Grief is not just about physical loss

Some of our most prolific insights come to us at the most random times. The topic of grief has been consistent for me the last few days so, yep. Imma write about it. 

I would have been...

(Typed with thumbs on a small screen by a pretty blind person. Smh) 

There are so many things we could have been. It only takes, what may have seemed like a small insignificant decision, to change the trajectory of one's life. It's like turning right and ending up in a ditch, or turning left and meeting the person you will fall in love with that changes your life forever. We could have been many things. Endless versions of ourselves exist if you believe that we live in varied parallel dimensions or timelines.

What's crazy is you can only evaluate what you could have been after you have taken those turns during your lifetime. Most people know that what you can be is a "hopeful unknown". What you could have been is a version of an unknown but depending on your talents, education, dedication, reasoning for your decisions, you can deduce that your life very possibly would have turned out differently or at least what you initially aimed for. Even if you eventually ended up in the same place you are now, the journey would have been different,  thus, creating lessons you may not otherwise have learned without those journeys. 

Okay.  That's the universal philosophical thought behind what or who we could have been. For me, I would have had a dope ass life. Lol. I do but just differently.  Where would I be now had I learned to play the piano at 4yo? What if I had the paint and easel when I got my satellite paint brushes in elementary school? What if I continued writing plays after I wrote and directed my first play in the 4th grade? Let's fast forward a little, shall we?

What if I said "yes", when my Jr High basketball coach asked me to try out for the team? What if I had an art portfolio when I auditioned for HS? What if I left home at 17 and went to NY to study fashion design? What if I finished the architecture program at VSU and went on to be an architect? What if I accepted the the Interior Design chief's invitation to join the ID program at VCU? What if I stayed in Richmond in 2001? What if I called my gramma more before she passed? What if I had gone to see my cousin when I planned to a month before he passed away? What If I didn't say yes to the temp employment company that I ended up working for from 2001 - 2011, afterwards surviving on temp work? 

What if I really were pregnant that one time? What kind of mom would I have been? The little booties I bought were super cute. I should have saved them. 

What if my cousin didn't text me that day?

What if no one knocked on my door after deciding life didn't want me anymore?

What if I stayed in DC? 

What if? 

What if? 

What if?

What if I let go of all the what-ifs?

The most authentic version of freedom. 

We will never EVER be able to go back and change those what-ifs. We have no clue what tomorrow holds. All we have, truly, is right now. I could have been a million possible variations of me, and still I can ot help but be thankful for this ole raggedy version of me. 😆 

After an interview this week, I experienced a rejection that I wasn't terribly upset about because one of the Board of Directors said, mid-interview, "You are wildly overqualified for this role." I replied, "I know." 😆  When the Executive Director broke the news, she said, "You can do anything with your credentials." Again, I know. 😆  She actually said they are working on another position in leadership, she thinks I'll be more suited for. Mmmhmmm😏😉. But what if I did get the role that minimized me? A choice. A "What if" situation, if you will. 

With my sensitivity that people view as a liability,  I see it as a gift. My ability to reason using data and logic, and not emotion, like people assume, is priceless. The way my heart continues to love so fiercely after it's shattering would justify a transition to coldness. The way my mind analyzes the world around me so I can decide how, when, and where to move. 

This is sort of a love letter to myself that I wished I'd have written so that my 14-year-old self could have held and read it. I would have told her from the beginning to trust herself and not depend on extrinsic motivation for her to succeed. I would have given her permission to live fearlessly. 

Every version of who I actually have been throughout history still resides inside of me, so I can tell her now, "You did a great job with what you knew about yourself in this world." 

I think she would like that.  51 TRU would like that, too. 

I'll ponder on that for a while. 

TOO

Some days, words come. 

Is it worth it?

 "I'd live this whole damn life all over again just to meet you once again."

~ Alex Isley

Grieving before grief

It's hard to describe to people how it feels to blindly grieve, knowing something is coming, and not knowing what that thing is that will justify your grief. There have been a few times in my life where my heart suddenly and heavily began to grieve a loss that I hadn't lost yet. I wrote recently that my mother was hospitalized. She was not doing well, and what I understand was happening with her was the increase in fear of dying with regrets. I understood her mindset at the time. It was strong, scary, and something she could not control. She was trying to make sense of her life choices, given her current limited options, in an attempt to reconcile a broken family. I get it. Maybe she thought she didn't have much time left and was panicking. Some people will live a lifetime not knowing how to be honest with themselves and afraid to be honest with others. I know she hoped that one day, magically, our family will fuse together and be what she hoped we would be; what we once was. 

While she was in the hospital, I sat on my deck during a morning medication and sorrow landing deep in my soul. I began to weep, heavily with deep sorrow. My soul was preparing me for something that I simply could never really prepare for. I didn't know why I was mourning but I knew the weeping was a heavy grief for someone. For a moment, I tried to reconcile that I was grieving the impending loss of my mother but I didn't quite believe that. I just knew it was a loss. 

I called my mother in the hospital on a Friday and she seemed more lucid with more energy. She sounded good. Laughing and clear thinking let me know she would be okay. I told her I loved her. She paused. I don't tell her I love her. Neither does she.  She was released the next day. Since I'm in GA, I was hundreds of miles away while she went through this. She asked me to come take care of her. This is a complicated request. I told her I would see what I could do. As I felt a bit of relief at her healing, my heart was not yet settled. 

The same day my mother was released from the hospital, 100 miles from her, in Richmond, VA, her sister Bertha became ill. The following Monday, she was admitted to the hospital. I didn't find out until that Thursday, when my cousin called to tell me she was debating having surgery. My aunt didn't want to have surgery, but the doctors and my cousins convinced her to go through with it. It was a hard situation because without the surgery, she was certain not to recover. With the surgery, there was a chance she would. She had the surgery. She was too weak. After the surgery, she was still so out of it that she could not communicate well; just quiet words that seemed random but I'm sure were not. My cousins called me and my sister and told us that the doctors said she was not doing well and she was not getting better. My sister and I told them we would drive up the next day. I really wish we'd left immediately. 

The following day, my sister and I hit the road from GA to VA, racing against a clock we couldn't see. My cousin called and told us they were going to remove her from the ventilator later that day. She kept texting us, "How far away are you???" We were too far away. We were about 90 minutes away, maybe less, when I received a message that my Auntie Bertha was gone. We didn't make it. I didn't make it. We drove in silence. I tried to be strong because I didn't want to break down while my sister was driving. After all, there was nothing we could do, and I needed my sister to be calm while she drove. Tears fall without your permission. Slow mournful streams fell, and all I could do was let them. 

When we finally arrived at the MVC Hospital in Richmond, we met my cousin at the elevator, and I just hugged her. What else could I do but hold a woman who just lost her second parent and the most important person in her life? As we walked down the hall to her room, I saw two of my male cousins standing outside her room, both of whom had lost their mothers in recent years. Embracing them was not just saying "Hello", and we are grieving a beautiful woman who passed today. The embrace was an acknowledgment of the impact of losing a mother, something I could only sympathize with but not sharing in what that truly means. When I walked into my aunt's room, one of my sisters and my other cousin, Bertha's other daughter, was inside. My cousin stood next to her mother, stroking her arm. She looked like she was sleeping. Her silver hair was pulled into a loose ponytail. It felt like she would wake up and sing my name the way she always did when she saw me. "Taaaaaaaaaraaaaa." She was a second mom. She cared about me. She asked about me. She only spoke sweetly to me. Her laughter echoes in me. Mother and Daughter relationships can be complicated, but there is something about the Auntie and Niece relationship that is unique and sometimes more grounding than any other relationship. 

I grieved her before losing her. I miss her. 

My sister and I stayed long enough for everyone to leave the hospital and go our separate ways for a while. We continued on to MD to see my parents for a few days. My mother wasn't doing well. She lost her little sister. Of 8 children, my mother and her two sisters are the only ones left. Of my dad's siblings, he is the only one left. I have both my parents and a broken family. My cousins don't have either parent and must be unified to get through this. What some people don't understand is that they have time and they don't have time. Nothing is guaranteed, especially more time. I have reconciled within my own heart that my family will never be whole again, but I understand that it never will be if there isn't a willingness to a transparent reconciliation. My aunt knew we were broken, and one of the only things she wanted for us was to heal. I don't know if that will ever happen, and that, alone, is something to grieve. I grieve it every single day. 

one day

One Day

Fear of Forever