Choices. How Many Of Us Make Them?

Can, over the life of a relationship, two people remain faithful? Can their connection, their bond, their togetherness stave off infidelity? However you define faithful, and however you define infidelity. While there may be some variation of those definitions, we can probably agree there are more commonalities.

My answer? Yes. When I was asked this question, I did not think twice. I did not hesitate. The next person in the room was on deck to respond like the NFL Draft.

Because, as Neo eventually surmised, the problem, the question, the answer, is choice.

Being faithful is a choice too.

We choose everyday with our words, our silence, our stillness and our actions the course of our lives. These aren’t involuntary decisions, though at times we’re indifferent. We choose indifference. None of us move on autopilot, especially when it comes to our hearts – and the illogical affairs of them.

I do not believe that we have a controlling vote when it comes to who we love. I believe that because I know that I have loved and still love those who were/are unworthy and undeserving. I love them anyway. And I wouldn’t hesitate answering that question. But, everyday, I choose how I love them. How I give them that love. They way in which I reconcile that emotion – as irrational as it may be. And all the things I no longer do, despite the real estate they own in my heart.

Choice. I choose it every day. Actively (and sometimes indifferently).  

Many of the women in that room were like Thomas. Thomas, as in the disciple...of Jesus, in how they responded to the question. Can a relationship survive infidelity? Did Jesus really rise from the grave? Um where is the proof? They have never seen it (fidelity). And, Thomas needed to see the wounds (before he'd believe er'body else). He wanted to touch them, and see if they were real – before he would believe. Right? I mean, that's what we tell people. We don't believe you. You need more people. You. Need. To. Show. Me. PROOF!

  

²⁴ But Thomas, one of the twelve, called Didymus, was not with them when Jesus came.

²⁵ The other disciples therefore said unto him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said unto them, “Unless I shall see in His hands the print of the nails, and put my finger into the print of the nails, and thrust my hand into His side, I will not believe.”

²⁶ And after eight days the disciples were again within, and Thomas was with them. Then came Jesus, the doors being shut, and stood in their midst and said, “Peace be unto you.”

²⁷ Then said He to Thomas, “Reach hither thy finger and behold My hands, and reach hither thy hand and thrust it into My side: and be not faithless, but believing.”

²⁸ And Thomas answered and said unto Him, “My Lord and my God!”

²⁹ Jesus said unto him, “Thomas, because thou hast seen Me, thou hast believed. Blessed are they that have not seen and yet have believed.”

On this matter, Jesus blesses those of us who believe it, though we haven’t seen it. I almost said the same thing when defending my response to the question. My parents have been married 34 years. Have they remained faithful to each other? I guess, I mean they are still together, right? But really, how can I know? It’s not like that’s been their testimony to me about their marriage. They haven’t admitted or confided anything in me about their faithfulness or lack of.

So, I answered the question with what I believe in my broken heart to be true. To be my honest feelings on the matter.

Now, just because I choose faithfulness to my mate, it doesn’t mean that I will not be faced with temptation. To my mis/fortune, God made more than one interesting, intellectual, attractive, good smelling man! Thank you Father God! I will be tempted. You know who else was tempted? Jesus.

And because we are human we will fail. We are imperfect beings attempting to perfect our humanity. And I believe in the course of a relationship mistakes will be made. We will hurt one another’s feelings. Say things we did not mean to say. Forget special moments. Be unreasonable with our requests. Something we did not intend will happen.

I mean...temptation. #GodKnowsMyHeart

I just don’t believe we will make every mistake. I believe that we can get some things right. Others? We’ll get partial credit.

And on the “problem” of faithfulness, there are those of among us who will work hard, study furiously, ask for help, and get perfect scores. But that might come with a $200 shoe binge from our shared savings account every now and August.

It’s all about choice. 

I choose faithfullness. And shoe sales.

Death Of Taco Tuesday #Race9Medal8

Um, it happened.

So the homey Alicia maKeykey (Eboogie) has told me about this amazing race that she does in San Francisco each year. Bay To Breakers. It’s just the bee’s knees, right? Right. All the kids are running it, right? Right. You know you want a shiny medal, right? RIGHT!!!!

One groupon later, I’ve signed up for my 8^th medal of the year. It was actually perfect timing. This was a great run to do as I prepare for my first half of the year in just a couple of weeks. As I arrived to San Francisco via the scariest Caltrain ride I’ve ever been on (yea, that’ll definitely be another post #socialjusticework), I found my way to the starting area for the race.

Pretty much sums up my Bay To Breakers experience.

And a man was hit in the head by a taco. Well not a fully grown up taco with all the fixin’s, but a fledgling tortilla shell with all the hope and promise for the future. Why Lord?!?!?!?! There’s a Taco Tuesday somewhere who needed that perfectly round corn tortilla to make some person’s happy hour dreams come true. Like me. I needed him to grow up and be great. A really great fish taco with that delightful cabbage & pico salsa.

I turned away, to mourn the loss of that fish taco that would never be, only to see the most disgusting naked man ever made. Eeeeewww. It was just hanging there. All defeated and deflated. All pale and pathetic. I wanted to tell him that he should probably get his prostate checked, because that’s the Christian thing to do, and it was Sunday…but I had no hand sanitizer, so yea, there’s that.

And Self said to Myself, “Myself, that’s probably the worst thing you’ll see today. After “The Hellified Caltrain Ride”, “Death of a Taco”, and “50 Shades of Old & Gray Genitalia” right over there, there will be nothing else that will ruin your race experience.”

And Myself replied to Self, “Self, I think you’re right. Let’s do this!”

I was like, “Yall trippin…” as two men passed me in kilts. #noshirts #justskirts #whereareyourdamnpanties 

START: All these innocent tortillas. I’m so sorry… *runs over them*

Mile 1: This isn’t so bad. I mean, SF is not flat, but so far this first mile has been a breeze. Oh that’s a penis. Oh, Okay… *runs faster*

Mile 2: Dammit! How many of these pasty pale things am I going to run into?!?!?!?

Mile 3: FUM Challenge? I got a regular race entry. I did not pay or sign up for this Hayes Hills Challenge. I am not here for this hill. Which way is the regular race route? Oh, there isn’t one? We all have to go up this hill? Damn.

Mile 4: Ion even know where I am right now.

Mile 5: The Church of 8 Wheels!!! Yall better get it out here! Yea, it’s about time for me and Meesh to go roller skating again!

Mile 6: OMG! What a beautiful waterfall. How have I never seen this?! #GoldenGatePark #Selfie

Mile 7: Hey! Did you know that you’re running a race? I just thought I’d let you know. I mean, all the photos are great, but the purpose is to finish. FYI. As in, start the race, run the race, and finish the race.

End: Oh. I just went from one side of SF to the other. Breakers meaning coast. Yea. That. #ImSooooSlowSometimes

Bay To Breakers was one of the happier runs of 2014! Everyone seemed so excited to be there. So much preparation into their race day outfits… Costumes. Friends. Laughing. Even the Nekkidness. They prepared *why Lord* to be nekkid. And though so many innocent tortilla shells met a fate worse than hot frying oil, and I’ve seen so many things that I will have to google later to understand, it was done in the name of running…for fun! I don’t know about 2015 though.

This Race: 12K, Bay To Breakers, San Francisco CA

Medaled Miles to date: 35.07 miles

Total Raced Miles to date: 48.17miles

6 Medals To Go ǁ 57% Complete

It's Just 5 Miles?! No Big: #Race8Medal7

Don’t worry, I’m not trying to save space on the blog, or cheat yall out of my amazing posts. It just so happens that I have really awesome dumb ideas…like running two events in the same weekend, because well, medals are awesome…and I really wanna see what this “2 Chainz” life is all about. So I get really busy and run out of time to you know...blog. (...and I'll totally be doing this again in October...you know, 2 races, same weekend...because I'm smart...)

#Race8Medal7 was an awesome event! We Souled, We Strolled, We did it for our health. Participants had the option of doing 1 mile, 3 miles, or 5 miles. And I went to UCLA so you know I’m about that overachieving life, right?

Really though, Soul Stroll 2014 was a great event. Good job folks over at the African American Community Health Advisory Committee.  And though I did not get to take a picture with Laila Ali, I did get to see African American folks of all ages engaged in conversations and activities about their health!

I talked encouraged suggested convinced forced some friends to do this event with me. I mean, what’s the glory of running if you aren’t doing it with others, right? Exactly. And as such, we schlepped the tons of free goodies and snacks we got that the health fair 5 miles around Coyote Point Park.

START: Awww, lookie at the balloon arch! How cute!

Mile 1 (sign): Wait, have we already been a mile? Either I’ve gotten fast, or that sign is in the wrong place. #ImFlashNow

Mile 3 (sign): Okay, hold a hell up. Now I might be Flash, but damn that. I know we haven’t been three miles! Aint. No. Way.

*realizes that the signs are markers for the halfway point for the 1 Mile, and 3 Mile distances*

Mile 1.5 (really): Okay, that makes WAAAAAY more sense!

Mile 2.5: I’m glad I came here! Look at all these people happy to be here! People who look just like me.

Mile 3.5: It’s cool. It’s not like I even wanted the sun to come out. Don’t mind us out here.

Mile 4.5: Um…I think we’re going the wrong way.

End: Awwww back to the cute balloon arch. Wait. What’s that he’s holding out? Are. Those. Medals?!?!?!?!?!!? Yassssssssss Father God!

Yep. The kid did something good for her health and she was rewarded with a medal! You might look at it and say, “That’s small…” or “It’s not as big and blingly like your other ones…” and you would be right. But it’s a medal, it’s mine and I earned it! And I’m 5 miles and another medal closer to my goal!

Sounds like a WIN to me!

This Race: 5 miler, Soul Stroll 2014, San Mateo CA

Medaled Miles to date: 37.67 miles

Total Raced Miles to date: 40.77miles

7 Medals To Go ǁ 50% Complete

We Are Spartans... #Almost #ThisAugust #ImNotSmart

If you don’t believe peer pressure is a real thing, then you:

a)    …are an only child who was home schooled prior to social media.

b)    …don’t have a single friend. Not even on one of the readily available internets.

c)     …don’t log on to GChat while at work.

I swear, some of the dumbest idea’d stuff I’ve ever idea’d or agreed to, was confirmed in a gchat with one of my “friends”. I call them “friends” because either they’re posing as friends, or we define the word “friend” differently.

You have no idea what you just agreed to do. #Gotcha

So, in this last gchat session, we have my “friend” CJC. Yes folks, she’s back again. Usually she is on the receiving end of a dumb idea I’ve idea’d, but not on this day. Nope. As it would take too long for you to read our entire gchat…and you would probably lose your job from the uncontrollable emotion coming from your #waitforit, office, I figured I would share a couple of pieces of the exchange...

Wanna read it? Here it go…

CJC: So………(I should have known something was up with all that extra punctuation) you know how you always said you wanted to run a Spartan race? Uh no. Actually, I don’t. …you get free admission to the race… Okay, I’m listening. Maybe this was something I always wanted to do. …so I and YOU do it for free???? You down???? I don’t know what this is, but it’s free. Of course I’m down.

CJC: The sprint is only 3+ miles…we can do it! You’re right! I can do 3 miles. *somehow, I forgot there was a “+” next to the 3 miles*

Me: *clearly sold on this idea with only the aforementioned information* Do we get medals?

CJC: HUGE ONES *I’m SOLD!* …and the right to brag that you are a Spartan…only the cool kids get to do that. Wait. I am cool. You damn right I gotta do this! You’re an amazing friend CJC. I absolutely love you.

You know how to "skip", right?

*oh, I’ve already signed up before I know anything about the medals or being a cool kid for doing this, or what the “+” means next to the 3…in case you were wondering about that*

CJC: So let me tell you…I am sore as hell right now from the training…get familiar with burpees, push ups, sit ups…that kind of stuff…LOL.

Me: *You’re sore from the training…that’s odd? Um, I don’t drink soda really, so I’m not sure what you mean about that burping thing… Push up? Sit up? Wait, what the F is this? I don’t see anything funny in this gchat.*

Me: I can’t just run? *I mean, this is a medal race, right? #14in2014, right?*

CJC: Girl…you wish! Running is the FURTHEST thing on your mind.

*insert Real Tears here*

Me: *crying from my side of the internet* Is there a training plan or something?

CJC: Yeah…you wanna know the one I did last year or the real one? *WTF?! They make knock off training programs for this –ish? #ICANT*

CJC: Can you climb a rope? Crawl under barbed wire? Scale a 6 foot wall? If you don’t do an obstacle, you have to do 30 burpees.

Me: *No. Why? You can’t be seriously asking me that. I DON’T DRINK SODA! What is with this burping nonsense!* cries, just a little *googles burpee: Um, do 30 WHAT?!?!!?!? I’m an idiot*

*by this time I’ve emailed Alicia maKeykey about it and tagged her in a post on Facebook…she comments back about there being a BBQ at the event because she saw a picture with fire*

Me: *scared out of my mind* There’s no fire? Right? O_o

CJC: I am so glad that you sign up first…then ask questions. *Dear UCLA, I have done nothing with that degree you gave me. Signed, Idiot.*

Me: Flames? *as in there are multiple flames* You not about to have me looking like MJ! I have a perm!

CJC: The flames aren’t that high. It’s a small pit honestly. Honestly? Honestly you are out of your gottdamn mind! That’s me, being honest.

*I’ve finally gotten the bright idea to get BACK on the website and look at the FAQ’s*

I'm an idiot. An idiot who's not done yet.

We have signed up to do a SPARTAN RACE. More specifically, the Spartan Sprint. The Spartan Sprint is a 3+ miles run with 15+ obstacles. The organizers of this event state that there is fire, mud, water, barbed wire, and occasionally Hell on Earth… Oh, okay. That’s all? I guess I’m supposed to not feel any kind of way about that last thing, because it happens on occasion and not all the time and I’m saved? Oh. Okay.

Somehow, this is a sprint because it only contains 15+ obstacles. Which isn’t a lot. Because 15+ isn’t a large number at all. Because it is the least amount of obstacles in a Spartan Race. Yeah, sure. Okay.

It also happens that my “friend” CJC has done one of these events before. Remember when I said that this was the Sprint? As in the shortest distance and least amount of obstacles? Yeah. She did the Beast. As in, first there’s the Sprint (3+ miles, 15+ obstacles), then there’s the Super (8+ miles, 20+ obstacles) and completing the trifecta (because you’ve got all the time in the world to do this 3 times in a calendar year) is the Beast (12+ miles, 25+ obstacles). There is even an Ultra Beast. But when some brave soul inquired if they were tough enough to do it, the response was probably not. I’m pretty sure that’s not supposed to be okay. But, okay.

Did I mention my CJC did the Beast first?

I did?

I’m not okay.

Where It All Began

I’m a student affairs professional. I work with college-aged students every day. I grow kids up from 17/18 years old to their mid-20’s. A student affairs professional is also known as a professional crazy person. Other aliases include mother, father, counselor, therapist, mechanic, loan officer, bail bondsman, mother, police officer, photographer, cheerleader, mother, financial aid counselor, tutor, best friend, designated driver, the voice of reason, and you guessed it – a crazy person! Oh, and fire fighter – almost forgot that one.

               

It all started at UCLA. Year 2000. My father gave me three options when I told him that after my second year, I could not live on campus:

1.  You can live on campus;

2.  You could find a way to live on campus; and

3.  If #1 or #2 doesn’t work, just live on campus. *shrug*

So the homeys and I became Resident Assistants. Low key, I think their father’s told them the same thing. Maybe I did it for the free housing, maybe it was part of some larger divine plan – but it happened, and it was one of the best things to happen to me in Westwood.

My first group of residents, my children, were amazing. A collection of pale babies, whose fathers were clearly of the Euro-Asian persuasion. We lived in the lap of luxury, Sunset Village, in Delta Terrace – B7. During Halloween, they adopted a squirrel who ran into the building on his own doing effectively making our motto, B7 – Go Nuts. They made me laugh and I made them go the Ashe Center to get shots. I am still a firm believer that they run genetic experiments on the local animal life roaming South Campus in the basement of one of Life Science Buildings. I’ve never seen so many squirrels unafraid of humans; squirrels with human-like strength. My babies (back to them) needed me for everything and they did almost everything I told them to do. And that is why we love first year students. So impressionable. But any parent knows, when they are quiet, they are up to something!

    

After doing a community walk with the Community Service Officer, I returned to my room eager to relieve myself of the duty board and radio. With a few more hours before I could sign off, I planned to get back to homework before some other interruption found me. I rarely locked my door or closed it when I was not in the building. Between the members of the UCLA Football/Basketball Teams and other athletes and friends, it was an exercise in futility. Just as soon as I would leave, someone would show up wanting snacks, or to go to Covel or to watch TV until tutoring. However, most were coming for their hair braiding appointments. What started out as a favor for my cousin, became something of an empire. So it just made sense for people to come in and make themselves at home. Anyway, my residents would let them in the building – so my friends were halfway there.

    

Tonight was different though. Hanging from the doorway upon my return with an excessively long piece of scotch tape was an 8 ½ x 11 sheet of paper with a note and a picture. A picture from one of those miniature Polaroid cameras. You know, back in the day when tweeting a picture was taking a picture, getting the film developed, taping the picture to a piece of paper or putting it in an album, writing something on the back of it, and showing it to people? I took Brian & Eric’s basketball – they always played basketball in the hallway and quite frankly I grew tired of listening to myself say knock it off guys so I took it and hid it in my room.

Now, I had no delusions that this would stop them from playing other recreational sports in the hallway, not even that day, or scare them into not breaking into the girl’s room next door hiding speakers and dragging the wires back to their rooms – connected to a stereo so they could play sounds in the middle of the night in an effort to convince the girls that their room was haunted, or turning the 2^nd floor lounge into a “man cave” and entertaining my friends with Maxim Magazines on bean bag chairs – I did it in a moment of sheer frustration. A stop bouncing the ball because I said so knee-jerk reaction. Jerks.

The Best/Worst Day Ever!

So the note, which I assumed to be a love note from some secret admirer, was a ransom note, with a photo of my stuffed Bugs Bunny, being held hostage by my 2 devious residents. His ears being threatened by a pair of scissors held firmly at the base, awaiting my next move. Of the list of demands was “scooter immunity” for the rest of the year. They warned me to not contact the CSO and that they would be watching. I laughed. I could not help it. I laughed to keep from dying. I could not believe it. Those little knuckleheads actually got me. Damn. But, I had a duty, as a Black woman, to have an “angry Black woman moment” even though it would be feigned for the cameras. I know those 2 little idiots did not just steal my Bugs Bunny!! Then a voice, as quiet and clean as the California night responded, what was that?

    

AAAHHHHH! Yes, my heart sank as I slowly looked for my door to run (damn that, hearing voices? I’m out!). As I’m turning to make my surprise getaway, I see the boys outside my window watching it all. Every. Single. Scene. They got their basketball back that night. I’m a sucker for creativity, and that was genius! I told them that they were going to get evicted from their first apartment within six months. That was the first prophesy I made over the lives of my children. Parents know these types of things about their kids, only I was off a few months. I think they lasted nine.

    

The saddest moment in a parent’s life, I think, is saying goodbye – whatever goodbye means. Though I do not presume to know the pain of saying goodbye to a child you birth, I can certainly tell you about the something like it. Even among parents, to make it similar for each child would not do it justice. It’s too complex, too unique, it’s too tailor made a feeling for that particular child, that to know one, would not necessarily give you any indication of the other. And though we were all UCLA students, I missed them terribly. I wasn’t so sure I’d make it without my babies.

Yea, them.

#LessonLearnedAndLived... LEADership

Most parents will admit (not to their children) that they learn some amazing things from them. And not that book sense stuff we pick up when we get our degrees. It is the life lessons. So simple, so common “sense”-ical, so real that you stop and wonder how did I not already know/do this?

Before I made it to Arkansas to birth four of the most special girls I could have ever asked for, I had an appointment with the LEAD Summer Business Institute. There was this quiet, handsome and confident young man from Wexford, Pennsylvania I needed to meet. I will never forget him. TH was mature, kind, funny, charismatic, very-very smart and respectful. Never a cross word to or about anyone – and he was a high school junior. TH adored me, and I him – though it’s hard to say who adored who first. Everyone you meet makes an impact, an imprint on your heart. His has been the most remarkable to date.

What I lacked in a scholarly business background, I had in the operation of a residential program. I knew how to take care of people. This is why KYD hired me. And she knows, better than anyone that they were my babies. MB (her initials at the time) told me that she and I were going to be friends forever. We had not finished a week of the program. My friends (my age) thought it was just a phase. What high school student from the East Coast is going to actually feel a real attachment to a college graduate on the West-best-Coast after the summer ended and senior year began? MB left LEAD and returned home. She talked about me everyday – or enough for it to feel that way. Her mother called me that October to invite me to Thanksgiving with their family in Doylestown, Pennsylvania. The conversation, like many I’ve had with my now MommieB was loving, but quite short. She invited me to Thanksgiving telling me …my daughter talks about you ALL the time, I need to meet you. That was the best homemade cranberry sauce I ever had. Kids say the darndest things – about me.

So my free day came. My 24 (more or less) hours “off”. While the LEADers were off on a field trip, I was reminiscing my childless days with my friend on the mean streets of Los Angeles. I needed to buy a suit for an event, and my time was running out. Our days were so long, that I could never get away. I attempted sneaking away for a couple of hours once (or twice), but by the time I said for the 8^th I’ll be right back, trying to make it from one end of the hallway to the elevator, I realized it would be easier to stay. As we drove into Sproul Turnaround, still chatting about nothing and listening to the radio, my friend came to an abrupt stop. Lord! *shaking my head* …those are my kids out in the street!

And they were. Someone spotted me in the car, and the group did the 100 yard dash to greet me. From the hugs, yelling, tugging and vying for my attention, I inferred that they noticed I was absent that day. They could not wait to tell me all about their day at the M&M Mars Factory, show me every cool thing they got or recite some stupid thing someone said. They couldn’t understand why I couldn’t spend the day with them, and I did not try to explain it. They did not like that I was not with them, or that I could not get the cool stuff they had. And, like sacrifices at the altar, at different points throughout the night, they would come by to talk, then run back to their rooms, and happily return with the unburnt offerings (assorted candies, M&M Dispenser, M&M Travel bags) to lay at my feet. I sat in awe across from my twin sister with the olive skin, speechless, between visits and gifts. Kids make you love them. You can try not to take it – but they are persistent and relentless. They are fountains of energy – you will tire before they do, I know. I got tired. They didn’t.

I was not sad when it was time for me to give them back to their various homes in the United States. TH was still busy impressing, impacting and imprinting on me, though it was time to go. As they came out of their rooms bags packed, eyes red, faces conflicted (happy to return home, but hating to leave), TH exited his room just as cool and confident as he entered. There were signs that he would miss this, but he was mature enough to know that it was not meant for always. To match his adult-like temperament, was a button up shirt, slacks and dress shoes. When he looked up to see me, I noticed he was wearing that million dollar smile.

Sweetie, what in the world are you wearing? Me wondering if he was going to Church as soon as he got off the plane. Why you all are dressed up?

    

In response to the latter inquiry, he replied …because I’m going home today, respectfully as he could be without wondering if I was confused about the day or date.

Uh, yea, I know (I mean, duh) …you’re going to be on a long flight. Don’t you want to wear something more comfortable? I asked.

    

A response that would literally, forever change me, My Dad’s a pilot, he said. I nodded in agreement, remembering a conversation from weeks prior. Out of respect for my father, I dress up when I get on airplanes.

Now, I know that those were not the last words he said to me. I know we had some exchange of a goodbye or other parting pleasantries people have at airports. But those words, those particular words. I hear them every day. That would be an important day for me.

MB and TH were spot on in their assessments of what our futures would look like. It maybe took 48 hours for them to use the technology of the day to stay in touch – AOL Instant Messaging. That ding would go off at home and in the office regularly. And everyone in both locations knew who it was. Just about all of the LEADers at one point or another IM’ed me. However, TH and MB were the regulars. And they loved “talking” to the other people with me in the room. I occasionally switched seats with my friends (boys) who were with me so MB could “meet” them. Flygurl623 and Windmills. We talked about LEAD, boys, girls, summer plans, their families, the upcoming senior year, my nonexistent love life (I think she has finally given up on finding me a man, I think?), how they missed In & Out, Diddy Riese Cookies – LORD, what didn’t we type about? Not hearing from them for a couple of days didn’t bother me. They were so young, so busy, trying to be older than they were and three hours ahead of me, so our schedules got off sometimes.

    

I had not heard from KYD in a while either. Her voice is pretty easy – typical Californian. I know it – I am it. I had never heard her voice like that before, but true to denial fashion, I acted like I didn’t hear it. Good news or bad, she was always direct and to the point, which in a moment like that I appreciated. TH had been in a car accident, and though it wasn’t fair, and I wasn’t ready, and nobody thought enough of me to ask, I had to give him back. No more Windmills. I told KYD that I needed to tell MB (as well as a couple of other LEADers) myself. They needed to hear it from me. And I needed to hear them when they heard it and make sure that they were okay, as in okay enough to deal with it. She didn’t refuse me. KYD told me about the ceremony and plans to say goodbye to TH. I, not even knowing that I said it aloud, murmured something to the affect that I couldn’t afford the trip. KYD offered to get my plane ticket, and before I could, she would not let me refuse her.

I didn’t cry instantly. Mostly because I didn’t believe it. I did, but when something that is believable is just absolutely unbelievable, you need proof. You want proof, because you hope there is no proof – making it fake. I didn’t cry until the day I walked into that Church. I cried myself to dehydration, only for the tears to kindly reabsorb themselves through my skin to do it all over again. I’m not sure my body moved more than three inches in any direction.

    

There is more to say but I will not speak it. It was a fool’s errand to think I could write it. We spent the evening at their home. TH’s Mom gave me a hug before I left.

My airplane struggle used to be REAL. Especially if it was an early flight. I would get out of bed, brush my teeth, wash my face, put on the biggest sweats that wouldn’t fall off my butt and go. Let that flight be more than 2 hours, and they might be pajamas! #AintNobodyGotTimeToBeCuteSittin4HellaLong…

I haven’t been on an airplane with my hair wrapped up since the trip prior to Pennsylvania to say goodbye to TH. I woke up the day of my flight, ironed my clothes, combed my hair and went to LAX. When I landed at my layover and final destination, I thanked the pilots and crew.

In 2003 SDP and I went to the Westside Pavilion and made a baby. We gave our first (and only child together) a great name. We made a baby. Named a baby. Then went to Roscoe’s for lunch.

Our child’s name is Thomas Henderson.

I am grateful for the snippet of life God allowed Thomas to share with me. It made me a better person. Children do that for you. You make them, then remake you into a better you.