Today, I’m Furious

When someone says they are gonna go visit their son, what do you imagine? Is it at his apartment for dinner? Or maybe at his football game? Some may even think in a classroom. But for too many parents. When they say they are gonna visit their son. They mean at their grave. 

“You don’t know what you’re gonna feel when you leave outta here. It may be peace one day or down right rage another.” 

This is what one of those moms said to me as she readied the flowers for her own son’s grave, right across from a young man… excuse me, too many young people… I knew well. 

“10 years ago my son was the only one here. Now look, this entire section is gun violence.” 

Rows and rows. Sons. Daughters. Mothers. Fathers. Siblings. They all had lives. Families. Names. 

16

18

15

18

10

29

32

The list goes on and this is just one cemetery. 

I need to be honest and say I don’t do cemetery’s well. I very rarely spend time there. I’ve only just recently been able to attend vigils or funerals without completely shutting down. Because I know I have to stand firm. Strong. I need to have a clear mind and a soft heart in order to obtain peace. Justice even. It’s very hard. And I know that not everyone is in a place to do this. But I have to. To educate folks on how absolutely senseless, unholy, and wrong this reality is. 

The other side of this cemetery has folks that lived to be 80 or older. That had grandchildren and made a home for themselves and left peacefully. 

This side of the cemetery is still bleeding out. Was left to die on the street they once stood on. Is being remembered by poorly written news articles and hashtags. This side of the cemetery doesn’t get to watch their own kids grown up. 

And yet. With folks knowing all of this. With people being broken by it. Another grave is being dug. Another friend let down by the hype of their crew. Another mother left to raise a baby without its father. Another sibling left with silence on the other end of the call they wish they could make. 

She was right. You don’t know how you will leave out here each time. Sure sometimes you’ll have peace. But today, I am furious. 

the last/first day

The letter board sign on my entertainment center still says last day of summer. 

Part of me hasn’t had the time or been home long enough to change it. But the other part of me knows that if I do… the reality of what happened on the first day of fall will be too real. 

The sadness. The anger. The guilt. The hate. The hollowness. And the downright grief from seeing our baby taken away from his family. 

————————————————————

Since then more loss, more shootings, more jail visits, more days where getting out of bed seems too much weight to bare. 

Innocent bystanders asking me how I’m doing today where the answer feels like punishing them, or someone making a joke that don’t feel very funny at all. 

I don’t expect people to feel how I feel. 

I don’t expect people to fight how I fight. 

However, I am bothered that they still have some innocence. They have a light that hasn’t dimmed. They have a sense of safety. They periodically grieve for unknown individuals in a mass media post. I visit graves without tombstones because no one planned for this. 

I’m angry and passionate. 

Moving forward feels unfair to the dead or imprisoned. But laying in this emptiness isn’t right for the ones still here fighting to live. 

This is where I’m at. Hurt by people who “avoid politics” but ensure my people never truly exist above struggle and suffering, and preach from the good news of Facebook...

This heart of mine is so tired from shattering over and over again. And yet, it still beats. And I suppose that is the ultimate gift, and challenge. 

To our baby boy.

 I am so sorry. 

The tears are red hot. 

The anger is a white light. 

The hollowness echoes deep. 

I cannot sleep well or eat enough or think straight anymore. 

When we do, we feel sick. 

When we do, we cannot get out of bed.

When we do, we try to answer for ourselves, what know we cannot. 

I am so sorry. 

Some people will try to erase the good. The joy. The laughter. That was within you. They will try to make your memory something that wasn’t true. 

We will tell your story. 

We will remind them of how stoic you were. How being the baby boy was truly your identity to all of us, in the best way. 

Our baby had his own baby. 

She is beautiful. 

She is our family, because of you. 

We will do whatever it takes to make sure she knows your goodness and love. 

She is your legacy. 

I am so sorry. 

Darkness has a way of filling space it’s not truly meant for. Leaving out any chance the light can find a home. 

Darkness has stripped you from us. 

And yet, light remains. 

It may be faint at the moment. But it’s here. In our hearts. In your siblings. Your nieces and nephews. They said this tragedy brought us all closer to God. We don’t know how it couldn’t. But it doesn’t change the fact that we are angry. We are pleading for justice. For change. For answers. 

You were one of the first to make me “Ms. Chloe” all those years ago. I thank you for that honor. And I’m so sorry that wasn’t enough to protect you from this world. I truly don’t even have the words to express how broken we all are without you here. So I’ll stop…

Until we meet again, sweet baby boy. 

Nostalgia: It’s OK

It’s crazy how nostalgia will knock the wind out of you, bring you special memories and remind you what once was - all at the same time. A song, a smell, a photo.

I woke up sad today. Not for any particular reason… or so I thought. But it was just sort of there. And I was thinking of how these days, more often than not, I wake up sad… or go to sleep sad. It’s odd. And frustrating. Because I can pinpoint the exact moment joy was taken from me. And every single time since then. Like giant pieces of me leaving one by one. 

I’ve done the therapy thing. The tracking moods. The medicine. The routine. The self harm. The isolation. The avoidance. The prayer. The trying really hard to be good. I’ve even repeated “it’s just a bad day, not a bad life” cause someone said that to me once and I actually hated it but why not give it a shot? 

Being born a child of the sun means the transition to life with the moon is less than settled. Not bad by any means. Just something to navigate. I’ve been made out to believe one is more valuable, more welcoming. I don’t see that being fair. We need both. I am both. Sun and mood. Light and dark. 

Why bring all of this weird stuff up? Well. It’s been laying dormant inside for a long time. And much like it always does, shook up with the first feeling of life before. 

I avoid writing because I don’t know how to tell the story well anymore. Even though I was young and joyful back then, I still told the truth in a special way. Now, I fear I would come across like a cloud with no rain or riptide disguised as a peaceful wave. It’s unsavory and less than entertaining. I used to love this outlet. I fumbled and laughed and cried and was so willing to tell about it all. This space was a very public journal. Now the idea of being seen or known fully feels only nostalgic. 

People told me a long time ago, happiness will come and go, but joy is something they can’t take from me. Those people were wrong. And I’d be lying to you, I have been lying to you, and myself, that I still had it. But to be absolutely genuine, cause that’s me. I’ve had happy moments, happy days, even a happy season or two since the last memory. They’ve been so beautiful and special. I’m thankful for them. But they will never match the joy I had once. And I think, as hard as that is to know for sure. I’ll be okay despite. 

I think acceptance of that reality is what I’ve needed for a long time. And now I can just settle in being the sun and the moon instead of just one or the other. I can be sad and happy. Light and dark. No need to mourn or fight for that joy anymore. Because nostalgia, like it did today, will throw me back when I need it most. 

6 Years

 6 years. 

That’s how long I’ve convinced the big wigs to pay me to live my dream. Kidding. Well. You know. 

Today officially marks 6 years as a full time staff member for Urban Impact. I won’t even go into how many years it’s been since I started in non profit & urban ministry. That’s a story for another day! 

In that time I’ve helped open a community center, run a high school program, summer camps, back to school rallies, sports leagues… I’ve attended community meetings, advisory councils, youth summits, conferences, graduations. Started a violence prevention program… Hell my kids started having kids! 

There have been really hard seasons sprinkled with good days, and really good seasons sprinkled with hard days. 

When I started here, I never wanted my kids to see me weak. But I’ve learned that in order to be strong, I have to tell the truth. I can show cracks and tears and still have joy. 

We are a family. We are neighbors. We are a village. In the deepest of valleys and the highest mountains. 

It’s easy for us to say “back in the good old days” or wish for a better future… but I want to take today to be in the moment and just be thankful. Be proud. Be honored. Recognize the blessing I have to wake up daily and do what I love. I’ll never say it’s easy.. because I need strength from Him more often than not. But I will say I wouldn’t dare let anyone take it from me. 

I’m not sure what the next 6 years hold for me, let alone the next 6 months! But I pray it’s exactly what the Lord wants.

Thanks to all the folks who rock with me daily. The folks that got me here. The folks that played a role in the background. And even the ones who didn’t think I was cut out for it. 

Home: Incomplete and All

Life’s been a whirlwind since I can remember. But April has this way of bringing me back to reality with sunshine and dates on calendars that feel big. 

I’ve avoided this space (my basement… my thoughts…) for a long time because of construction… more recently because it feels “incomplete.” But if we’re all honest with ourselves… what is “complete” around us? If it’s not one house project it’s another. And the yard. And the dishes. And the work stuff. And the health / well being appointments if you’re responsible enough… what I’m getting at is… I’ve not sat in my favorite chair, in my home, even though I could have, for months. 

I should also mention I unpacked moving boxes last weekend and I’ve been here for almost 2 years now. For those of you who don’t know me well, might not know I’ve moved every year for the last 9 years. Some times twice in a year. And before that I lived in countless places as a child. There’s even been times where I thought I’d live somewhere and days before I moved, it fell through. So feeling like I get to “stay” isn’t really my thing. I haven’t hung any pictures. Haven’t painted. Probably because I’m not in full belief this is my home, home.  

But tonight. I wasn’t feeling the best and my upstairs is hotter than the devils toenails (because I love having my windows open & wont turn the A/C on just like I won’t turn on the heat. Sorry… it’s my house.) I thought to come down here. And deal with my thoughts and this sacred space. Incomplete and all. And would you believe it if I said I got emotional!? Over a chair and cool air and drywall and furniture given to me by people I love. 

It’s incomplete. All of it. Even me. But that’s honestly pretty cool. To be molded, painted new colors, and given the ability to dream and imagine what’s to come. 

Take this as an open invitation to come sit, laugh, cry, play, rest, live and be loved. In the place I can say is my home, home. 

Lean In

We recently shared the story of how he threw his shoes out my car window because I made him buckle up. I would run out and grab them, he would unbuckle. I would bring them back, buckle him up, and he would throw them again. I'm not proud to say this... but I left those shoes on the side of the road and carried him home. This was the moment we both learned what it was with us. 

Blood. Sweat. Tears. I didn't care if he threw a fit. I was gonna lean in every time. 

If you know either of us at all, you know both of us are very stubborn, easily made angry, and we care for our people so much it hurts us. We get ourselves in trouble but usually always have a deep rooted cause.

He has been famous since day one. Baby J was a household name in Woodhill. 

I've worked with a lot of kids over the years. But there's only one crew that gets the title "OG" around here. Thanks to his big cousin, he would join that group and become the youngest OG. He was part of the crew that taught me all that I know. He was part of the crew that watched me grow up right alongside them. He was the kid that saw me laugh, cry, yell, whisper, run to keep up, or lay down in exhaustion... we learned how to apologize and own our shit around the same time... still a work in progress! We sat in so many hallways with our fists tight when we didn't get our way. The bad days are bad. The good days are good. We still give folks the benefit of the doubt. 

I am beyond proud of this young man. When he asked if we would walk with him for 8th grade night I got real emotional because so many times in life people acted like that moment wouldn't happen. But I knew. 

Blood. Sweat. Tears. I'm gonna lean in every time.