Grief has a way of swallowing you up at the most inconvenient times. I choose to write until I can breath again.
death doesn’t play fair and it’s sister, grief, is treacherous as well. they can arrive on the most ordinary day and twist your world in very unordinary ways. my father use to tell me that death is nothing but a circle. and if i were to looked at it i would see it as a continuation not an end. my father was also a poet. he didn’t have any words for grief other than to say, ‘it’s a mutha phucka.’ which is the greatest truth he ever imparted.
grief is a gift. there are hours, days, weeks, months when you mistakenly imagine you’ve moved on. that your sadness is dissolved. your loss resolved. your grief complete. and then from nowhere you’ll read a seemingly innocent post from a friend on facebook and it transports you right back in time to another space where your loss is more real, more tangible, than it was only a moment before. the days those moments don’t feel like sucker punches to the throat are the best days.
what would i do without these shadows to guide me, walk with me, talk with me, hold me in place? i have no idea but imagine it would be a space without grace.
he never wanted to be
a hero. he told me i’m
more luke cage than you know
unbreakable but broken
all the same.
the fourth of july weekend of 2016 sent me through a soul searching roller coaster ride. i was more 700 miles from my home, driving with my parents and young son after having spent a weekend with my aunts and cousins in hot springs, arkansas, when i learned that 2 men more than 1,000 miles…