One Sweet Day

Sorry I never told you all I wanted to say...
And now it's too late to hold you
'Cause you've flown away, so faraway ay-ay-ay-ay
One Sweet Day - Mariah Carey & Boyz II Men

The way grief is experienced and displayed is cultural. In some cultures, grief is shared, it is loud and put on display for all to bare the burden of loss. This is in contrast to grief that is kept quiet, endured alone, or expected to be “moved on” from. It’s an emotion that will be felt by everyone in the world many times over and usually through painful circumstance. I find it the most uncomfortable to process. It was not until a former friend lost their mother did I even begin to understand it on a deeper, more personal level. I wrote about grief before with focus being on the loss of my great-grandfather. I think about him anytime I color with crayons, eat an ice cream cone or ride an elliptical bike. His presence was special in my life. His daughter, my Aunt Linda’s passing though affected me in such a profound way that I’m still dealing with the emotions behind it. I was never sure when and where to begin but as her birthday approaches, thoughts of her have been lingering heavily in my mind. More than usual. I think it’s only right that I dedicate a post to her.

My mother and I moved to our first apartment when I was in the third grade. This was the apartment of many firsts: my first room all to myself, even though I still slept in my mother’s bed all the time; my first cat, Joe, who ran away never to be seen again; my first physically altering accident, the scar will live on my eyebrow for a lifetime. (Can’t deny it gives my face character!) I loved the area we moved to, we were surrounded by other cultures I had never been around and got to experience their food and music which I still enjoy. We were closer to family I had never had the chance to bond with and we spent a lot of time outside riding bikes around the neighborhood. The new school I was enrolled in introduced me to people I would carry with me into adulthood. I hold memories of this time fondly. Nostalgia has a way of putting a rosy film over true happenings.

I don’t remember meeting my Aunt Linda until she moved into my room after she had a surgery. I was upset! Family aside, this was a stranger moving into my room with her stinky feet. If she knew I wrote this about her she would have more than a few colorful words for me but we gotta be honest here! Good thing is she had a great sense of humor. I loved getting to know her! She was a great storyteller and I spent a lot of time listening to her talk. I loved the way she didn’t back down and stood up for herself. During her recovery we bonded most over food. I made sure she was cared for and eating properly, and luckily getting her back to a healthy weight. Eventually, she moved out and I got my room back but she became a fixture at our house. Each time I saw her afterwards she would tell everyone who was around that she promised to take me out for dinner because I nursed her back to health. We never had the opportunity to have that dinner.

As a kid, I always had a better understanding of addiction than most and unfortunately, it had to be learned through familial experience. The change it has on the person with addiction, the way the addiction can affect the family and yet and still I believe these people still deserve compassion and grace, however, not at the cost of self. She came to visit us one day and we soon realized my GameCube was gone, along with my memory card and my Sonic Adventure 2 disk. At the time I didn’t have strong feelings about the game being taken, I knew she stole it because she felt she needed to. Some people do what they have to do to get what they need. I just wish she had left the memory card behind at least! Do you know how many hours I spent playing that game and beating Doctor Eggman or raising my chao?

I didn’t see her much after we moved from that house back to the other side of town, but every time we did see each other I was always uplifted, shown affection, and promised a meal. I knew we would never have it for real but boy, how I wish we had. I discovered the song “One Sweet Day,” in 2014 during my senior year of high school, such a beautiful song and so emotionally charged. It was on repeat for days. Vividly, I can remember listening to it while doing homework, and I heard a knock at my door. My mother opened the door, I took my headphone out and heard her say “your Aunt Linda died,” and then shut the door behind her. I put my headphone back in and continued to listen to the song on a loop. I didn’t shed a tear then. Her death wasn’t something we talked about in detail, we just geared up for the funeral. In my heart I now believe that song was revealed to me just when I needed it. Music is such a spiritual experience and without it, I don’t think I would have learned how to have a deeper connection to my emotions, especially those that I’ve pushed aside or down so deep it was like I never knew how to feel them.

Can’t say I’m a big fan of funerals. While death is inevitable, it’s more the sit here, be quiet, whisper lowly, and leave, I don’t quite enjoy. Last year, I wrote a poem called “Last Will”:

Disconnected, the inevitable inescapable.
All I ask is that you deliver me back to that which has
lent me support with no ulterior motives.
Bury me deep enough so that roots of trees planted
eventually envelop me in an everlasting embrace.
Gather round me from dusk to dawn,
listen to our favorite songs and dance for me
since my two left feet are no longer able.
Celebrate! Unusual, though this request personal,
for I've lived a life with no regrets.
Pour me a drink as you party well into the night,
holding hands under the light of the moon,
for a moment sharing a comfortable silence
as you each reminisce on times we've spent together.
On those days I cross your mind,
you'll always know where to find me.

I want my funeral to be more of a celebration of my life and my Aunt’s funeral and burial showed me they can be more than just a sorrow filled event. I don’t recall what she looked like in the casket. For me, she’ll always be remembered for the color red. She was serious about color coordination and putting her outfits together in a certain way. Red shirt, red belt, red hair tie, red undergarments, she was big on monochromatic looks. Probably red shoes too if she could find them. That is how I remember her. I sat a few rows back with my Cousin and we hear the doors being thrown open and my Uncle runs down the aisle and throws himself on her open casket and starts wailing! And because I don’t take most things serious I couldn’t help but laugh. They pulled him away and took him outside where he seemed cool as a cucumber, cracking jokes. Later I learned that is his way of mourning and you know what? I respect it fully. Allowing yourself to have and display those big emotions instead of stuffing them down makes a difference.

After her funeral, we attended the burial. At the end people took turns telling their favorite stories about her. I didn’t as a child but here is one I would like to share:

My mother dropped my Aunt and I off at the hair braiding shop and I chose to get either microbraids or kinky twists, either way it was a style that ended up taking at least 12 hours. For 12 hours she sat with me in the salon, went and got me food and snacks and made us laugh while we watched old Nollywood movies. The salon owner had her child Precious there and my Aunt pretty much babysat her the entire day. She ended up deciding to get her hair done in goddess braids and convinced the woman to give her an extra braid for free. Watching the gift of gab in motion is a beautiful thing.

That is a memory I hold dear especially because at the time I was an only child. I’ve spent a lot of time by myself, I know how to be alone. The love, care and nurturing she gave me at a transitional time in my life, I will forever hold her in my heart. In some ways it’s shown me the importance of bonding with others and fostering relationships. It helped me understand the underlying emotions behind becoming closer with others. With her birthday approaching I know I’m being called to be open and vulnerable. I’ve done a lot of healing on my heart and I know it’s time to welcome people in again.

You never quite realize how much someone means to you until you’ve lost them. I don’t want to spend a lifetime taking the people around me for granted. Good thing is, a photo of her sits on my altar. She is an ancestor I can talk to and confide in. Though she is not her physically, I carry pieces of her wherever I go and for that I am grateful. This era in my life feels like she is actually fulfilling her promise. I’m gonna be eating good!

xoxo

Ashanti