If I don't attend your funeral, please don't take it personally.......

My cousin died and I didn't go to his funeral. We didn't see each other every day (except for the few years we worked in the same building) nor spend a lot of time together but we did have a dear relationship. We grew up together, experienced fun times together and loved each other very much. I wasn't mad at him, I wasn't out of town, I could've taken time off of work, I knew the time, date and place. I didn't go because I simply chose not to.

He was 44 years young and his death was sudden and unexpected. After the shock of the news wore off, anxiety flowed through my body as thoughts about his funeral service came to mind. 'Oh no, I don't want to go to another funeral!' 'But how could I not go to his funeral?!,' How can I go to his funeral?!,' In the days leading up to the date of his service, my thoughts ping-ponged back and forth. A couple days before my cousin was to be laid to rest, I visited with his mother and siblings. As most funeral gatherings, before and after, turn out to be, it felt like a mini reunion. Various relatives and friends stopped through to offer their condolences, support and helping hand. It amazed me to see his mother talking, smiling and laughing in the midst of what I'm sure was a terrible heartache she was feeling. His sister and brother were quite sociable too but, I could see the pain in their eyes and on their faces. It was then, I knew I wasn't going. Not only did I believe it wouldn't be good for me emotionally but, I did not want to see my cousin lying dead in a casket. I wanted to remember my cousin as the happy guy he was. The guy who always greeted me with a huge smile and big kiss. The guy who had the loud, gregarious laugh. The guy who was 'one of the good ones.'

The first funeral service I remember attending was that of a 10 year old girl who I did not know. My grandmother took me and I don't even think she knew who the little girl was herself. I remember seeing the body in the casket....she was wearing a pretty dress and she was just....so still. I recall asking what happened to the little girl and, if my memory serves me correctly, I was told she died at sleepaway camp. I wasn't scared, freaked out or traumatized. I just remember being sad that a little girl, who was around my age at the time, had died. I never forgot the little girl or that experience.

When I was younger and hadn't experienced a lot of loss, I could attend funerals, shed tears, give hugs, swap memories and share stories. The first time I experienced pure devastation from the loss of a loved one was when my paternal grandmother passed away. I was 17 years old and 8 months pregnant. I vividly remember the day my mother relayed the news to me and my sister. As soon as the words left her mouth, I broke down. Hysterically crying, my sister and I held on to each other for dear life. We cried so hard that we almost made ourselves sick. At my grandmother's funeral was the first time I saw my father cry. My grandmother's death changed our lives and our family in major ways. As difficult as it was, life went on. I attended several wakes and funerals since; those of beloved relatives, good friends, associates and acquaintances. I experienced heart breaking losses; some were bearable, some were not. Emotionally it was draining, mentally exhausting but, for the most part, I recovered well & fairly quickly. I always thought, death is a part of life and it's something we all have to deal with it. When someone dies, you go to their funeral, pay your respects, mourn and move on. I would comfort others, in their time of need and receive the same in my time of need. I believed it to be cold, dismissive and disrespectful to not attend the funeral of a loved one so not going wasn't an option.

That is, until my father died. I was 30 years old when my Dad was hit by a car and succumbed to his injuries 10 days later. The entire experience, from the night he was hit until today, shook me to my emotional core. Saying the words, 'my father died' to literally seeing the blood drain out of his body as he lay in a hospital bed to viewing his lifeless body in a casket was the worst collective experience I ever had to deal with, at that point in my life. Naturally, when experiencing the loss of a loved one, the days immediately following the loss are difficult. Depending on the relationship with the decedent, the recovery period could last anywhere from days to weeks to months or even years. The toll death takes on the surviving family and friends is unpredictable, widely varied and sometimes, life-changing.

It became more difficult for me to attend the funerals of others, after my father died. The purpose of attending someone's funeral service is to pay your last respects, fellowship with others who loved the decedent and pay homage to their memory. After my father's death, I would go to others'  funerals and think about him. I may have wept for the person I was there to honor but, inevitably, my thoughts would turn to memories of my father. I would be heartbroken all over again, remembering my Dad's body in a casket. I would grieve for him at times when I should have been mourning the person whose funeral I was attending. Sometimes, I would be fine after a good cry. Other times, it took me days to get my head back in the game. So, I began to skip people's funeral services, no matter who they were. If I felt I couldn't handle it, I would make up an excuse to not attend. Even though I knew it was in my best interest to not attend, I still felt guilty for not going. Then, my brother died.

My 24 year old brother committed suicide four years ago and his death dealt a crushing blow to our family, collectively and individually. No words can describe the pain, anguish, anger, frustration and heartbreak we still experience on a daily basis. Losing my brother, especially in that manner, broke me all the way down. In addition to several other realizations I have come to since my brother's death, I realized I just can't and I won't do it. There is no way I can attend a funeral without thinking about and crying for my brother. It would be unfair of me to mourn the loss of my brother, focus on my pain and sorrow when I'm supposed to honoring the loss and life of someone else. It would also be unwise for me to put myself through such an emotional wringer when I know how difficult it would be for me to get out of it. So, I made a decision. I will only attend a funeral if my presence is necessary, as a source of strength, peace and calm for the survivors, if I am in a good space, mentally & emotionally and/or it is that of my immediate or very close relative or friend. If I make the choice to not attend someone's funeral, close relationship or not, I will not feel guilty about it nor make excuses for my absence. I cannot and will not worry about how my absence might make others feel. I know it is not because I don't love the deceased or that I don't care about their families or that I don't respect their legacy. It's because, while they are gone on from this life, I still have to live it.

I still have to be able to get through whatever days, weeks, months and years I have left. I want to be my strongest, happiest, most productive, positive, purposeful, best self. In order to do that, I have to practice self-love, self-care, self-preservation. That includes being mindful of how I spend my time, expend my energy and use my resources. If I feel strong enough to attend a funeral, I will do so. If I deem it better for me to show my support in ways other than attending the funeral, I will do that. I am at peace with knowing I showed, gave and shared love to all the people I care about while they were alive. Upon their deaths, I don't know if I will be there to pay my last respects, view the dressed up body, sign the guest book, share memories, break bread or fellowship with the survivors. There is no love lost after death so, if I don't attend your funeral, please don't take it personally.......

SOUL MATES

Most people think of a soul mate as a romantic partner who will enter their lives, bring sunshine and happiness and live happily ever after with them. A partner who will understand them better than anyone else has or can; a partner who will love them unconditionally and support them wholeheartedly; a partner who loves them as they are but constantly inspires them to be better; a partner who takes care of them, mind body and soul. I am one of those people. However, I also believe we have soul mates who serve different purposes, in different areas and at different stages of our lives. For instance.......

As an adolescent, I had a best friend who I believe is my soul mate. We did everything together. We worked together, played together, dressed alike and had each other's backs. We confided in each other, encouraged each other and shared very important milestones together. To this day, we are one of each other's best friends and will remain so until death do us part.

As a teenager/young adult, I had a boyfriend with whom I had no doubt I'd spend the rest of my life. He treated me like a princess, took care of me and made me a promise of 'forevermore.' We were a match made in heaven. We were together for 9 years; nine years of raw, unadulterated growing pains. During those years, life happened. We loved each other madly and betrayed each other badly. In the end, our romantic relationship did not prevail but our co-creation of life preserved our love as family. As co-parents and co-grandparents, our souls are mated, forevermore.

Since then, I thought I had a romantic soul mate or two but the truth of the matter is, I have not. A few may have connected with my heart, my body and/or my mind but none with my soul. I am still patiently waiting for that connection.

In the meantime, I've realized, my siblings are my soul mates. They know me almost as well as I know myself. They know what to do to piss me off, make me happy, make me cry, make me laugh, make me scream, jump for joy, sit down and be quiet, sing at the top of my lungs, dance til my feet are on fire or just be still. I have a sister who knows how to dress me without making me look too young or feel too old; a sister who protects me like a bodyguard and feeds me like star chef; a sister I can call on, any time of day or night and not wonder for one second whether or not she will come to my aid; a sister who can make me laugh for 24 hours straight, if I sit there that long; a sister who, as my emotional mirror, constantly shows me ways to be and do better; a sister who will dance with me all night long to damn near any song; a sister who serves up dollops of inspiration, motivation, encouragement and guidance at a moment's notice; a brother who, as a celebrated athlete, dedicated employee and family man, serves as a daily example of strength, determination and perseverance and, last but not least, a brother who, through his tragic death, reminds me every day to never give up and live life to the fullest.
I think it's safe to say, though the king to my queen has yet to take his place in my life, I have made acquaintance with my soul's mates.

I Love My Family!

So, it is Black History Month. In the past, I have considered whether or not we still need 28 days (or 29 in the leap year) set aside to celebrate black history. If it were up to me, the answer would be 'nope,' but not for the reasons stated by the misguided and clueless actress, Stacey Dash. I believe our history, accomplishments and contributions to this world should be acknowledged, highlighted & celebrated throughout the year, not one measly month. But since I have not a nickel in that decision-making dime, I will embrace and honor the tradition. In celebration of Black History Month, and Buttafly Diaries' month of love, I'm going to talk about my black history. My lineage. My family.

They say you must know where you came from to know where you're going but does anyone REALLY know from whence they came? I don't know about you, but I have limited (and selective) knowledge about my family history. Some things, I learned through discussions with my elders, other things I learned from being nosy conversations I overheard and some tidbits I got from my friends/peers (who got it from their parents). Growing up, I knew I was connected to a lot of people, through family ties, but didn't always know how that connection came to be. It wasn't until I was an adult that I became aware of what was real and what was make-believe. I learned the truth. I heard the real story from behind the scenes. I was given facts that were previously hidden, lied about, changed. Facts that were refreshing in some cases, enlightening in others, disappointing at times and downright heartbreaking in a few. Some of what I learned helped me to understand family dynamics (various levels of love, respect, regard, consideration, inclusion and exclusion). Some of what I learned gave me answers I was seeking or, still left me full of questions (so that's why she never came around or now I know why he looks so different; but why didn't she tell somebody or what happened after that??). Some of what I learned had me wishing I could unlearn it (Nooooooo that didn't happen to her?! or Nooooooo my fave didn't doooooo that?!).

Of course, I'm not going to spread my family's ugly business. My Mama and Daddy taught me better than that. However, there are a couple situations that I'm sure a lot of you can relate to.

For instance, I learned some relatives weren't really related, just close family friends. It was just a coincidence that my grandmother and her best friend married guys with the same last name but were no relation to each other. I grew up calling my grandmother's best friend and her husband 'Auntie' and 'Uncle,' believing their offspring were my cousins. It wasn't until one of them passed away that I learned we weren't related after all. It was something like a heartbreak. I wanted to un-hear it, to make the untruth true. I wanted to keep my family the way it was. Good thing family isn't required to be blood related. So, after learning the truth of the matter, our attitude was/is, 'You still my cousin though!'

Or when I learned both of my grandmothers gave birth to children before they met, married and had children with my grandfathers. It made me look at my grandparents in different lights. Whereas, I once viewed my grandmothers as pure, angelic and fortunate for marrying, bearing children and remaining with one man their entire lives, this new information showed me a more flawed and beautiful side of them. They were not perfect, they were human, just like me. In that, I felt a closer connection to them. Finding out my grandfathers not only raised other men's children as their own, but raised them so well that, if one wasn't told, they would have never known the biological truth, made me have more respect for them. It made me see the love, compassion and understanding behind their strong, masculine personas. It made me love them more.

There are sad, bad and even sinister patches in the quilt of my family's history. Things I would have never thought, imagined or believed to be true. Things that nobody likes to talk about, hear about, listen to or share. Experiences that have changed the trajectory of some people's lives. Issues that could change the trajectory of some people's lives if they would face them. Situations that caused some people their livelihood, their freedom, their lives. History that cannot be relived, rewritten or undone. History that makes us who we are today.

In light of all I've learned, and have yet to learn, about my own black family history, I stand tall, strong and proud. I am strengthened by my family's ingrained support, encouraged by the examples I have been raised with, inspired by my family legacy and uplifted by the truth. I love my family and the strong roots from which our formidable tree sprouted.

Love is family and family is love.

The Grand-ness of it All

When I became a mother, it was the most joyous experience of my life. My heart was filled to the brim with so much love, I didn't think it could hold another ounce. Then along came a lil diva and, I swear, God must've increased my heart's capacity. Since the day my granddaughter was born, she has been the butter to my toast, cream to my coffee, the sugar to my sweet. I often wondered how any other grandchild to come along would ever fit in our grand lil world. Then we received a beautiful bundle of boy. Big difference. New kid in town. Whole otha ball game. Boy vs. Girl. Brand New Heart Compartment. Love overflowing. No competition necessary.

I have the best of both worlds.

Delightful.

Happy.
Joyful.
Two hands full.
Blessings.
Wonderful additions.
Immeasurable pleasure.

Of course, life with/for them is sometimes stressful, frustrating and difficult, as well but my daughter can better attest to that aspect. When it comes to Gida (that's me), life with the grands is pure bliss. I'm not the kind of grandmother who takes the kids to church or sits in a rocking chair to read a story or bakes cookies, pies and cakes but I do schedule, spend and enjoy quality time with them. And I must admit, they are great little people to be around.

My oldest grandchild is an outgoing, talkative, busy, inquisitive, energetic, beautiful, intelligent, outspoken little girl who has personality for days. She loves to take pictures, of herself and others. She enjoys all the lil girly things, like nail polish and pretty clothes, yet she will get down in the dirt or climb the highest tree right along with the boys. She makes a friend wherever she goes and her 'claim to fame' is telling it like it is. She is known as our 'grandiva,' and at just five years old, she lives up to every letter of that name.

My grandson, aka the grandada, is 3 months shy of 2 years old and is quite the character, in his own right. He is the yin to his big sister's yang. Where she's loud & obnoxious, he's cool, calm & collected. Where she's sensitive and tender, he's strong and tough. She pushes him down, he gets back up.....and still worships the ground she walks on. In real life and play, she's the teacher and he's the attentive student; which has been a blessing and a curse. In trying to keep up with 'Sis' (as he calls her), he quickly learned to walk, talk and throw tantrums. He communicates well, with words and in sentences, asserts his independence regularly, commands and demands attention. He also loves the camera and knows how to take selfies, is quite skilled in basketball and is already a heartthrob.

It's truly amazing, how smart and insightful these two kids are. No, seriously. I'm really not just saying this because they are mine. Every time I am with them, I learn something new. Whenever I am around them, they remind me, or give me new reasons, why they are so awesome. Make no mistake, I'm not one of those grandparents who thinks every little thing they do is cute, wonderful and supercallifragilisticexpialidocious. I do redirect, correct and discipline them, when necessary. However, even in their brattiest moments, I think they are the best kids ever. From the start, being a grandparent has been a beautiful and incomparable experience. There really are no words to fully describe just how special grand-love is. I often tell people, "It's love on a whole 'nother level." The feelings I get when they exclaim my name or hug me ever-so-tightly or give me sweet, butterfly kisses are like sunbursts to my soul. One day, I learned, those sunbursts come through even when the grands are not around.

Perched upon my desk at work are two frames of the grandiva and grandada together; one photo of them in their holiday best and the other, their fashionable school flick. This particular day wasn't special or extraordinary; nor was it the first time I looked at (those particular) pictures of my grandchildren. I just happened to glance that way and, once they caught my attention, I lingered for a moment and smiled. Then, suddenly, I felt a lump in my throat and tears began to sting my eyes. There was a swirling in my chest and I thought, 'What the hell is going on here?!' I was overwhelmed with emotion. I literally had to talk myself out of crying. Once the moment passed, I laughed and shook my head at myself for being such a sap.

It was in that moment I realized, with that kind of joy in my world, life surely is grand!

Poetry Corner: A LETTER FROM THE WOMB

DEAR  MOMMY: A letter from the womb

c.  Sameialika Tarver October 25, 2006

To keep or not to keep
you ponder every day

You wonder if it's meant to be
for you and me to stay

Together, connected by body

Together, connected by blood

Together, connected by my father

Together, connected by love

You think about the pain

you imagine I will bring

You know your life won't be the same

If you take a chance on this beautiful thing

Your life will be turned upside down

Adjustments, you'll have to make

The experience of birth won't be much fun

yet, it will be worth you seeing my face

The memories of your labor pains

will soon fade away

The memories you and I will make

caould never be erased

Yes, your pockets may run low

your me-time and patience, too

But, just imagine how you'll feel

when I look at you

When I snuggle against your skin

and grip your hand in mine

Imagine the joy that will fill your heart

when I say 'Mommy' for the first time

I look forward to meeting you,

my Daddy, Grandma, Grandpa, too

To smell your scent, to hear your voice

I know that you will make the right choice

Choose Me, Mom

Choose Us

Choose Me, Mom

Choose Love

Poetry: TIME

As I head to the Queen City to celebrate my sister's 40th birthday, I want to remind people to take the time (to make a phone call, send a text, a card, a letter, visit, meet up with, reach out) to make connections with the people who are important to you. Yes, we all have to take care of ourselves, our families, go to work, pay the bills and do all of the required work of a grown up. However, we have to make our personal relationships a priority in our lives, as well. Too often, we take our friends, our loved ones, our lives for granted. It can't be said too many times that we need to stop and smell the roses, strike some poses and show those we care about just how much we like them, love them, want and need them around. We must cherish the moments we have with them now, because when they are gone, they are gone forever........and as we've all learned, tomorrow is promised to no one.

TIME

Time flies, they say

When you're having fun

to the rising of the moon

from the dawning of the sun

Time crawls, it seems

when the skies are gray

when you long for someone

to take the pain away

Time waits for no soul

for the seconds, they fly

the minutes speed walk

while the hours run wild

Time on my hands

is what I have without you

is what I wish I had more of

when the times are few

far and in between

the Then and the Now

My heart bursts at the seams

when I think about how

much time I've wasted

worrying about nothing

bitching and complaining

just trying to find something

A reason
that you were not perfect, As Is

how much wrong you had done

Now those things don't mean shit

Time flies, they say

and I know that is true

Oh how I wish I had more time

just 
to spend
with you

c. Sameialika Tarver, March 25, 2007

'Twas The Night Before Christmas: A Mistress' Tale

'Twas the night before Christmas, I felt like a fool

I had given away one of my most precious jewels

my heart was taken with lies and wet kisses

I was seduced into playing the role of his mistress

Our days were filled with mystery and hot passion

not thinking of his family or consequences of our actions

I told him I loved him, he told me he cared

he bought me gifts aplenty, deep secrets we shared

He spent nights at my house, most days I spent alone

staring out the window, listening for the phone

Upon his arrival, I'd run to the door

welcoming and delighted in being his whore

The night before Christmas, I heard a terrible noise

out on my front lawn were his wife and two boys

she screamed and she yelled, she wanted to fight

he ducked behind the door, trying to stay out of sight

She approached me and roared, "Bitch, get out of my way!

I came for my husband, with me he's gon stay!

'Get out here' she demanded, as she lunged for the door

 He came out from hiding and I knew she had scored

I looked at him, pleadingly as he looked away

straightened up his clothes and walked out

to my dismay

I stood there shocked in spite of what I already knew

he had a home and his family he was returning to

As he got in the car and drove off with his wife

I stood frozen as the pain cut like a knife

I shuddered as reality suddenly set in

I'll  be spending the holidays alone

once again

c. Sameialika Tarver 2005

Be Careful What You Wish For: UPDATE

What a HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME it was! 

As promised, my sister (who I will refer to as 'NT' going forward) had a few great surprises lined up for me. My birthday agenda started off with a manicure and pedicure; then we proceeded to a local chain restaurant, where we had dinner and drinks with a couple friends. During this time, NT informed me that the surprise she had scheduled for 9:30 pm wasn't going to pan out. That news  immediately took me from a happy place to a frowning face. She asked me if I had anything I wanted to do and, of course, I didn't. As I mentioned in my previous post, my funds were limited and the clothes I was wearing were not fit for much more than (a place similar to) where we were. I did have on some beautiful, leopard print Michael Kors booties that I ordered a few weeks ago, as a gift to myself. But, the outfit I put together was very casual. Cute, but not fabulous as it should have been. Anyway, believing my night was going to end just as I was starting to feel good, I was ready to go home and park myself in front of the TV (as usual). Then, one of the ladies I was with convinced me to go to the next spot (which was a bar/restaurant that I had no desire to go to). As soon as we arrived, I was pissed. The place was packed, which would have fine if there was a table available for me and the ladies. We had to walk around and wait for over an hour before we were able to get a table. By then, I (and another person I was with) was ready to call it a night. But, we didn't. After having a couple more drinks, my mood improved and I was ready to party. Since this place isn't exactly a 'partying' spot, I settled for dancing in my seat and in the aisle with NT's boyfriend. Then, out of nowhere, one of my sisters & my brother in law (who flew in from our hometown that evening), his cousin and another guy I know from my hometown walked in! Ooooohhhhhhh chile, was I surprised and happy to see them!! My mood increased by a 1000....and so did my alcohol level. As soon as they arrived, they ordered a round of shots for everyone....then another....then a round of drinks.....and another. By the time we were ready to leave that place, I was way over my limit. I went home that night, feeling drunk off of love and liquor!

NT had something planned for me the next day, as well, so I had to deal with the hangover in order to make it to my next birthday surprise. It was a struggle for me to get it together but it was definitely worth it. I was treated to a 90 minute, full-body massage and sugar foot scrub. Can you say, 'heavennnnnnnnnnnn!' It was my first time getting a professional massage and it was everything I imagined it to be plus more. My massage therapist was a woman, with a very sweet voice and strong, skilled hands. At first, her touch felt a little suspect (light feather touches over the legs and buttocks that seemed to be unnecessary) then I realized it was just part of the process. I found it difficult to fully relax, in the beginning but before I knew it, I had completely surrendered. I woke myself up, several times, from my own snoring. At one point, my snoring was so loud, I scared myself! I was so embarrassed. However, I learned that a client's snoring is actually a compliment to the massage therapist. It lets them know that their client is fully relaxed and, likely, satisfied with their treatment. I was. After the massage, I had to go shopping for something to wear to the birthday party we were planning to attend that evening (in honor of my brother in law's sister).

The shopping trip was an emotional one for me (unbeknownst to my sis) because, for some reason that I haven't figured out, I experienced an 'Aha! moment' that hadn't hit me before. For me, shopping has always been stressful. I could never wear the things I wanted to wear and when I did find something I liked, in my size 20, it was almost always either too expensive or too matronly. When I walked in the store yesterday, I went straight to the plus-size section, as I usually did. I found nothing there and I started to leave the store, disappointed, but stopped to think maybe….just maybe…I could find something in the ‘regular’ sized section. Mind you, it's been a good while since I've lost weight and have been able to shop and find nice things in the regular sections so, I don't understand why this time, I hesitated. I looked, timidly at first, then I saw something I liked. I figured the leggings I chose would fit because they’re stretchy but I was skeptical about the shirt. Imagine my joy when I tried the outfit on and not only did it fit but I looked damn good in it! That motivated me to find some nice jewelry to match. I found a set in gold and silver so I bought both. Having those items and knowing I was going to look great boosted my enthusiasm to go to the party that night. Usually, I’m the party pooper; the ladies can’t stand me because I almost always opt out of partying with them. But, they don’t understand (or even know about) the anxiety I feel. Although we're not in competition and I know I can hold my own, I have to admit that, hanging with the glammed out divas has been difficult for me, at times. It's not always easy finding clothes that make me feel & look like a million bucks (like the divas always do) instead of the overweight auntie that a lot of plus-sized clothing made me feel & look like. Before we went shopping, I wasn't too excited about going out again but, after getting my outfit and accessories, I was looking forward to it. I went home, took a good nap (in an effort to sleep off the lingering effects from the night before) and when I woke up, I felt rested and ready to party. I got dressed with 100 % enthusiasm and 0% anxiety. I went to the party feeling good and enjoyed myself to the fullest (complete with more shots and drinks....omg).  

On Sunday, I woke up with a happy heart and smiling face. I enjoyed breakfast and conversation with NT and 2 friends. That evening, NT made one of my favorite meals and our sister joined us for dinner. We spent some quality time together before it was time for her to return home. 

My birthday weekend was more beautiful than I imagined it would be. Not only did I have a great time but it was one of those times that was great because it included activities and people that made a significant mark in my personal history book. Spending my first birthday away from 'home' was truly a wonderful and memorable experience! 

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME! 

The Time Is Now...

Today is my father's birthday. It's been over 10 years since he passed away but my siblings and I still acknowledge, and in some way, celebrate the day our father was born. When he was alive, he would not let us forget it. He would call us days before, telling us what we better have for him he wanted and he made sure to show up and collect. In some ways, I felt like, 'he got some damn nerve!' but, for the most part, I took joy in showing my Dad some love on his special day. He was nowhere near a perfect father but he loved him some me and I loved me some him.. We shared a close bond and had a good relationship. I was a 'Daddy's Girl' for most of my life, but things changed as I got older. 

In the weeks before my father died, I was giving him the cold shoulder. If he said anything to me, my responses would be short & snippy, I kept my distance and my smiles for him were tight-lipped, if I smiled his way at all. During this time, I was ready to confront him and go head-to-head with the 'Why didn't you/where were you when...' conversation. I had asked him a few hard questions before, but it was never an opportunity where we could have a full-blown discussion. I was so ready for it, and I could tell, in his eyes, he wasn't. I believe he had an idea of how I I felt because he seemed to be extra soft & cautious in our interactions. He wouldn't say too much about my attitude and actions towards him but he would give me this look. A look that said, 'You better watch who you're talking to' but 'I understand where you're coming from' at the same time. For the most part, I never gave my father any backtalk (because I knew I would get a backhand and a fat lip), but at this particular time, I didn't care. I was (as they say today) in my feelings. I felt hurt so I wanted him to hurt too. 

Then, one night, my father was hit and run over by a car....and he died from the injuries 10 days later. He was in tremendous pain in the days leading up to his death and I felt no sympathy. It was one of the few times in my life that I felt cold & indifferent towards someone I loved. I was mad so, at the time, I thought, 'that's what he gets' (the pain, not the incident). Not once did I think he would die (from those circumstances) and never did I wish death upon him. I just didn't care that he was suffering and I chalked it up to him getting his karma. Then, he was gone.  

As I saw my father lying lifeless on my sister's couch, all the things I felt the need to say to him before didn't seem to matter much. In the subsequent days of planning his funeral, I had time to think, reflect and reminisce. I thought about how unnecessary and unfair my recent actions toward my father were. How, instead of being funky and cold towards him, I could have used a more loving, warm approach. Instead of judging my father on the things I thought he did wrong, I could have focused on all of the things he did right. I could have looked at him as the flawed human being he was (as we all are); a person who made choices that resulted in some good and some bad. I could see the hurt in my Dad's eyes from the disappointment he knew I felt. Yes, I had some resentment but our good times greatly outweighed the bad times. I should have reassured my Daddy how much I loved him, and that I was still his girl, in spite of it all....

No matter how much anger, resentment or disappointment you feel, if you love someone, need someone or want someone in your life, let them know.....now....before it's too late.

Don't wait until it's too late.....

if you love me, tell me now

if you care, show me how much 

I really mean to you

Don't wait until it's too late....

if there's something you want me to have, give it to me today

if there's something I need to know, don't hesitate 

say what's on your mind

Don't wait until it's too late...

if the time comes, take it

when the chance arrives, embrace it

and make 

every 

moment 

count

Don't wait until it's too late...

when my eyes can no longer see

and my ears can no longer hear 

when my feelings can no longer be

Don't wait until it's too late

when my body has gone cold

and your words and actions can do me no good

and all I am is a memory to hold

Don't wait 

another day might be too late....

the time 

is now

copyright 2013 by Sameialika Tarver

Happy Birthday Daddy

Fallen Angel.....

Today marks the day my youngest brother and my mother's only son was born. It would've been his 26th birthday, but due to a fateful choice he made on April 26, 2012, he is not here to celebrate. At the age of 24, he chose to end his life and thus, the battle he was having with a bout of depression. I, too, have struggled with depression during different periods of my life and I wrote this poem during one of those tough times. I had plans to leave it for my family to read, with the hopes it would give them some understanding of what I was feeling. I never thought I'd be presenting it as an homage to my baby brother.

In memory of Terryn Clevon Pringle.....FALLEN ANGEL

Anger & frustration is what I feel inside....Loneliness & longing are constantly by my side....crying & yelling, I've done all that I'll do...it helps just for the moment then that moment passes through

I will go away from here, sooner than you think...sooner than you can say, 'goodbye', as quickly as you can blink

I will go away from here, find myself some peace...find myself a cozy corner, get myself some sleep

I will go away from here, stop thinking about the pain...stop thinking about this hole in my soul, I'll never feel either again

No, I'm not taking the easy way out...No, I will not lay blame...I just don't want to be here, anymore...I want to be free from the game

I just want to get away from here...in some way, I always feel locked down...whether it be in my mind, in my search for love or me spreading my love around

I told you, I was going away from here...I told you I was tired of half-living...I was tired of feeling I was getting nowhere fast...Insane is where I was being driven

I told you I was going away from here...I told you I wanted out...I told you I had to release myself...I guess you wanted me to SHOUT

Now that I'm gone, I feel no pain, no sorrow...I have no worries, I feel no fear, no qualms about tomorrow

I feel like I am floating, looking at you from afar...I have finally found my place in the sky...I was destined to be a star....

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TERRYN!

*If you or a person you know are having suicidal thoughts or are going through a tough time, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline for help! 1-800-273-8255 http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

Honor thy brother....

Not a day has gone by that I have not thought about, longed for and felt pain from the loss of him. Daily, I fight back tears....and sometimes, the tears win. Sometimes the tears drop, like a leaky faucet and clear up quickly, like a teasing sunshower; sometimes they run like a silent stream, with no end in sight; and sometimes they fill my eye sockets like liquid fire and burst through as a raging storm, causing sounds like thunder & lightning to escape my throat. Five hundred and sixty one days later and the death of my baby brother still hurts like hell.

I won't rehash the story, but for those who are new readers (or simply passing through), my youngest sibling, Terryn Clevon Pringle, committed suicide on April 26, 2012, at the age of 24. His death was unexpected and the impact on my family has been tremendous. My brother was deeply loved, cared about and adored by many. Yet, for some reason no one can fathom or begin to understand, he didn't feel it..or believe it....deep down in his heart. He didn't think his presence in our lives mattered much and he believed we'd all be just fine without him. He could not have been more wrong. He was my mother's only son and his father's only child. My mother cries for her son, every. single. day. She blames herself for his death, every. single. day. She believes that 'if only she...' did 'something' different, he would still be alive and she tells herself this untruth, every. single. day. My siblings and I have unsettling dreams and startling visions of my brother; we have nightmares about his death and sleepless nights filled with anger & frustration. We've blamed ourselves, at one time or another, thinking we could have, should have said or done something that may have saved our brother's life. We don't like to talk about it though. We don't share our feelings and experiences too often because no one wants to be the person to 'get everyone else started.' No one wants to be the one to spoil a good mood, make somebody cry or get a conversation going that will send someone into a dark place. But, at certain times of the year, like holidays, milestones and birthdays, it's impossible not to acknowledge the void we feel, or to express what's in our hearts and on our minds. This weekend is such a time.

Terryn was born on November 9, 1987. He wasn't into big parties and never wanted us to spend money on or make a big deal over him. He didn't like to go out to bars & clubs but he loved to have a good time. To him, a good time was hanging out with family and close friends, playing card games or board games, listening to music, having dinner, drinks, etc. He warned us not to do anything special for his 25th birthday but we ignored him (like we did for his 21st birthday) and, unbeknownst to him, we had big plans in store. Well, I guess he fixed us. We spent his 25th birthday mourning his memory instead of celebrating his presence.This year, however, we are going to celebrate Terryn's birthday in a way he would want us to; having fun, finding reasons to smile and celebrating good memories of him. He would want us to tell stories that will stir up laughter and warm, fuzzy feelings. Terryn would want his nieces and nephews to remember him as a good uncle who loved them, cared about them and always wanted the best for them. He'd want his mother and father to know that it was no fault of theirs that he chose to say 'goodbye.' He would want his siblings to know that he loved us and appreciated all the time we spent together and everything we've ever done. He'd want his cousins, other close relatives and friends to know that they were special to him. He'd want all of us to remember that his legacy is one of love and joy, not heartache and pain. So, dear brother, although there will be tears and moments of sorrow, we will not focus on the pain. We promise to spend the day honoring the goodness, happiness and joy you brought to our lives............

WE LOVE AND MISS YOU TEE.......may you continue to rest in everlasting love, joy and peace.

*in the picture, Terryn is wearing the hat

Charlie's Angelz

I've spoken about my siblings on this blog a few times, but for those who don't know, I am the eldest of 11; technically, of 2 whole sisters, 6 half sisters and 2 half brothers. (For the record, we never use the terms 'half-brother' or 'half sister.' However, I'm using them in this blog post for descriptive purposes only.) I don't remember life without siblings (as I was only a year and 2 months old when my first sister was born) and I can't imagine life without ever having them. Yet, there have been times when I've said (and I think all of my siblings can attest to feeling this way at one time or another), 'Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy do I have to be a part of this crockpot stew of siblings!' We have a lot of love for each other but with our complicated beginnings (Papa was a rolling stone), comes jealousy, resentment, competition, chaos and drama. All siblings experience some drama & rivalry but when you add multiple sets of parents to the mix, that experience is multiplied by a thousand. This is not to say there is no goodness....or even greatness....within the group, but the complications can't be denied. When we were young, with hardly any control over our lives and relationships with other people, our parents played a huge role in how we got along (or not) with our sisters and brothers. While my parents were together, my father had 4 children outside of their relationship (in addition to the three he had with my mother) with 3 other women. The first five of us were born within a period of 5 years, with 2 born in the same year, within 6 months of each other. Can you say DRAHHHH-MA!

I grew up in a place where 'everybody knows everybody' so my father couldn't hide his indiscretions for long, if at all. My mother always found out about these other children and we always found out about our new siblings. As a young child, I didn't fully grasp what having these 'outside siblings' meant to my mother and my parents' relationship. I was always happy about having a new sister and excited to tell/show the world. Of course, this did not make my mother happy and, at one point I would get admonished for referring to any of the 'other' kids as my sister. I don't know what my sisters' mothers were saying to them but there was a period of time when two in particular (who shared the same mother) would sometimes say mean things about/to my 2 'whole' sisters and me. It hurt, of course, but even moreso, I was confused. I didn't understand why they felt this animosity towards us when we had never done anything to them. It wasn't until I got older, learned more of the truth and had certain experiences that I understood why the bad blood flowed between those 2 sisters and us. My parents finally broke up when I was around 9 years old, not long after the last of the 'outside' kids was born. There was more drama to be had, despite the breakup, but eventually my parents would stop the madness. My father moved on with the mother of the last child he had while he was with my mother; they had 2 more daughers & one son and eventually got married. My mother moved on, got married and gave birth to my youngest brother. Although our parents finally gave up the drama, my siblings and I (unknowingly) picked up where they left off.

Throughout the years, we have had wonderful times together and we've had heartbreaking times too. We have dealt with pettiness such as gossip & jealousy, serious issues such as backstabbing & disrespect and life-altering events such as birth & death. We have spoken ill of each other, had physical fights, ignored and even stopped speaking to each other. But, we ALWAYS fall back to the lesson our father taught us: sticking together. If my father did anything right, it was to make sure his children not only knew each other but had relationships with each other. He always told us to never let anything or anyone come between us, no matter what. So, when we go through difficult times, we always manage to bring it back to what's important: our relationship with each other and the examples we are setting for our children. We all understand that, because we are human, we will make mistakes and we will do things to upset, disappoint and hurt each other. But what we will also do is be more careful, thoughtful and conscious of our words & actions so the hurtful things happen less; and what we won't do is let the negative overpower the positive. We have vowed to each other that no matter how upset we get or how big or small a transgression is, we will do what it takes to work it out.

We're in a good space today and I believe we serve as good role models of people with similar family dynamics. Therefore, I will be writing more about the good, the bad & the ugly times of Charlie's Angelz (which is what our Dad affectionately referred to us as, since his name was Charlie). I share with the hope that it will inspire someone else to improve, nurture and appreciate the relationships they have, with their siblings and other loved ones.

Charlie's Angelz have come a long way, baby and I say with confidence, things will only get better!

The Queen City

So, I've been in Charlotte, NC aka The Queen City, for about 2 months now and, so far, so good. The city has a lot to offer a single, woman like me who prefers quiet living with city appeal, has creative wings that need to be spread and enjoys having an active social life. The community I live in is nicely designed (as most like it seem to be) with great amenities, my neighbors are seen but rarely heard and most of all, it's affordable. Granted, my sister is footing the bill for our living expenses, as she so lovingly offered to do, allowing me time to gain employment and use the funds I have to maintain the bills that this move did not eliminate. But once I get on, it's nice to know I will be able to maintain (and eventually, elevate) my standard of living. Many of you may be saying, "What! You moved to a new state and you don't have a job?!" Yes I did and no, I don't. Not because I am irresponsible, rash or naive but because I cherish my health over a paycheck.

I made this move for a few reasons, but my mental and emotional health was at the top of the list. The life I was living back 'home' became so stressful and overwhelming that it, literally, was life-threatening. This is not to say, a change in location is the remedy to a health problem, but sometimes, it needs to be part of the prescription. In my case, it was necessary. Since arriving in Charlotte, NC, I have experienced a significant change (for the better) in my mental & emotional outlook. I can move through my day without having to take care of, worry about or be infringed upon by another person. I don't feel the need to succumb to any pressures to do anything and I don't feel responsible for anyone else's problems. Being away from the sources of those issues allows me the time and space to correct them, within myself. Of course, I still have some concerns, that come with being away from my grandmother, my daughter and the gran'diva. I still experience urges to 'fix' whatever problems they may be experiencing but being 1200 miles away from them does not allow me to do so (as easily as being right there would). There are times that I wish I could be there to soothe my granddaughter when she's upset, assist my daughter when she needs a break and spend time with my grandmother, who has forgotten who I am (by voice and name). But I have to 'let go and let God.' Keeping the faith that they will fare just fine without me there to cushion every fall, soothe every hurt or ease every pain. Not only that, I now have no excuse to not 'get my life!' (as Tamar Braxton would say).

Of course, I miss my loved ones like crazy! I miss being able to jump in the car and drive a few blocks to one of my sister's houses. I miss Friday night girl talks with my favorite cousins & friends. I miss Sunday dinners with the family. I miss being able to 'dial-a-hairdo' or order up an impromptu meeting for dinner & drinks. I miss chilling out with my mother. I miss my daily work commute with my daughter and gran'diva. I miss chatting & laughing with a few of my coworkers-turned-friends. Hell, I miss going to work. I just miss home. But, overall, I am good here. I haven't quite started 'living' in the Queen City but the future looks promising. I plan to be here for a very long time as this is a great place for me to enjoy my 'Second Act.' I look forward to getting settled into a work routine, developing an active social life and making Charlotte, NC my home away from home.

Family Ties....Untied (?)

As I've mentioned previously in this blog, I come from a big family and sizable group of friends with whom I spend a considerable amount of time. We've had wonderful times together and made great memories, whether it's in celebration of a holiday, birthday, milestone, achievement or 'just because.' We just love to be together. However, it's all coming to a bittersweet crossroad. Sweet, because it involves major change, new places, people, things and experiences; Bitter, because it involves major change, loss of fellowship (as we've known it for forever), physical closeness & proximity and a shaking up of stability & security. As very close siblings/relatives/friends, my group (affectionately known as Angelz & Co.) does almost everything together. We're always at each other's homes, in each other's cars, shopping together, eating together, drinking together, crying, laughing and fighting together. We do almost everything together. Not always as the entire group, but at least 2 of us are together on any given day. That is about to change....in a major way...and it ain't gonna be easy for any of us.

My sister (who I'll refer to, from now on, as 'QB') and I are planning to move out of state in the very near future, to 2 separate states. She and I are the eldest of the crew and are the leaders, for the most part. If any of our siblings or friends need (to know) or want (to do) something, more than likely, they will consult with me or QB....and more than likely, QB or I will (help) work it out/make it happen. For instance, if someone wants to have a party for themselves, their child, friend/relative, they will probably call me. They will expect for me to pull details together and make sure things get done properly. For family gatherings, such as holidays, summer BBQ's, etc., they will likely call on QB....and she will pull it together. There's a sister or sf we call on for hairdos, a sister we call on to borrow money from, a sister we call on for fashion advice/assistance, a sister we call on for babysitting or emergency pickups/dropoffs, a sister we call on for conflict backup....there's a sister or sf to call on for just about everything. To not have that is going to be a major shock to each of our systems and is going to be a major adjustment to adapt to.

Granted, there will still be 4 sisters (and one brother, who does his own thing outside of us, most of the time) living in our hometown but it's just not going to be the same. I may be giving myself and QB too much credit but I'm afraid that our siblings are not going to keep our 'Angelhood' alive. I'm afraid for that, because they usually rely on one of their big sisters to initiate family gatherings and group activities. I'm afraid for that because they get easily upset, annoyed, frustrated and their 'idgaf' (I don't give a f*^k) switch gets turned on too easily. I'm afraid for that because I won't be around to 'save the day.' However, in recent months, we each have gotten better with communicating and relating to each other, so I will pray on it. I will pray and I will have faith that my siblings will not let the 'Angelhood' crumble; that they will, in fact, stand taller....be better. I pray that, with these major changes that are about to occur in our lives, the ties that have bound us together for so long, will not come undone; that they will be lengthened and strengthened so that they will hold us together even closer.

FLASHBACK POST: IT’S OFFICIAL!

This is an excerpt from my short-lived Facebook mini-blog, The Musings of a G’va: documenting & discussing the ups & downs, ins & outs and rounds & rounds of becoming a 'premature' grandmother, written on June 29, 2010

I just came from my daughter’s first prenatal doctor appointment and my belly is so abuzz with excitement that I can’t finish my lunch (and believe me, I was HUNGRY since before we got to the appointment). All day, I was looking forward to the appointment (after getting a last minute ‘welcoming to accompany’ from her last night) but I can't say I was excited about it. I was more curious to know how far along she was and when I could expect my life to change indefinitely and immeasurably.

When I first heard my daughter was pregnant, I was on fire! ‘Why would she do something so stupid, so careless, so irresponsible, so disappointing?!’ Why would she do this to herself?! Why would she do this to meeeeeeeeeee?!’ I heard the  news from someone else and didn’t want to ask my daughter for fear of the confirmation but, I knew I’d have to face it sooner or later. I preferred sooner. So I asked. She denied it but I knew she was lying. Ultimately, she confessed and my fate had been sealed. I had my moments of inner rage but was eventually able to make peace with the fact that I was going to become a grandmother before my 40th birthday. In doing so, I had to reflect back on my own experience.........

I remembered how it felt when I was ‘lost in love’ and became pregnant with my daughter; nobody could tell me a damn thing. My mother was greatly disappointed in me, being pregnant with a child at the age of 16 with 2 years of high school left to complete, but she never made me feel bad about it. She was there for me, every step of the way. So, I decided I would be my daughter’s ‘soft place to fall.’ She is, after all, almost 20 years old with two years of college under her belt. Who am I to put her down or make her feel ‘less than.’ At the same time, I didn’t want to appear to be too happy about the situation because, well.....I wasn’t. I wanted more for my child. My expectations were different. But she can’t live her life for me and I can’t live her life for her. So, I decided to be supportive and understanding, because, after all, this mother’s love is unconditional. But that was it; understanding and supportive was all I planned to be. Nothing more, nothing less. Until I sat in the chair next to my daughter’s bedside and watched the ultrasound technician do her thing………….

'Nurse Nancy' applied the gel to the ultrasound probe, adjusted my daughter’s clothing and placed the probe onto my daughter’s belly. After just a few seconds, I saw the clear ultrasound image of my grandbaby on the monitor, and I felt something change inside of me. I wanted to clap my hands and shout out with glee. But, I did neither.I kept my composure and stayed in my seat, but I smiled harder than I’ve smiled in a long time. My heart smiled too. I watched my daughter as she saw the image of her baby and I could see her ‘mother light’ flicker on. Her face brightened, her eyes lit up and she let out a little chuckle. Right then, I knew, everything would be okay and I was glad my daughter allowed me to share that special moment with her.

What's In A Name?

Becoming a grandparent at a young age (under 50) is very different from becoming one at a more mature age (60+). Not only physically but, your lifestyle is probably more suitable for grandparenthood at 60 than at 30- or 40-something. What about ages 50-59, you may be wondering? Well, I think that's an in-between stage where one may not expect but would welcome a little bundle of grandjoy with wide open arms. At any age, preparing for 'Grand' status includes coming up with a name you'd like to be called by your grandchildren. This process is more complex when you have to do this during a time you still consider yourself to be part of a young crowd (notice, I didn't say, 'the' young crowd). You don't want to deny your 'grand' status; at the same time, being called Grandma/Grandpa don't seem to fit and are usually out.of.the.question.

As a 37 year old (who is often thought to be a 20-something year old), with a very active social life, I knew I had to come up with something different and fly. Something that was not only grand but special to just us. It was difficult to do, but I finally came up with two names I thought were fitting:'G'va' (short for Grand Diva, pronounced Jee-va) or 'Gammi' (a remix of my nickname, which is 'Sammi'). When the grandiva (aka granddaughter) began to say Mommy, Daddy and other words, I attempted to teach her to call me 'G'va' then 'Gammi' But, for some reason, she would never say either one. Then one day, she called me 'Gida' (like Reeda with a hard 'G'). I looked at my daughter and asked, 'What did she say??' The grandiva said it again and proceeded to ask me for something (I forget exactly what else she was trying to say). Then it clicked that she was calling me 'Gida.' My daughter and I were like, 'Huh? Where in the world did she get that frommmmm???' We had no clue how she came up with that name, but, from that day on, she called me 'Gida.' So, I said, 'Hey, I'll take it (as if I really had a choice)!'

One day, I decided to look it up on the internet to see if it was really a word or name that, perhaps, means something in another language. So I googled it....and could not believe what I found. GIDA: a Zulu name for girls, meaning 'to dance & rejoice' (I'm not known for dancing but I got a few cute moves and I love to rejoice & celebrate). The definition goes on to say,GIDA’s potential involves questing a destiny along a variety of paths that may include writing, speaking, singing, acting or teaching; entertainers, writers, litigators, teachers, salesmen and composers. GIDA also has the destiny to sell herself or sell just about any product that comes along. GIDA is imaginative in her presentation and may have creative talents in the arts, although these are more likely to be latent. GIDA is an optimistic person that seems ever enthusiastic about life and living. GIDA is friendly, loving and social. People like GIDA because she is charming and such a good conversationalist. Her ability to communicate may often inspire others. It is her role in life to inspire and motivate; to raise the spirits of those around her.

GIDA wants to lead and direct, to work independent of supervision, by self or with subordinates. GIDA takes pride in her abilities and wants to be recognized for them. GIDA may seek opportunities to display her strength and usefulness, wanting to create and originate. In her desire to manage the big picture and the main issues, GIDA may often leave the details to others. Ambitious and determined, GIDA is a leader seeking opportunities and possesses a great deal of honesty and loyalty. GIDA is very attainment oriented and driven to success. GIDA is a loyal friend and strictly fair in her business dealings.


If you know me, you'll agree that this describes me to a 'T.' If you don't know me, just....take my word for it. GIDA is definitely me. I don't know who/what put this name in the mind & mouth of my grandiva, at the age of just 18 months old, but it is perfect....and exactly what I wanted. It's different, unique and special to just us. I love the sound of it, the meaning of it and most of all, I love that she came up with it on her own. It not only holds sentimental value but to me, it is also spiritual in nature because it speaks to the very person that I am. What's in a name? Individuality, beauty, significance and love. GIDA. Like the perfect dress, the name suits me and fits me like a glove.

Sunshine After The Rain....

Life has been pretty gloomy since April 26; the day my heart was irreparably broken by my baby brother’s suicide. Every day is a struggle…..yet it’s also a blessing. It hurts to know that my brother is gone but I am glad that I still have my life, other relatives and friends. Despite the pain, my family and I have been able to find ways to inject some fun, joy and laughter into our daily existences. One blessing we have all enjoyed is the gift of my granddaughter……A’shari, the gran’diva. Not only does she represent life, hope and future for us, but her personality is like a contagious sunburst.

A’shari is inquisitive, intelligent, independent and inviting. She’s quick on her tiny lil’ feet and her pretty miniature hands are fast & sometimes furious (she’s always pulling my hair or my earrings). At just 17 months old (yes, you have to include months, but that is a whole ‘nother post), she poses for pictures without trying to. She has no idea what ‘strike a pose’ means……but she does it every time. She’s a natural (check out her album if you’re a FB friend of mine).

Although A’shari’s vocabulary is very limited, she can ask for what she wants using words……some are spoken in English, others are spoken in Shar’glish. She’s such a girl…..but a tough girl. She loves to bathe and play with her dolls yet she favors her male cousins over the females; she will rumble & tumble with the boys and get right back up without a tear in sight. She loves to dance and she loves music; she actually has a few signature moves and can sing some words from her favorite songs. She’s got a liking for Strawberry Shortcake (‘CakeCake’) but Barney (‘Bodney’) is her boy. She likes what she sees in the mirror and in pictures; she always gives herself kisses & hugs in the mirror and when she sees a photo of herself within her reach, she will carry it around to show it off and kiss it constantly. I can say so much more about my precious gran’diva but I’ll keep it short & sweet. A’shari truly is a wonderful little girl who makes life more enjoyable just by being in it. The past six weeks have been quite stormy for me and my family, but she is our sunshine after the rain……….

Thank God for rainbows and little girls.

B.A.D

Terryn Clevon Pringle: 11/09/1987 - 04/26/2012

Two weeks ago, today, my 24 year old brother committed suicide. He took his red do-rag, looped it around a small pipe (that I never even noticed before) that ran across a small divider wall which separated the dining area from the living area in my mother’s house, tied it around his neck and hung himself. I was at work when I received the frantic call from my cousin. At the time, she didn’t have the facts. All she knew was that ‘somebody said something about someone hanging themselves’ and she was calling me to find out if I knew what happened.  I hadn’t a clue.  I was just returning to my desk when she called and had missed calls from my sister and mother. I calmly told my cousin I would call my mother back to find out what was going in then I’d let her know. My mother was sobbing when she answered her phone and all she could tell me was, ‘Get Home….Now!’ Although I never imagined this would happen, I knew it was my brother. My mother wouldn’t give me any details and I knew, if something bad happened to any person other than a child of hers, she would have said so. It took 45 minutes (and assistance from my coworkers) for me to gain enough composure to get to my mother’s house because, although I did not have the story, I immediately broke down with the mere thought that something was wrong with my baby brother. When I arrived on the scene, I saw police officers and members of my family outside my Mom’s house, all in tears or with looks of despair on their faces. I ran to the closest cousin I saw (which happened to be my cousin who just lost his brother in March) and he confirmed what my gut told me already – Terryn is dead. He hung himself. He’s gone. Oh. My. Lord!  The news took my breath away and even now, as I think about it, it takes my breath away. My baby brother. My beautiful baby brother. My beautiful, respectful, loving, funny, courageous and strong baby brother committed suicide. 

Being B.A.D (black and depressed) is not something the African American community talks about in public, if at all. For the most part, in the Black community, therapy is frowned upon, thought to be unnecessary (‘just go to church, talk to your pastor….handle it’) and a waste of time and money (‘Why pay somebody to tell all your business to?  Tell a friend for free!’).  Women often form friendships with other women in whom they may confide (some of) their secrets, dilemmas and struggles. Sometimes, though, the things they choose to share are sugar-coated, taken lightly or even brushed off, while other things may not be shared at all. Usually, women who are depressed find ways, other than talking about or dealing with the issue, to ease their pain: shopping, eating, sex, gossiping or engaging in some other form of self-destructive behavior. Men are even worse. They usually deal with their problems by themselves and when they can’t come up with a solution or remedy, it often comes out in aggressive, destructive (to themselves or others) behaviors. As a ‘rule,’ men don’t talk about their feelings: not with friends, not with family, not with a spouse and certainly not with a therapist.  But gone undiagnosed and/or untreated, in men or women, depression can be…..and has been…..deadly.

According to Mental Health America:

Clinical depression is not a personal weakness, gracelessness or faithlessness—it is a common, yet serious, medical illness; a “whole-body” illness that affects your mood, thoughts, body and behavior.

Clinical depression can affect anyone: Anyone can experience clinical depression, regardless of race, gender, age, creed or income. Every year more than 19 million Americans suffer from some type of depressive illness. Depression robs people of the enjoyment found in daily life and can even lead to suicide.

Myths about depression: The myths and stigma that surround depression create needless pain and confusion, and can keep people from getting proper treatment. The following statements reflect some common misconceptions about African Americans and depression: “Why are you depressed? If our people could make it through slavery, we can make it through anything.” “When a black woman suffers from a mental disorder, the opinion is that she is weak. And weakness in black women is intolerable.” “You should take your troubles to Jesus, not some stranger/psychiatrist.” The truth is that getting help is a sign of strength. People with depression can’t just “snap out of it.” Also, spiritual support can be an important part of healing, but the care of a qualified mental health professional is essential. And the earlier treatment begins, the more effective it can be.

What causes clinical depression? Many factors can contribute to clinical depression, including cognitive issues (e.g., negative thinking patterns); biological and genetic factors; gender (it affects more women than men); other medications; other illnesses; and situational factors. For some, a number of these factors seem to be involved, while for others a single factor can cause the illness.

Clinical depression is a treatable illness: The good news is that, like other illnesses such as heart disease or diabetes, clinical depression is treatable with the help of a health care professional. In fact, over 80 percent of people with depression can be treated successfully.

Symptoms of clinical depression: Due to cultural backgrounds, depression may be exhibited differently among African Americans. To help decide if you—or someone you care about—needs an evaluation for clinical depression, review the following list of symptoms. If you experience five or more for longer than two weeks, if you feel suicidal, or if the symptoms interfere with your daily routine, see your doctor, and bring this sheet with you.

• A persistent sad, anxious or “empty” mood, or excessive crying
• Reduced appetite and weight loss or increased appetite and weight gain
• Persistent physical symptoms that do not respond to treatment, such as headaches, digestive disorders and chronic pain
• Irritability, restlessness
• Decreased energy, fatigue, feeling “slowed down”
• Feelings of guilt, worthlessness, helplessness, hopelessness, pessimism
• Sleeping too much or too little, early-morning waking
• Loss of interest or pleasure in activities, including sex
• Difficulty concentrating, remembering, or making decisions
• Thoughts of death or suicide, or suicide attempts

My family and I knew my brother was ‘feeling down’ about some things in his life and that he was stressed about other things but……aren’t we all?? We didn’t recognize that his normal laid-back demeanor had turned into withdrawal and disengagement. He made negative comments about himself but we didn’t see them as anything life-threatening. We just continued to encourage him, uplift him and offer our support to assist him with whatever endeavor he chose to improve his life. He was a hardworking young man who, seemingly to us, kinda had it made. He lived at home with Mom, she paid all of the bills, he had an adoring girlfriend and many friends. He was handsome, well-dressed, well-groomed, well-respected and well-received by most (if not all) who knew him. He loved his family and spent quality time with his nieces & nephews. In hindsight, though, I see the signs clearly. He had become less willing to participate in activities, he was losing weight and he was dealing with a few very serious, personal dilemmas. One glaring memory that says it all to me (now) is that, for my mother’s birthday in January, my brother, sisters and I planned to go out to dinner and have our family picture taken. Up until the day we were supposed to go, my brother was on board. But when I called him that day to make sure he was all set for that evening’s plans, he told me ‘No.’ He said he wasn’t going and that we didn’t need him in the picture anyway. I just brushed it off to him being a brat and not having what he always thought he needed (a pocket full of money and the 'perfect' outfit). I later learned that he told my mother his being in the picture would only mess it up. WHERE he got that idea and WHY he would ever think that is way beyond any of our understanding. My brother was the baby in the family….and my mother’s only son. He was showered, smothered and covered in love & attention every single day of his life. Unbeknownst to us, what we gave was not ‘enough’ to sustain my brother and his emotional/mental health. He had negative feelings that were too strong for any amount of love and attention to dispel. He apparently was suffering from mental illness and we had no idea; I'm not even sure if he realized it. But, even if we had known, we didn’t have the power to change it. I just hate that, having dealt with depression myself, I didn’t recognize it in my brother. I was so busy trying to make him believe what I thought of him that I didn’t take the time to listen all the times he expressed how he felt and what he believed about himself. I did not realize he needed much more than words of encouragement & inspiration; I did not hear his cry for help…..and it hurts like hell.

I can (and sometimes do) torture myself with the ‘Ifs, Ands, Buts, Whys, Whens, Whos and Hows’ but it will not bring my brother back. All I can do is cherish his memory and keep it alive by sharing his story….my story….our story. In doing so, I hope that somebody, somewhere will learn something from my family’s experience and be encouraged to get the help they need.  If you take away anything from this blog post, please recognize the seriousness of depression and the importance of not only recognizing the symptoms of depression in yourself or a loved one, but taking action. Hold on to hope, hold on to health, hold on to love and hold on to life!

 

My dearest baby brother……My heart literally aches for you.  I wish you were still here to talk with and laugh with, spend time with and hold hands with…..I miss your great big hugs and sloppy, baby brother kisses and most of all, I miss hearing your voice & seeing your gorgeous face. I miss you so much.  But you are gone, forever and I must find a way to accept and make peace with that….and with God’s grace, I will. Now that you have your wings, may you Rest In Eternal Peace, Terryn……I Love You.