. More than anyone, I wanted her to know this; I wanted her to know that I saw him take those insulin  shots day after day. “But what about the high blood pressure medicine?”

I couldn’t speak on that, I never saw Kesner take his high blood pressure medication. In fact I remembered him having frequent mild headaches.  And high blood pressure is a likely cause of a stroke…  I didn’t understand why Kesner wasn’t taking his high blood pressure pills. Neither did his mom, we discussed it for a while and neither of us could figure it out.

The following week I volunteered at a stroke awareness workshop that my sorority was hosting in Trenton. A male cardiologist spoke that afternoon about men and high blood pressure. “A lot of men will not take their high blood pressure medicine, because they believe it will impact their ability to have an erection…”

Oh

© Copyright Thank You Very Sweet, 2012

Things seemed to be working in my favor. It was the first week of school and I continued to simply show up each day while I waited for my PhD funding situation to be resolved. I was not registered for any class, but I showed up anyway.

I had an hour commute from my new home in Princeton to my campus in Newark. Initially I thought I might take the train each day, but I found driving to be very therapeutic. I drove and cried all the way to school and all the way home each day. I was still listening to that Alicia Key’s and Swizz Beatz song also, thinking about how ready I was to love Kesner fully. Ready too late.

From time to time I’d think about what would happen if I died. That might be nice, I thought. Then I could end my worldly suffering and be with Kesner eternally.  I’d actually had this joke with my sorority sisters while we were in New Orleans earlier in the summer: “If I get hit by a car, don’t help me! Just leave me there to die,” I told them. We’d all had a good laugh about the visual of me laying in the street trying to shew away paramedics.

I mentioned that my humor took an interesting turn after Kerner died…

But in the car on the way to school, I thought about death more rationally. Death wouldn’t be so bad. The only problem with the whole dying scenario was that everyone that I love would be sad, damn. The thought of that made me sad. So with no resolve on the matter, I just kept driving and crying.

On one particular day, as I was having these rational thoughts about death, I decided that it was probably time for me to connect with the counseling center on campus. It had been a priority on my “to do” list anyway. After showing up to class for the day, I went to the counseling center to fill out an intake form. It was explained to me that I would have to fill out the form and then I would later be contacted to set up an appointment.

So I sat in the waiting room and answered the questions on the form. “Have you ever considered suicide? If so, when?” – one question asked. hmmm…  well, I hadn’t considered suicide, per se, but since I’d been thinking about my death that day, I wrote: “yes, earlier today.”

It all felt very casual to me and I handed my form in and was preparing to leave when the receptionist said “Wait! We have someone who can see you NOW!”

It occurred to me then that answering yes to the suicide question had propelled me to the top of the appointment list. I should have been more clear: I’d only been thinking about death….     But, as it was, I would get to see someone that day and that was probably a good idea. I sat back down in the waiting area.

Minutes later I was called into an office of a counselor who I will not name because he was awful – for me, at least. I didn’t realize it right away. He spoke softly and asked me to talk about my suicidal thoughts. “Well really I was just thinking about death in general..” I began to explain.

He seemed confused by me.

I told him my story and he  asked me if I had a supportive network of friends, “yes I have terrific friends..” And then he went on to tell me some things I already know about the necessity for positive relationships with others.

When should I tell him that I am a minister? – I wondered..

I left his office that day with an  appointment to return the following week. I did feel a little cheated, however. Since I’d answered “yes” to the suicide question, they’d put me with the person who was available immediately; rather than being matched with the right counselor for me. He didnt seem to know much about grief and all of it’s various waves..

Oh well, I thought, I’m sure this soft speaking man has some purpose in my life. I will return.

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My first week of school was complete and it was a good week. I’d had an encouraging talk with Dr. Clear, I’d showed up for class each day and I’d connected with the counseling center.

I did have one more thing I needed to deal with, however.

My hair.

I had a mo-hawk and it really wasn’t working for me. It wasn’t a good fit. I’d spoken to Talithea about this and told her my thoughts about shaving it all the way off. “The haircut that you’re talking about is called a Caeser,” she told me. That made sense to me, what I was describing to her is the way that Julius Caeser wore his hair. “I think I’m going to call White,” I told her.

White (short for D’Wight) is a barber friend of Talithea’s, who I’d also gotten to know. He had just opened a shop called “Game Time Cuts” in Trenton. It was time for me to go pay him a visit.

Assuming that I would not know what to ask for, Talithea had already called him before I arrived and told him I wanted a Caesar. I’m sure he was shocked by this, as I’d had a head full of hair the last time I saw him.  I walked into the shop and he said: “Sunshine! What happened to your hair??”. It was just him and me in the shop that day and I explained everything about Kesner. “Yea I remember him,” White said , “he came to me to get his hair cut once..”. 

It occurred to me then that White had given Kesner one of his last haircuts.  This news made me feel so comfortable. Kesner sent me to Game Time Cuts! He’d sent me to a barber who I could trust, and more importantly, he sent me to support a business owner in his beloved East Ward  – this is where he ran for city council.  White would become my barber.

As White began to shave off the remainder of my hair, all I could think was:

Natural is Nice.

“Natural is nice,” Kesner said one Sunday in the park. We were at the annual picnic for the Mercer County Big Brother’s Big Sister’s Program. Kesner was there with me and his little brother in the program, Yanni.  Someone at the picnic was wearing a tee shirt that said “natural is nice.” To which Kesner offered his endorsement.

This all made me feel pretty convicted since I was wearing Hawaiian Wavy weave that day…

But Natural IS Nice.

And now I was finally 100% natural. As White turned me around in the chair and I looked at my new do, I agreed with Kesner and whispered in my soul: Natural IS nice.

Natural is Nice

It was..

I didn’t love it yet, but I would grow to. It was much better than the jagged 2inch afro, and the mo-hawk, and the weave…

This was my new look: the Caeser; and it was nice.

And it was new.

© Copyright Thank You Very Sweet, 2012

The next morning I headed to Rutgers; it was decision day. Not having very many clothing options, I decided to wear a black and white polka dot dress with a white scarf. I also wore my colorful beaded necklace that Marcella gave me with the healing stones on it. It all felt a little strange because the dress and necklace didn’t match and I had a mo-hawk that I wasn’t completely comfortable with, but I didn’t have much time to dwell on that; I had to get to campus.

I spent the first part of the day in a PhD orientation that felt endless. My meeting with Dr. Clear wasn’t scheduled until 1PM and the morning seemed to drag by. It was torture. I listened to presentation after presentation about student life, and academic integrity, and parking spaces and blah.. blah.. blah... It was very difficult for me to focus on seemingly minute details when I didn’t know if I would be staying at Rutgers at all. My future at Rutgers rested on what Dr. Clear had to say at 1:00PM.

At some point in the morning, Dr. Clear came into the orientation to introduce himself to the new students. I was surprised to see that he was an average person, just like the rest of us. I think I’d hoped he might glow, or have a faint halo hovering above his head; but he was a regular white man, average height, average build. He did have a special energy about him, however. I could hardly wait to speak to him privately.

We finally broke for lunch at 12:30, and by this time my anxiety level was through the roof. Rather than eat, I decided to take a walk to collect myself before my meeting.  I could feel tears welling in my eyes; I was overwhelmed. Sad…  Anxious...

I had to take an elevator to get downstairs and a happy young black woman joined me on the way down. This young woman struck me because she had so much joy. She introduced herself and welcomed me to Rutgers. She told me that she was in the criminal justice master’s program studying major art theft, and that she’d gotten her undergrad degree from Princeton. We struck up a conversation about Princeton and art theft, and I began to feel a little spark of interest. It occurred to me then that the field of criminal justice is very broad and fascinating. I had not considered becoming an expert in art museum theft, but how interesting to encounter someone who had.

She also asked me about my interests. I told her about the women center; our rise and our fall. I told her about how Governor Christie eliminated our funds from the state budget, and how we’d fought tooth and nail to save the center. “We were unsuccessful, and now I’m here,” I said. “Hopefully I can do the type of research that impacts policies that will positively impact disenfranchised women,” I told her.

“Wow,” she said. “So you’ll be like a Pheonix rising out of Ashes..”

Whoa, I thought..

She had no clue, but that was exactly what I needed to hear in that moment. She was referring to the women center, but she had no idea that she’d just spoken life into my circumstance.  God had dispatched an angel with a very important message for me:  some day, some how, some way, I would rise out of the ashes of my circumstance…

Just like a Pheonix

Just like a pheonix..

I was ready for my meeting.

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

Dr. Clear’s office door was slightly open around 1PM; I knocked before entering. He invited me in and gestured for me to sit down on his office couch. He got up from his desk and came to sit directly across from me in a chair. I told him my story, all of it: The women center…  Kesner…  He put his hand over his heart, squeezed his eyes tightly, and let out a sympathetic gasp when I told him about Kesner. He understood.

“Just give me a chance,” I said. “I am not fully recovered from this, but I promise you that when I return to me, I will make one hell of an advocate…” I fought my tears. I wanted him to know my passion, the sparks of it that still remained.

The truth was that I hadn’t thought critically about the crisis of the US penal system in the time since I’d been grieving Kesner. But I remembered what it was like to feel so passionately about the many injustices inherent in American “Justice.”

“My passion will return to me,” I vowed. “Just give me a chance.”

I told him that if I wasn’t funded, I was prepared to go home. “Don’t go,” he said, “I don’t know how, or where we’ll find the funds, but I’m going to work to make sure that you are funded. In the meantime, just show up to class.” Classes were to begin the following day and I was not registered. What Dr. Clear was suggesting was that I just show up to class anyway.

I could do that.

I left the office that day with hope. Nothing was in stone, but I was encouraged that Dr. Clear had said he would do all that he could to help me. In the meantime I would select the classes that I was interested in taking and I would just show up and see what happened.

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That afternoon I went to see an old friend, Denise. Denise ran a women center in Newark and we sat on the same board together while I was directing the women center in Trenton. To call Denise a friend would have been a stretch at one time, because we often disagreed in our monthly board meetings. When the announcement was made that we’d been zeroed out of the state budget, I was wildly upset and Denise was very calm. It made me angry that she wasn’t as mad as I was, she was a black woman who was about 20 years older than me. She seemed so accepting of everything. I was mad at her for not being mad… And to her, I seemed very naïve.

I went to see her after my meeting with Dr. Clear and we went for a walk around the campus and talked. “You were so angry,” she told me, “you took the loss of the women centers so personally. But what you didn’t understand was that God was trying to move you. The foundation that you were standing on was too weak to hold you, God wanted to re-plant you in fertile soil.”

And in that moment, I got it: I had treated the women center as if it were my own, as if I owned it. I took it personally when we lost funding. But Denise was right that the foundation was weak.  Could it be that God wanted to re-plant me in a place where I could grow? Where the impact of my work would stretch far beyond the confines of one community? Could it be possible that what seemed like a terrible loss to me was truly just the process of life? The movements of God? 

With each step on our walk around the Rutgers Newark campus, I could feel the ground beneath me. This was my new home, I could feel it. It was all very clear. I had been replanted in fertile soil; in a place where I would grow.

I had been replanted in the fertile soil of Rutgers University; and suddenly I felt overcome with possibility…

© Copyright Thank You Very Sweet, 2012

I was supposed to head to  New Jersey on Sunday, but by Sunday morning I’d made no attempts to pack or prepare myself to leave Cleveland. Instead I woke up, went to the den, and watched television under a blanket. “Are you leaving today?”- my mom asked. I just shrugged, I didn’t want to do another thing.

Technically I was supposed to leave. I’d told Mrs. B that I would arrive in Princeton on Sunday evening, and I had my meeting with Dr. Clear on the following Tuesday. But rather than prepare myself to hit the road, I chose to function (or not function) in a state of complete denial.

My mom didn’t push me. Instead we decided to have fried chicken for dinner. “Let’s invite Courtney and Cory over,” she said. That sounded good to me. Neither of us, my mom or myself, was ready for me to leave.

Courtney and Cory

Courtney and Cory came for dinner that night. “When are you leaving, Kim?” Courtney asked. “I’ll leave tomorrow,” I told her, “as long as I get there by Tuesday for my meeting with Dr. Clear…”  Before Courtney left that night, she told me to call her if I needed any help getting out of the door the following day. I think she sensed that I’d made no strides to prepare myself for the journey ahead.

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The following morning – Monday –  I woke up overwhelmed. I absolutely had to leave, I had no choice. I couldn’t wait another day or I would miss my Tuesday meeting. But I hadn’t packed a single thing.  I sent a text to Courtney: “I’m cracking, I need you.” She was there within the hour.

The first thing I needed to do was pack. Mom and Courtney sat with me as I went through my clothes. I had so many clothes. I didn’t want to take all of that stuff with me into the next chapter. I left the room for a moment and came back with garbage bags.

“What are you doing?” My mom asked. “I’m giving away everything, I don’t want any of it anymore.” In a frenzy, I began stuffing my clothes in garbage bags. My plan was to drop everything off at the GoodWill store.

“All of your beautiful things?” – my mom asked; she looked pained.

“All of them”

I only kept the bare necessities. My clothes represented the old me, I was different now. Plus God had taken so much from me already, why not have everything?  I couldn’t even take my cat with me, she would have to stay with my brother. So since God had taken so much already, I figured I would give it all up. I would walk into the next situation completely naked; completely dependent on God to provide.

So I stuffed all of my clothes in garbage bags and I dropped them off at the GoodWill store.

I also had to deal with the 50lb box of leftover orange protest tee-shirts. I’d been driving around for a month with my “Prevention is Cheaper Than Incarceration” tee-shirts in the back seat of my car. Rather than drop them at the GoodWill store, I decided to put them in a dumpster in my mom’s building.

“9-5 Beats 10-Life”

Tyrone, one of the maintenance men in the building, scolded me for throwing brand new tee shirts away.  “Can I keep them?”- he asked. “I’ll give them out to my friends,” he told me. “Sure. Do whatever you like with them.”. I didn’t care. I just wanted them gone. He took the box.

My next order of business was to deal with my hair. I had to make a decision. I had two options: either go to the hair store and buy new wigs, or shave it off.  I decided it was time to shave it off. It was time to stop hiding.“Courtney can you take me to a barbershop?…”

She took me to a shop in her neighborhood. I sat in the barber’s chair: “What do you want me to do?” – he asked. I didn’t know and I didn’t care, I just needed a style.  “I think you should shave down the sides and leave a little on the top, since you have high cheek bones,” Courtney said. That sounded fine to me, I didn’t care.

I ended up with a style that looked like a mini mo-hawk. Fine. Whatever. “That will be fifteen dollars,” the barber said.  Fifteen dollars???  Considering what I had spent to get my hair done over the years, fifteen dollars seemed like the best deal in town!

I was traveling light. I’d finally shaved my head and I’d given away all of my clothes. The last thing that I had to do was get an oil change. The plan was for Courtney to lead me to a jiffy lube right by the interstate; I would get on the road from there. By this time it was 4PM.

My mother walked us down to the garage to say goodbye, it was emotional. We were both afraid. I was afraid to leave and go back out into the world, and she was afraid to let me go. If it had been left up to the two of us, I would have stayed there with her forever. We needed Courtney to get me out of the door.

I said a tearful goodbye to my mom and she waved to me as I pulled out of the driveway. Also waving were Tyrone and several other building staff members who were, by this time, clad in my orange protest tee-shirts.

Courtney lead me to the Jiffy Lube as planned, and then I had to say goodbye to her also. It was time for me to go, for real this time.

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I drove in the night. The entire time I listened to the same song on repeat; Swizz Beatz and Alicia Keys, “Un-Thinkable (I’m Ready)”

I thought about Kesner; I was ready…    but it was too late.

I cried for him while I drove. Longing. I felt a desperate intensity for a man that I couldn’t have..

Occasionally I’d allow the cd to advance to the next track, “Soldier of Love,” by Sade. That song seemed appropriate…

But then I’d just go right back to my Alicia Keys cut, I played it over and over and over, for seven hours straight as I drove and cried. There was only one star in the sky that night. It was Kesner’s star; he was with me.

Kesner’s Star

I arrived in Princeton at 11PM. I called Mrs B to let her know that I was close and she gave me directions to the house. And as I pulled into the private community and up the driveway of the sprawling estate, all I could think was: wow. 

Mrs B greeted me warmly and helped me unpack the car. She showed me to my space, it was beautiful. A large bedroom with high ceilings and a private bath. A warm reddish color adorned the walls and there were large windows that surrounded the room with Laura Ashley floral drapery.  The bedding matched the drapes and the bed was covered with an assortment of decorative pillows, and in the center of the bed was a  white linen Cuddly Bear. “You don’t have to keep this stuff, you can move your furniture in if you like…”

I didn’t want to change a thing. The Lord had prepared a place for me, far be it for me to move my old stuff in..

There was a welcome note on the bed and a gift from Mrs B: cachets, drawer liners and fragrant soap. Mrs B had also prepared dinner for me, and she’d bought me a few groceries: bread and jam, fruit, cereal.

The Lord had prepared a place…

for me.

I even had my own private kitchen, and sitting areas – plural. it was surreal.

That evening I began to settle in. I unpacked my few things, there wasn’t much to do as I’d given most of my stuff away. Then I laid back and looked around my new beautiful, comfortable, space.  Days had been hard and there would be hard days ahead. But the Lord had prepared a place for me; I would live comfortably…

Tomorrow would be the day that I would meet Dr. Clear face-to-face. The conversation could go one way or the other. If Rutgers was not able to fully fund my education, I was completely ready to turn around and go back to Cleveland. It was going to be all or nothing. And that was that.

© Copyright Thank You Very Sweet, 2012

On the wednesday before I left to return to New Jersey, I had lunch plans with my father. He’d called a few days prior to invite me to a large family dinner. “No,” I told him, “You haven’t spent any time alone with me since I’ve been here;” It felt like he’d been avoiding me. In response to my refusal to attend the family affair, he scheduled a private lunch appointment with me. We would meet downtown.

It was Wednesday, and I was planning to leave on Sunday. I was still pretty sad. And angry.  I’m not sure what the trigger was, but by Wednesday morning I was bubbling over with anger, in fact. Why had my father been avoiding me!!? Why did my mom have to bear this all alone?!!  It all seemed so convenient that he hadn’t been involved in any of this. He was happy and I was miserable!!

My resentment was mounting.

That morning I went to SportSpine to workout with Roberto. With each rep in my circuit I got more and more angry. My father had been acting as if nothing had happened! So many people had been there, they’d laid their hands on my situation and helped! My friends had been amazing, they’d done more than my own father!!!

I was working myself into a frenzy with all of these thoughts. By the time I was finished with my workout I was overcome with rage!

ANGER!!!

..Just in time for lunch

I decided not to shower or change. I would go straight to the restaurant. I also decided not to wear my wig, I wanted him to see my crazy haircut. I wanted to look bad, really bad. I needed him to see me.

I needed my pain to be visible to him.

My poor father never had a chance. By the time I arrived at the restaurant I was a ball of fire. I was as evil as a rattlesnake. I wanted him to hurt like me. I wanted him to feel it. I was cold and mean. I laid into him about how absent he’d been. He was visibly affected by my rage, I could tell. His eyes began to tear a bit and I could see his guilt.

I know my father loves me a lot; he really is a nice man. He just didn’t know how to love me through this.

But I was not rational in that moment, I was angry. And I wanted him to feel it. It made me feel powerful to blame him. And he kept defending himself, that made it worse. “I didn’t know how bad it was… I guess I didn’t really think about it …  I didn’t know how to deal with this sadness at such a happy time in my life,” he told me.

With every defense I became more and more frustrated. He’d spoken to Kesner, they used to talk on the phone. Kesner used to call him for campaign advice. I didn’t understand why he’d been so distant. The worst was when he said that his new wife knew how I felt. “She was critically ill once and her boyfriend at the time wasn’t there for her…” “Whaaat?!? I retorted! “Is he still alive???  Unless she walked in his house and found him laying dead on the floor, she has NO idea how I feel! …”

Oh I was pissed!

Needless to say we didn’t part on good terms. He sent me a text after lunch to say that I shouldn’t have been so hard on him. To that I barraged him with a series of hateful messages, filled with the worst things I could think of to say to my father. I told him I never wanted to speak to him again..

All of this made me feel better in the moment but, once the dust settled, I felt horrible. I felt horrible about the whole thing. Horrible that he hadn’t been there for me…  And horrible that I’d been so cruel to him. Maybe he couldn’t deal with it, but why did he get a free pass? Its not like anybody else had a choice. I certainly didn’t. Why hadn’t he been there for me? The whole thing was awful, and I didn’t know how to come back from it. I’d cursed my father, I’d hurt him. But he’d hurt me too. It was all bad, all around. I’d completely cut ties with him.  Time would have to heal that situation.

God would have to do it. 
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I didn’t have much time to dwell in the mess I’d created because the Links were coming to town. I had to be present with my mom. I had to be lovely.

All summer long, I’d watched as my mom gave careful attention to the selection of her leadership council. She’d been intentional about appointing people to jobs that they could excel in; each according to their level of expertise. Everybody that she approached said ‘yes, I’d love to work in your administration…’ I was so proud of her, she was so good for the organization. And now this group was coming together for the first time for a leadership summit in my home town.

The first group arrived on Wednesday evening (the same evening that I cursedmy father) and we had dinner at the Ritz Carlton. I wore my wig and received many compliments on my pretty new “hair style.”

By the next day the entire council arrived, about 80 incredible women. We commenced summit activities and once again I was swept up in the awesomeness of the Links Incorporated. Hazel Dukes was there, and my buddy from Houston, Monique. And Marcella, my God Mother. I was full.

By Friday the summit was in full swing, but I had to step away for a few moments; I had a phone appointment with New Jersey unemployment. I’d applied for my benefits the month prior and had been waiting for this appointment so that I could begin to receive compensation. I figured I’d be able to sustain myself with unemployment benefits while I was in school. I stepped away and went to my mom’s suite to take the phone call. It was short: “Ma’am, it doesn’t look like your former employer paid into the system. It looks like there was a loop hole because they are faith-based…”

I didn’t hear anything else after that. No unemployment? Not even that?  I’d worked so hard, how could they treat their employees like that? A loop-hole?

I couldn’t breathe.

How would I survive? I had no savings. I never made enough money in social services to save; I’d lived paycheck to paycheck in the time since I’d accepted my call to ministry.  I had $300.00 in my bank account and no guarantee of funding from Rutgers. Where was God in my situation?

I lost it.

I sent a text to Monique. I was having a complete emotional breakdown; a panic attack. I needed her to come to the room and sit with me. I needed help. Where was God in my situation?! Everything had been so difficult, why couldn’t this just be easy?

Monique came and we sat and I cried. I told her everything. About my Dad and unemployment and how everything just felt so overwhelming. “It’s not fair! Why can’t this just be easy?”

She didn’t have the answers but she ministered to me with her presence. She sat with me while I cried it all out.

Before long I was able to pull myself together enough to return to the summit. When I walked back into the session, my mom saw me from across the room and mouthed “are you ok?” I wasn’t, I was barely holding it together, but I nodded my head to say ‘yes.’ My mom is so amazing; even in the midst of her leadership event, she was present with me.
A few minutes later, Marcella walked over to me. “I have a gift for you,” she said. She pulled out a colorful beaded necklace with two smooth stones on it. “These are healing stones, rub them, they have positive energy.”

How did she know that I needed that necklace right then and there? Monique, who was seated next to me, just looked at me in amazement. How did Marcella know that I needed healing stones in that moment?

I put my necklace on and rubbed my healing stones all afternoon; it was comforting. And later I sat with Marcella privately and I showed her pictures of Kesner and me. She had her ipad with her and I showed her my facebook album entitled “Kesner;” we went through every photo. I was grateful for her time and attention, it helped.

I shared our photos...

I didn’t sleep that night, however.  I had so much on my mind: that awful lunch with my dad, the uncertainty of my financial situation, my emotional health and mood swings, my hair.. 

Courtney told me that if I ever needed to, I could call her in the middle of the night.

I needed to.

I called her at 4:30AM and she answered. I needed to talk it out. “Why can’t I just have a normal life?” – I cried. “Why must I persist in taking this road less traveled? Why don’t I just have a normal 9-5 job? Why is everything so hard? All I want to do is be still and paint my nails! I’m tired!” I also told her about the drama with my Dad..

Courtney talked me through. And she prayed for me. She talked me off my ledge in the wee hours of the morning.

The Links Summit ended that afternoon, Saturday. I was to go home and pack, as I was supposed to leave the following day. But I didn’t feel like packing. I didn’t feel like doing another thing. So instead I went home and watched TV under a blanket in the dark…

© Copyright Thank You Very Sweet, 2012

I went to see Monica on the Tuesday after I returned from Gayle’s wedding in Vegas. It was to be my last grief counseling appointment, I would be heading to New Jersey the following week.

I was a mess. 

The week prior I’d been so positive, hopeful and happy; but this week I was a hot mess. I wore a plain black dress, no make up and no wig. I cried the entire time, just as I had on the first time we met. “Grief is like a wave..” She reminded me.

Grief is like a wave

Then she gave me three stones to take with me. The first was a jagged rock that was to remind me of the way I was when I came, Raw.  I forgot what the other two stones symbolized. I was focused on the raw one. I still felt that way. She urged me to be gentle with myself. “It’s still fresh, it hasn’t even been three full months..”

“I feel so overwhelmed,” I told her. My move back to New Jersey was only one week away, but I had so much to do before I left. I had to organize all of my clothes and pack. And the Links executive council was coming to town for a leadership summit. And my new step mother was having a post-wedding bridal shower;  I was expected at that also.

And not only that, but I had all of these commitments that I would be expected to uphold when I returned to New Jersey. I held an office in my sorority, and I had  commitments to other social clubs and community service organizations. And my church. And I was starting a PhD program…

The thought of it all was so overwhelming; it was too much. All I wanted to do was be still.

“Right now you only have a certain amount of energy,” Monica told me. “You can’t do everything, so I suggest that you prioritize. Give your energy to people and situations that are giving energy back to you.”

She was right. I was over-extending myself; and in many cases, those relationships were not reciprocal. I would have to decide what to keep and what to give up. I couldn’t do it all, I only had a certain amount of energy.

I decided in that moment that I would not go to my step mother’s post-wedding bridal shower. That decision had to do with my father. I had only seen him three times since I’d been in Cleveland, grieving. And one of those times was his wedding.  He hadn’t even called to check on me. And then there was this one morning when I called him and asked if I could visit. He was at IHOP picking up breakfast for he and his wife. “Pick up something for me, I’ll stop by and join you,” I said.   “No, now’s not a good time…”

I decided that going to the shower was not in my best interest. That was a situation that wasn’t giving back to me. I would save my energy for my mom. My mom had been so present with me, I would be present with her for the Links summit.

Having made that simple decision, I felt so much lighter. Monica had done it again. I hated to leave her. Our weekly appointments had helped me so much.

Before I left, she told me she liked my haircut.  She was the first person to say that..
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
That afternoon I decided to take a drive out to the country. I ended up driving to my old high school, The Hawken School.

Hawken

I hadn’t been there in years.

The sprawling green campus was breathtaking to me; it was more beautiful than I ever remembered. I was filled with nostalgia from days of old. I felt so lucky to have gone to that school. It was so rigorous, and outside-of-the-box; the exposure was incredible.

When other high schoolers were taking basic english, we were taking classes like “The Life and Times of Buddha and Jesus,” and “Bio-medical Ethics.” I was so thankful for the great sacrifice that my parents made; sending me to this incredible school.  Our motto was : “That Each Generation Introduce it’s Successor to a Higher Plain of Living.” My mom loved that motto. That became the motto of our household as well..

Going to Hawken that afternoon was a great idea! It lifted my spirit. The campus was empty, but the main school building was open. I went in and ran around, remembering. I ran in and out of classrooms, I peeped in teacher’s offices; I went in and out of the bathrooms, to the library and the auditorium. I ran across the field to the dining hall, “The White House” is what we used to call it. Then I ran back and stared at a wall of photographs of teachers that I once knew; many of whom had retired.

And then I sat on the bench where I always sat in high school, and I looked up at a copper hawk mounted on a stone slab. I thought about Kesner; he’d been sending me hawks all summer long.

And now, here I was at my alma matter and I was staring at a sculpture of a hawk. It was our mascot.  How fitting. Yes coming to Hawken was a great idea. It lifted my spirit.

I was alone, but I wasn’t. As I sat there on my bench I felt a presence so strong and so certain. But, this time it wasn’t Kesner. It was..

Jaimie.

Jaimie

Jaimie – My friend. My high school friend who died suddenly six days before my 30th birthday. I hadn’t grieved her death, the guilt of it all had been too much….

Jaimie and I had been friends since we were eleven and we remained so into adulthood. She was smart, and funny, and beautiful. But she was sad a lot of the time. She worked in the Cleveland public school system with poor children who were mentally and emotionally challenged. We kept in touch through the years. When we got together we mostly spent time catching up on the Hawken rumor mill: who’d gotten married; who’d had babies…

The last I saw Jaimie was Christmas time 2009. We had coffee at Starbucks. I had my camera but I didn’t take a picture, it was too awkward to ask a stranger to take a photo of the two of us…

Two months later she died. Suddenly.

“I’m sorry to hear about Jaimie,” was the text I received at midnight two days after her death. It was from Damon, another Hawken friend. “Huh? What happened to Jaimie?” I responded.  He called.

Then I checked my voicemail. Amanda had been trying to reach me also. Then I checked facebook and it was all over the place; condolences for Jaimie.

I venture to say that, among our Hawken friends, I had remained the closest to Jaimie through the years. And when she died, I was the last to know. I found out through the Hawken rumor mill; the irony.

By the time I found out, the funeral had already happened. The family was sitting Shivah in Cleveland, and I was in New Jersey; I couldn’t get there in time. And what made it worse was that I had a voicemail from Jaimie from the Thursday, prior.

“Hey it’s Jaimie, give me a call when you can….”

I hadn’t gotten around to calling her back. I was so damn busy. She died suddenly on the following Saturday. The guilt of it all was incredible.

So that afternoon, on my visit to The Hawken School, I sat with my friend on our bench. We shared a peaceful moment and I felt her say “I forgive you for not calling me back,” and “I’m better now.” I cried healing tears. This time, for Jaimie.

And I promised to be different. I promised to live on a higher plain: To be present in my relationships. To give energy to people and situations that give energy to me. And to say no to some things; to have boundaries.

Right then and there, in the place of my youth, I vowed to change me.

© Copyright Thank You Very Sweet, 2012

It was so difficult for me to say I love you to Kesner, I felt so guilty about that in the months after Kesner died. I knew I loved him long before I said it for the first time, but I was afraid….

I think a lot of people thought it was the campaign that killed Kesner. I’m sure the stress of it all didn’t help.

Kesner (left) on the campaign trail

Neither did all of the unsolicited advice, especially my own. The more invested I became in the campaign, the more IT came –  the advice. “Men register advice as criticism,” my Dad told me once. This was just after he’d given me this book about how men need respect and women need to be cherished. But that obviously didn’t fully register with me; women offer unsolicited advice to one another freely and often. For many of us, it is how we love…

But I wasn’t loving in those moments with Kes. I wished I had been different.

We became serious towards the end of his campaign. It didn’t look like he was going to win the election.  Part of me wished I could save the campaign, but it wasn’t for me to save. What frustrated me is that he spoke so broadly; he spoke about macro level changes. “I think you need to be more specific about what you’re actually going to do in office,” I told him. But he was persistent in speaking broadly about change.

He also refused to form alliances with people who I thought he should. Instead I think he saw himself as a grass-roots Barack Obama of sorts, bringing about change for the people of Trenton. “Things shouldn’t be this way,” he’d say.

I just wanted him to win.

And somewhere along the way, while spouting off bits of unsolicited campaign advice, I missed countless opportunities to say I love you.  I cried about that in the grass at Horseshoe Lake. How could I have been so negligent? So selfish? How could I have been so hung up on three simple words?

The night that the election results were announced was a quiet night. Kesner didn’t win, he placed fourth.

quiet after the election...

We said goodbye to our guests that evening, those who’d helped along the way. And then we went to bed. As I laid there next to my man in the peace of that night, I wondered how to love him through this defeat.  I know it hurt him, but he didn’t let it show.

The next day I was so relieved when he told me that he wanted to go away for a few days. He was making it easy for me. We decided on the Poconos and it was an incredible trip – rest, laughter, love,  and a two-hour canoe ride down the Delaware River:  he paddled, I sang, we loved.

“You’re becoming my heart,” he told me. But I couldn’t say those three words yet, it was too soon.

I was afraid.

A week after our trip, I was recording a radio show with Andrea. Excited, I called to leave Kesner a voicemail before we went on the air. “I love you!”- I blurted out before I hung up the phone.

Ooops! I hadn’t meant to say that then, it just came out!

I spent the next 24-hours obsessing over the fact that I had “accidentally” said I love you. The next day I was at his house acting strangely. It had been 24 hours and he hadn’t mentioned that voice message I’d left on his phone. I finally had to explain my odd behavior:

“Didn’t you hear what I said on your voicemail last night??” 

It turned out that the voicemail was muffled and he hadn’t even heard me say it. That was even more embarrassing, I rushed home.  I ran away.

The next day he didn’t call me or text me, that was unlike him. After not hearing from him for what seemed like forever, I went to his house -only a little frantic- to make sure he was ok. He had diabetes after all, I just wanted to check on him. I found him on his deck smoking a pipe. We laughed about the fact that I’d overreacted, thinking some horrible thing had happened to him. I was being silly. It was just that..

I loved him.

That night I said it again, properly, and he told me he loved me also. I knew that already, though; he showed me in every way. He cherished me. Even when I disrespected him with my unsolicited advice,

he cherished me.  I felt that.

That night Kesner also told me that he thought he would die young. I asked him to stop thinking that way, for our family’s sake. We were planning a life…

Three weeks later he died, young.

Damn

I wish I had said I love you to Kesner sooner, more often, every day.  Every hour.

but I was afraid of being vulnerable and exposed and out of control, so even when I wanted to say it  – I didn’t.  I held it in… 

and I missed my opportunities.

© Copyright Thank You Very Sweet, 2012

The days of summer were winding down. In just two short weeks, I’d be heading back to New Jersey to begin a new chapter at Rutgers. I felt good about everything.

I returned to my young  adult grief support group that week (this time with Courtney) and told everyone the good news about how everything had become so very CLEAR. By this time I was feeling like the poster child for how to “do grief.”

“You’ve done all the right things,” our group leader, Diana, said. “Most people don’t get to take time off from work (and life) to grieve.”

She was right, I knew my experience had been special. And because I’d done it so well, I was all better. That was a good night in support group. The group let me know that my presence would be missed and we promised to reconnect in the winter months for a reunion.

Having said goodbye to my young adult grief support group, there were just a few more things that I needed to do before leaving Ohio. One of those things was to fly to Las Vegas for Glitter Pop’s wedding. Gayle was getting married at the Bellagio and I was the presiding minister.

Glitter Pop was getting married at The Bellagio

My mother had been asking me all summer if I really felt up to this. “Do you really think you should be doing a wedding right now, given the fact that you’ve just lost Kesner?” Gayle even asked if I still felt up to it. “Of course I do, don’t be silly,” I told them. I could separate my emotion from the joy of this celebration. And I didn’t want anyone else to marry them.

Plus I was better, healed from grief, I would be fine. 

I flew to Vegas the following weekend…

I treated myself to a private lunch in a piano bar when I arrived at the Bellagio on Saturday afternoon. I would only have a few moments to myself before the events of the wedding began. As I finished my smoked salmon dish, I heard the click click of heels coming around the corner, and a high pitched:

“Hey Kimmy!!” 

It was the bride-to-be.  Glitter Pop had come to meet me and take me to the chapel to rehearse the ceremony. The wedding would be the following day; a mid morning ceremony, followed by a fabulous Sunday brunch.

The rehearsal and rehearsal dinner were lovely. There was so much love and excitement amidst the wedding party and it was a gift to meet the family and friends of the bride and groom. I was having a good time, except for occasional thoughts I was having about Kesner. I could control them, though.

I was better now, and this was a celebration.

That night I stayed in the hotel room with Glitter Pop; it was just her and I in her room on the eve of her wedding. It was special. Her ivory wedding gown and my ivory preaching robe hung sided-by-side in preparation for her big day.

Before bed, I took off my wig and showed Gayle my jagged two-inch home-cut afro. “I know this hair cut wasn’t part of your ‘vision’ for the wedding, so don’t worry, I promise to wear my wig,” I joked. We had a good laugh about that for a few minutes before bed. My impulsive home-do was definitely not apart of the “vision.” I would continue to hide it..

The next morning I woke up at 5AM; I was still on east coast time. It was dark outside (sans the vegas lights), and the television was on with low volume. Gayle was sitting up in bed next to me with a green avocado mask on her face. “Good morning!!” she said- cheerfully- as I cracked my eyes open; she was so excited.

Rather than go back to sleep, I decided to join her. I got up and put on an avocado mask also; and the two of us sat side-by-side in the bed, with green faces, waiting for the day to begin. We ordered room service and watched television. It was cute.

I was having more thoughts of Kesner though: What if this was our day? What would I be doing right now? What would he be doing? Who would be around us? 

I would keep these thoughts at bay. It was only natural that they were surfacing, but this was Gayle’s day. A happy day.

Things moved quickly after that. The bridesmaids came to the room to fetch Gayle. They were already dressed and it was time to get her to the bridal suite to get ready. I stayed back in the room for a few minutes longer to look over my wedding sermon and get myself ready. Then I met the party in the bridal changing area so that we could pray together before the ceremony began.

As we waited in the bridal suite, I got a text from Klay: “hey just arrived, is there anywhere that I can change?” Klay had just been at another wedding on a vineyard in North Carolina the day prior, he’d taken a red-eye flight to get to Vegas just in time for Glitter Pop’s nuptials. “Tell him to meet us here,” Gayle responded. And a few minutes later, in walked Klay.

Klay..

Everyone errupted into applause when he entered. I am not sure why we were clapping, Klay just has that affect on people. It was a dramatic entrance.  The wedding could begin. Klay was there. And I was so happy to see him.

I could do this.

The ceremony was beautiful. It all went so quickly and before long we were at the reception. Klay and I were seated together and we had a great time cutting up and cracking jokes. I needed him there. I was mostly fine, but there was one moment when I got a little teary, wishing it were me. Thankfully that moment was brief and Klay was there.

All was well.

That afternoon, as we were leaving the reception, Klay and I ran into Hazel Dukes walking out to the pool area in her bathing suit. “Come out and join us, Toni and I got a Cabana..” She said. Hazel and Toni are my Link sisters who had been amongst the invited guests at Gayle’s wedding. They were smart to reserve a cabana by the fabulous Bellagio pool for the afternoon. And Klay and I were lucky beneficiaries of their gracious invitation.  “We’ll be right there,” we told Hazel.

Klay hadn’t brought any pool attire. We stopped in a store to see if we could find him some swim trunks, but they didn’t have anything that suited his taste. He decided, instead, to go to the pool in his Calvin Klein underwear.

“Nobody will notice if I just act natural” he told me. And he was right. Klay walked through the Bellagio lobby and sat by the pool for hours in a grey Calvin Klein V-neck Tee and black Calvin Klein briefs and nobody had a clue. It was hilarious.

We had a nice afternoon, with mango martini’s by the pool. And later we went out with a large group for seafood. Everything was just as I’d expected. All was well.

That night, Klay and I stayed at the Flamingo. Our time at the Bellagio was up. We’d paid for a cheap sixty dollar room for our last night in Vegas, but when we arrived, all of the cheap rooms were full. “We’ll have to put you in one of our penthouse suites for the night,” the front desk manager explained. “Of course,” we obliged. The suite was fabulous, the next comfortable place where I would stay. But we didn’t stay up for too long; utterly exhausted, we each climbed into our beds and went to sleep almost immediately.

That night I dreamed that there was a man panhandling in the bellagio looking for change. He was deaf and mute and his face was covered, but you could tell he was young. In my dream, I knew with absolute certainty that this man was Kesner.

This was my first dream about Kesner and he was a deaf mute panhandling in the Bellagio!!??

For weeks I’d been desperate to dream about Kesner. Talithea told me that when her brother died she had frequent dreams about him –  visitations from him. Talithea’s brother was shot and in her dream he came to her with one half of his body paralyzed. He told her that this is the way he would have been if he had lived; she wouldn’t have wanted him to live like that.

Well what was I supposed to make of the fact that Kesner was a deaf mute panhandling in my dream??! Would this have been the way he would have lived if I had “saved” him? Would the stroke (I was certain it was a stroke by this time) have left him in that condition? Was this my visitation?

I woke up in tears. I was so not ok! I was hysterical. Nothing about me was ok. Why the hell did I think I would be ok? I was not better at all!!!

I had an early flight and all I had to do was get my few things organized to get out of the room and into the cab. It was the hardest task ever. I cried and cried and cried. At some point Klay got up and sat next to me for a bit, but nothing was helping. I was better off dead!

I proeeded to cry profusely the entire way home: On the way to the airport, in the airport, on the plane, in cleveland airport, and in the car all the way back to my mom’s condo – I sobbed. And for the next two days I sat on the couch under a blanket in the den and watched TV in the dark.

I guess I wasn’t as healed as I thought.

I do not regret performing the wedding, but I wasn’t as good as thought I was. I wasn’t better, I wasn’t healed.

Grief is like a wave and I guess I was just in the calm for a while. But the calm passed; and just that quickly, I was swept up into the darkness once again.

Grief is like a wave

© Copyright Thank You Very Sweet, 2012

The drive home from Bethany Beach felt endless. Mom wanted to stop at every rest stop. She even suggested that we sit and have a cup of coffee at a roadside Starbucks. But I was anxious to get home.  Maya had arrived in Cleveland and she was waiting from me at my mom’s condo.

Maya

Maya was my absolute best friend at Spelman College.  We met in a sociology class during the second semester of my sophomore year.  We were sitting next to each other in class, watching a film on the civil rights movement, when she asked me to move my head because she couldn’t see the television.

I didn’t think I was going to like her.

But then we went on this 54-mile march from Selma to Montgomery, Alabama; and everything changed after that.

The purpose of the class we were taking was to prepare us to participate in the re-enactment of the 1965 voting rights march from Selma to Montgomery.  Twenty students from Spelman had been selected to take this class that would end with our re-enactment of this civil rights march on its 35th anniversary in March 2000.

During each class, we met in the evenings and learned about some aspect of the civil rights movement. And on Saturday mornings the class would take 5-mile walks around downtown Atlanta to prepare us for our 54-mile journey. We ended those Saturday walks with breakfast at the historic Paschals Restaurant.

The Historic Pashal's Restuarant - Atlanta, GA

Paschals was a popular meeting place for many of the famed Atlanta civil rights leaders.  And along the way we got to hear from surviving heroes like Representative  John Lewis, who marched in the original march in 1965. He shared his stories of being beaten with clubs by Alabama police officers on the Edmund Pettus bridge in Selma .

non-violent protesters were brutally beaten by Alabama police officers on their first attempt to cross the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, Alabama in 1965. Congressman John Lewis was among them

 It was a very cool class.

And somewhere along our 54-mile journey from Selma to Montgomery, Maya and I became friends….

Maya and I became fast friends after the march, spending an exorbitant amount of time together the following summer.  She was a fun friend that I could keep it totally real with.  She is grounded and responsible and I could always count on her to tell me the truth.  And she could always count on me to tell a good story; to make the mundane things of life interesting and funny.  We also shared two fascinations: a fascination with medicine and a fascination with hair.

We aren’t actually fascinated with medicine itself, rather with diagnosing ourselves when we are sick.  I might call her with symptoms and together the two of us will figure out what I have.  Maya was always much better at this than I was.  And several years after Spelman, she went back to school to earn a second bachelor’s degree in nursing.

Maya is my nurse friend in Atlanta who was the first to tell me just how serious type-one diabetes is and just how difficult it is to manage.  And several weeks after that call, when I found Kesner dead, she was the friend to tell me that she would come to visit me…

later.

 “everyone is around when it first happens.  I want to come in a few months when no one is around.  I will come and visit you in Ohio in August….”

And she did.

Maya and Me

When  mom and I finally arrived home, there was Maya sitting in the den with my brothers.  My brother Gary had gone to get her from the airport.  I told them all about the Dr. Clear story and they agreed that it seemed like confirmation that I should go to Rutgers.  And shortly after that, Maya and I broke away and delved into our obsessions: health and hair.

“I want to see your hair cut,” She told me. I was still wearing the wig. I reluctantly took it off and showed her my uneven afro. I was ashamed.  I still thought it was ugly.

“It’s not that bad,” she said. “you just have to figure out what you’re doing with it.  Why don’t you shave it all off? You’re going to be starting school soon, nobody will know you. You can start with a fresh new look.”

I gave some thought to what she said, but I wasn’t ready yet.

we spent the entire evening watching “Miss Jessie’s” natural hair styling videos on youtube.

Miss Jessie's...

And the next day we went to the hair store to buy new hair products.  There were wigs galore in the hair store, and instead of looking for natural hair products – as we had planned –  we spent the entire afternoon trying on wigs. It was a blast. We laughed at our different looks; surprising each other with our various wig selections.  But while this excercise was supposed to be ‘just fun,’ I ended up buying another wig in the process.

Another covering.

This one had a crimpy kink to it.   Looks more natural, I convinced myself.   In reality it was just another excuse to avoid dealing with the raw me.  Maya sensed that…

Beyond the hair stuff, we also spent a lot of time talking about what killed Kesner.  I was thankful to have a friend that would go there with me.  I was sure it was a heart attack until she said:  “do you think it could have been a stroke?” 

A stroke! I thought.  Of course it was a stroke!

He wasn’t taking his high blood pressure medication.  And the dizziness caused by stroke can cause you to vomit….  Thanks to Maya, I was now almost 95% convinced!  Kesner didn’t die of a heart attack, he died from a stroke!

Maya’s visit was too short.  I was glad that she came later in the summer; her timing was absolutely perfect.

………………………………………………………………………………………..

The following week I shared the story about Dr. Clear with my grief counselor, Monica.  I was so happy in my meeting with her, a far cry from where I was when we first started meeting.   “I never say this,” she told me “but I really do think that you should write about your experience of grief;  you have an incredible story to tell.”

Monica and I both agreed that writing my book ,‘Thank You Very Sweet,’ was a good idea,

but how would I do this? 

I told her that I didnt think that I had the discipline to commit to writing an entire book; to write at length without some sort of audience along the way. I am a preacher, I am used to call-and-response. I’d never just written for the sake of writing. I never kept a journal as a child.  How would I write an entire book?  I’d get bored. I’d quit.

Also I wasn’t quite sure how to organize my book.  By this time I knew that it would have to consist of more than just thank you notes to my friends and family.  And more than just me and Kesner’s love story.  Somehow I would have to incorporate different parts of my life also, those things that make me who I am.  This story – and Kesner’s death in it – are the culmination of many things.

And the beginning of many new things…

This story is not just about grief… it’s about living.  “How would I do this?”

The thought of getting it all out on paper seemed so overwhelming…

“I don’t know the answer to that,” Monica told me, “maybe you should ask The Universe.”\

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

After that appointment I went to Horseshoe lake and I sat on a bench and I asked God  (AKA “The Universe”):

“Please tell me how to write this book.”

And then I went home.

I didn’t have to worry about it or think about it again.  I had asked, and God would answer…

 in God’s time.

© Copyright Thank You Very Sweet, 2012

People seem excited for me when I tell them that I am working on a Phd.  “In what?” – they inevitably ask. “In Criminal Justice…”

And then I get the confused face, as if to say : Why Criminal Justice??

…………………………………………………………………………………

This is how it happened…

During the fall of 2009, I was happily directing the women center in Trenton and working towards a goal of bringing the issues faced by incarcerated women to the forefront of public conscience.  Jessie (Soul Friend) was working on this also and she’d made some amazing connections along the way.  One day she suggested that we go see a woman in Newark. 

“She’s done a lot of research on women and federal drug laws; she’s concentrated on Black women and crack cocaine in particular. She is the director of an Urban Policy think-tank that’s affiliated with Rutgers, The Cornwall Center.  I think we should meet her.”

I was happy to meet anyone who cared about the same things we did, and Soul Friend had a history of introducing me to people who made prints on my life; so taking these into consideration, I agreed to go.

Jessie, my “Soul Friend”

We found the Cornwall Center welcoming and warm; it was not what I was expecting.    We were treated with hospitality and kindness.  This was important to me because in the work that we were doing at the women center we’d also put a premium on hospitality; desiring to make each client feel welcomed and wanted.  As visitors at Cornwall, they were treating us the same way.

We sat in a conference room for a few moments, when the director entered and greeted us : Dr. Stephanie Bush-Baskette.  She had style.  her salt and pepper hair was cut a-symmetrically and she was wearing a Misook suit; she was sharp.  She was also friendly and warm.  And she was smart and accomplished.

Stephanie Bush-Baskette, Esq., PhD

During that first meeting, we talked about our work and hers.  We talked about the potential of collaboration; perhaps the Cornwall Center would do an evaluation of our work one day…   And we talked about the larger issues of the criminal justice system in the United States.  It was a nice meeting.  And as soon as Jessie and I walked out of the door, Soul Friend looked at me with a knowing face.  She knew what I was feeling: that this was more than a meeting to me, I’d just had an encounter with my future.

Here was a woman who’d taken a road less traveled; who’d entered a field where Black women are few yet Black issues are many.  She’d taken it by storm, bringing attention to issues of inequality around Black women and federal crack laws…   and she’d done it with style.  She was an attorney, she’d served in the state legislature in NJ, and as commissioner of the Department of Community Affairs.  And after all of that, she’d gone back to Rutgers to get her PhD in Criminal Justice and she was now the director of The Cornwall Center.

She was bad…  and I wanted to be just like her.

Having been completely inspired by that one meeting, I began work on a PhD application to Rutgers School of Criminal Justice.  Our Women Center was state funded, so the transition made sense to me; Rutgers University has a history of doing the type of research that shapes state policies in New Jersey.  I’d been thinking for a long time that the language that defined what our program was supposed to do for women was too narrow. The state wanted us to find women jobs, but it seemed to ignore the myriad of other socio-emotional issues faced by poor women in our community.  I convinced myself that if I got this degree then I would be credentialed to join policy-shaping conversations in a meaningful way.

So I opened an application to Rutgers that Fall…

And then I let it sit there.

During the winter months I lost momentum around going back to school.  I was comfortable where I was and totally committed to The Women Center.  Every once and a while I would think about the application that I’d left sitting on-line, but then I would talk myself out of completing it.  That is, until one fateful day in March..

It was mid-March when I was sitting in a meeting at the Department of Community Affairs with the directors of all of the Urban and Hispanic Women Centers across the state of New Jersey.  It was the regularly scheduled monthly meeting for this group, but this time we were hit with an unexpected announcement.  The Director of the Division on Women entered the room and told us that she’d just learned that our budgets had been zeroed out for 2011.  Governor Christie cut 29 billion from the New Jersey State Budget that year, and we were part of the fall.  Unless we secured additional funding before June 30th, our centers would have to close.

Governor Christie

I immediately went into crisis-action mode, calling Mara for help to develop a “Save the Center Strategy.”  And I also secured a back-up plan for myself: I completed my application to Rutgers.

Six weeks later I learned that I had been admitted.  Kesner was more excited than I was.  “My Sexy Little Doctor,” he called me.  He definitely thought I should go, but at the time I was still focused on trying to save my little community program.  I lodged it in the back of my mind, at least I had a back-up plan if all else failed.  But I didn’t have funding; I’d applied at the absolute last minute and I’d missed all of the funding opportunities, they’d been made months prior.

I also didn’t have anywhere to live. My apartment lease was going to expire at the end of July and If we weren’t able to save the center, I would be out of a job.  Plus I couldn’t work full time AND be a full time PhD student.  Would I have to live in a dorm?  Dorm living never worked well for me.

Plus, I didn’t really feel like going back to school…

But then on June 9th, Kesner died.  That morning Dr. Stephanie Bush-Baskette had invited me to be a morning panelist at a day-long conference at Rutgers on women in the Criminal Justice System.  I was wearing my orange protest Tee-shirt – “9-5 Beats 10-Life.”

“9-5 Beats 10-Life”

It was a good morning.  And when I arrived at Kesner’s house around 4PM that afternoon I found his dead body…

And you know the rest.

I shut down.  I couldn’t do another thing.  I wouldn’t do another thing.  I was pissed.  Heart broken.  And nothing that I cared about seemed to matter anymore…

I came home to Ohio with the thought that I might stay home forever.  I would restart my life in Cleveland with my mom and my family. This is what I thought…

Until one fateful day in Bethany Beach when God made it CLEAR that I was to go to Rutgers.  The unanswered questions about funding and housing would be answered.  And all I would have to do is muster up all my courage and strength and step out on faith…

All I had to do was just show up. God would do the rest.

So why Criminal Justice??  …..Because God said so.

Trust me –  one day it’ll all make sense..

© Copyright Thank You Very Sweet, 2012

Programs For At-Risk Women on Governer’s Chopping Block