And I feel some type of way
about it.
There are so many memories of
that woman. She worked alongside my mother for many years at Ravenswood City
School District. I can remember calling that office line as a little girl from
Willow Oaks School, and years later as a litte(r) grown(er) girl from Westwood.
And anytime my Mommie couldn’t answer, she was there telling me when she’d be
back, or giving me permission to stay afterschool, or reminding me of what my
Mommie already said I couldn’t do. #HowDoTheyAlwaysKnow #iTriedHer
#itDidntWork #MyVillageWasHellaStrongTho
I did exactly what she said. I
trusted her every word like it was attached to the umbilical cord that once
bound me to my sustenance. Like I would disobey her? Yea, okay.
When I got the news of her
passing, I called my Grandmother to let her know. I then called my parents, as
they are miles and miles away and wouldn’t get the news. When my Daddie didn’t
answer, I sent a text message so at least they would have the information in
real time. He replied with his condolences. I revealed my sadness, something I
never do with my Daddie. And he, knowing the importance of that, shared words
with me that I once gave him as he laid in a hospital bed months and months
ago, God always knows what’s best. *insert tears here*
I’m a lot like Robert
Langdon. I would have given him the same answer. I’m an
academic (too), so I
know very well that I will never understand God. My mind says it, and I believe
that. My heart tells me that I am not meant to understand. But what of my
faith? It is a gift that I have received, unlike the Professor, but I don’t know
that I’ve opened it all the way. Because there are days like this that I cannot
seem to understand. #thesearesnippetsofmyAngelsAndDemons
And that was supposed to send
me to a deep, dark place. Because when things like this happen, that’s where
those of us who have yet to open up our faith all the way go. Two things
happened though.
A rememory. I
came out to California in April of 2013 for an interview. I spent part of that
time at Church with my Granny. Because if you know Dorothy Neil (don’t
tell her I told yall her name) then you know that if you’re in town
visiting, you need to be in service with her, on that pew, 3 rows from the
back. As I sat next to granny, I was behind that woman. We were singing the
congregational hymns. I was singing the hymn directly behind her. Now I know I
cannot sing. This is a gift that remains not only unopened, but um, I haven’t
quite gotten it yet. I think it got lost in the mail.
 |
| ...what y'all hear when I sing. |
She
turned around, before seeing, that sound came from me, and said, Where is that beautiful sound coming from? So,
obviously, I turned around to see where that sound was coming from, right? So I
could tell her. I knew exactly who I was standing behind, but she could not
have known that I was behind her.
As I
came into view her face lit up. She was so happy to see me, and I was like Surprise! Much like my road trips, I show up in places and
shock people…cause its fun. Anyway, she hugged me and
loved on me a little during the service, then a little more afterward. Like a
mommie does a daughter, even when she isn’t the mommie, and you aren’t the
daughter. If you close your eyes, the love feels that way.
.jpg) |
| ...what she hears. |
I’ve
often thought about that moment, because when it comes to my singing, this is
clearly a genetic gift from my Daddie. Not a single person ever has said
anything to me, in the way of I like your singing. Because they believe in
telling the truth. And the truth hurts. And I stand in that pain gracefully.
But why her? What did she hear that no other person in this world hears?
Me.
She heard me. The voice of someone she loved as her own. And there was so much
time between the last time she heard that voice, until that moment, that she
only heard beautiful things. She heard me sing, and everything about that, even the sound....was beautiful.
A reminder. On
the day I got the news of her passing, I decided to sit. Sit in my home all
day. Alone. Not so much to cry, or grieve, or anything like that. I just couldn’t
fathom the thought of being around anyone. I could have made it successfully
through the work day. One of my talents is keeping the deep things of me deep.
However, I could have also snapped the F off on the first person to say a cross
word about anything. And because I know I fall somewhere on the deep end of the
crazy spectrum, I decided it was best for all of us for me to not attend
Monday.
A
really tall girlfriend of mine decided she wanted to see if I had grown any since the last time she was here. So she did what any person would do. Put on
heels, thus making herself taller, to give the appearance that I didn’t grow at
all. #JustHateful
LOL
She
wanted to bring me a box. A purple box. OMG! This box is everything. I actually
would have been totally happy with just a box, because it’s adorable and the
right color. But the weight was off. And because science, I opened it. It has
the prettiest turquoise lining and stuffing, and a book. The book has beautiful
words and reflections to remind me of all the love the Lord put in the world
for me. To remind that me that my journey, on days like this where I see only 1
set of footprints in my life, He is carrying me through it. Why is that so easy
to forget to remember? Of all the promise keepers, He is the best one.
The
words she spoke to me and the words she wrote to me still bring actual tears to
my eyes. To be told of the kind and beautiful things I did for her (not
on purpose and with no effort at all), things that she was doing
for me in that moment and did not know… There are lots of reasons people come
up with to not believe in the divine power of God. But for all of those
reasons, there was that day she knocked on my door with a purple, unevenly
weighted box. None of those reasons explain the divine happening of that.
On a day that the Lord retired
one of His best soldiers, He dispatched another one, to save a broken one. I
often take for granted all I have been granted.
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