An Indescribable Pain gives me wings

May 18, 1976, I am standing on the hill hanging out with my friends. I see my da’s car snaking slowly down the hill. A chill runs through me. No matter how hard I try I can’t pull my eyes away from the car. My friends are shouting and playing around behind me. Having a good time. I feel like they are in a different dimension to me. Though I can hear them, I feel like they are far away. Muted sounds. Something deep within my core is chilled. It is only when the car moves out of my sight that I snap out of the trance. I shake my body. Hug myself. Letting the coldness seep out. I turn and go running back to my friends. Shaking the feelings of dread. Pushing them to the back of my mind.

A few hours later just before dusk, my brother comes looking for me. I know instantly when I see his face that something is wrong. Once again that feeling creeps back in.

“You need to come home,” he says.

“No, I’m having fun,” I answer.

“You need to come home now,” he says again, not smiling. Demanding.

I don’t want to go. I want to stay where I am. It feels safer here. But I go. He walks in front of me. Not speaking. Not looking at me. He disappears in the house before me. Leaves the door ajar behind him. I hear voices. Strange voices. My heart races. I walk through the kitchen door slowly. I feel like I am going to suffocate. The air is so thick. There are people here. People that aren’t usually here. And then I hear my sister say to someone on the phone, “She’s gone.”

I look at her. I look round the kitchen. And I know because I can’t breathe. I know because deep in my core something has broken. Died. I know and I scream, “Who’s gone? Who’s gone?” Over and over again. Like a broken record. Trying to drown out the news.

They stare at me. They don’t know what to say. A tear rolls down my sister’s face. I start to shake. I can’t breathe. I look from face to face. Then my little brother runs into the room. His little face broken. “Mama’s dead!” he cries. “Mama’s dead.” Like a broken record. Like a startled child.

And then I hear a piercing scream. And then I feel my body retch. And then I feel arms around me. Guiding me. Trying to protect me. And then I realise the scream is mine. The pain is mine. And I can’t stop it. They can’t stop it. No one can.

My worst nightmare has come true. My best friend. The love of my life. My mama is gone. Dead. Just like that. No goodbye. Nothing. Just disappeared. Gone. I feel like I have broken into a trillion, bazillion tiny little fragile pieces and I scream some more.

May 18, 2012 and I still feel the pain I felt when I heard the news. When my life changed unexpectedly. Instantly. And without warning. Some 36years later I still feel like that 13 year old girl when I first wake up. It happens every May 18. Some years worse than others. Some years better than others. But now I understand that pain. I know that pain has given me the wings to be who I am. That pain allowed me to grow in ways I would never have dreamed possible before. That pain taught me forgiveness, compassion, empathy and love. And that pain comes every year to remind me.

May 18 is always a sad day for me but also a day for me to recollect from whence I have come. To be grateful for the time I had with my mother. To be grateful for all her life and death has taught me. And continues to teach me.

May 18 a day of reverence for me. Rest in peace mama. I will always love you. And thank you for teaching me “I wasn’t built to break."

Writing from a place of Honesty and Authenticity

The blog I wrote yesterday about being in the mud evoked strong emotions from people who read it. The feedback I got from it was amazing. Simply because I was speaking my truth.

One of my friends told me she admires my honesty, authenticity, and my willingness to share.  She said some people will never be able to be as self-reflective and aware as I am. Making me realise this is why I write.

I then decided to watch the BET awards last night. I wasn’t sure why but I felt compelled to watch it even though I had DVRed it ages ago. But last night I wanted to see Dr. Maya Angelou being awarded for her contribution to Literacy. And once again I knew I was being delivered a message from the Universe when Dr. Angelou said in her Thank You speech, “I write the Human Truth.... I come as 1 but I stand as 10,000. ...What you learn, teach. What you get, give.”

Tears rolled down my face. Chills ran up and down my spine. As I understood why I write. I understood why I am here and why each and every day I feel compelled to give through my writing and it is because I have been given this gift of writing to share. To write my human truth as Dr. Angelou does. To share my life experiences and lessons honestly, openly and authentically in the best way I know how. By writing. To help myself to grow and in the process to help those who follow me to grow as well. By writing from a place of compassion, empathy and understanding. From a place of honesty and authenticity. From a place of truth and seeking.

To know that though each of us may come as one, each of us stands together with shared experiences reaching back through the human experience. Passed down from generation to generation. Evoking feelings, memories and hope within us that we forget we have. Instilling the desire within us to live authentic lives because we have the blood, sweat and tears of those who have gone before us, who paved the way for us, to be where we are today as a part of our DNA.

We are not alone. We are never alone. Because each and every one of us has the spirit of the human consciousness as our guide if we are willing to listen to it, honour it, and be grateful for it.

Many question why I write and if I am afraid of what people will say. And sometimes I do question why I write. Sometimes I do question what people will say. But now I remember why I write, through one of the greatest connectors of our time, Dr. Maya Angelou. I write because I write my Human Truth. The Human Truth.
Thank you Dr. Angelou for knowing why the Caged Bird sings and giving writers like me the confidence to write and grow. 

Pick your friends wisely

I was reading my Florida sister’s blog, @The Daily Own, called 12 Lesson Everyone Should Know. And it was this lesson that resonated with me, "If you get in the mud with the pigs, the mud is bound to come off on you.  So pick your friends wisely."

A light bulb went off in my head about why I was feeling so dirty yesterday. It forced me to reflect on an experience I had when I sat in judgement about someone else. Said horrible things about the person because they have said horrible things about me. And it did not feel right deep down in my soul when I said the things I said or afterward either.

My philosophy in life is two wrongs don’t make a right. And just because someone says something hurtful about me does not give me the right to try to hurt them back. Because if I do, I am jumping in the mud and getting covered in it.

I do not like being dirty. And I most definitely do not like being in the mud with pigs. And now I know, yesterday I allowed my ego to take over. Used my ego to make myself feel strong. To feel like I had risen above the attacks of others. But in fact all I did was end up waist deep in the mud. Feeling guilty. Reckless and ashamed that I had.

So reading my sisters’ blog helped me tor remember that I need to be careful about allowing my ego to get in the way of the light, love and peace I want in my life. Because the only way I am going to attract them and keep them in my life is to give them. We always get what we give. It’s the laws of the Universe.

So today I am planning to shower for that little while longer. Washing that mud off my body. Out of my soul and spirit. Cleansing my mind of the guilt and shame for reducing myself to that level. Forgiving myself for doing what I did. Forgiving the person for the unkind words they have been uttering about me. Surrendering to the lesson that I was meant to learn from getting in the mud. And going back out into the world as the beacon of light, love and peace that I am.

And for my sisters in Florida @The Daily Own for reminding me about how much I dislike being in the mud, I am truly grateful.

The Daily Own