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.......

Love and Loss (at the same damn time)!

I had never given it much thought in the past, whether or not I agreed with the notion that 'It's better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all' but, for this post and situation, I have to say it's true....and here's why...........

Due to mental health reasons, I took a much-needed leave of absence from work, earlier this year. I had been doing my best to hold it together (mentally & emotionally), following the death of my baby brother, in addition to the stress and strains of daily life and work environment. However, being a Mom, grandmom, caretaking granddaughter and 'saint-like' supervisor (according to my coworkers who bear witness to what I endure on the job) took its toll on me and the threads that held me together for so long eventually unraveled. I had, what I believed to have been, a small-scale 'breakdown.' I say, 'breakdown' instead of simply a bad day because, I've had days where I felt upset, moody, sad, mad and plain ole fed-up but I was able to get over/through it by taking a walk, having a talk or going on an extended bathroom break. On that day, it was different.

Baby bro was on my mind (as he is every single day) and I saw a pic of him on FB that brought tears to my eyes (as usual). I felt the emotion welling up in me and before I could stand up, tears began to fall. Ok....that was fine. This happens at least once a week, since my brother passed away. I went into the bathroom, cried my eyes out (to the dismay of a coworker who was in the stall next to me), pulled myself together (or so I thought) and returned to my desk. As soon as I sat down, the tears and emotion came rushing back, up and out and I could not stop it. I let out a low scream? squeal? and I cried and cried and cried and cried. I could barely catch my breath. My supervisor and other employees came rushing to my side and eventually, I did calm down enough to finish my work day. But I knew this time, ish was serious, so I made an appointment to see my doctor ASAP. Knowing my history and family dynamic, my doctor agreed that I needed to take a break from work and family. Although I couldn't find a suitable way to break away from my family, I started my 30 day leave from work a few days after seeing my doctor.

I refer to that period of time as 'The Darkness.' In the beginning, I did little more than lay on the couch, watch TV, eat, browse internet and play a word game on my phone.  Less than 2 weeks into my leave, during one of the games I played with a male childhood friend of mine (who I will refer to, from now on, as 'Che'), I received a message from him, out of the blue; a message that sparked a change in my life. Che sent me a message, expressing his interest in me, we began having conversations (through the game's chat feature) and eventually, exchanged phone numbers. He called me immediately and, from there, it was on. We talked on the phone for hours, every day, (without seeing each other) for a few weeks. Then, Che and I began spending a lot of time together; and of course, in the beginning, things were great. We had an instant & very strong romantic connection and both remarked that we felt like teenagers again. Like Mary J. sang, 'chemistry was crazy from the get-go, neither one of us knew whyyy....' . Showering me with compliments and filling my days with laughter and good conversation, Che had shed beautiful light upon my 'darkness' and I felt like I couldn't be happier with anyone else. My family and friends remarked on how happy I seemed and how great I looked. I was often told that I was 'glowing'.....and that's exactly how I felt. Having Che in my life not only brought me happiness but my strength and resolve were replenished. I felt better, I looked better and I wanted to be better.....with him.  I really thought I (was finally) found (by) 'The One.' I returned to work, a renewed and refreshed woman....mentally/emotionally and physically (I had also lost about 10lbs. during my 'break.'). I was on Cloud Nine.

But, things between me and Che changed....(seemingly) suddenly and pretty drastically. Without going into detail, I started to see and experience things that were not good (and that I knew I couldn't tolerate for long)). When I saw the first red flag, I ignored it with the justification that there was no way God would bring someone into my life who made me feel so wonderful then take him away from me, justlikethat. But, more red flags popped up....a small one here.....a big one there....a peek of one back there....one laying on its side over there....yet, I continued to play blind. Until an incident occured where I could no longer deny the obvious and had to face the fact that Che was not 'the one' for me. It took another month for me to turn my denial and disappointment into acceptance. I could no longer ignore the fact that Che's time in my life was coming to an end and that I really needed to move on. I also needed to forgive myself for going against my instincts and making choices I shouldn't have made. Even so, I have no regrets nor hard feelings. Today, I am stronger, wiser, better and (still) happy and I'm not so sure I'd be in this space if not for my experience with Che. As the saying goes, some people come into your life for a reason, a season or a lifetime. I realize what Che's reason was and I'm good with that. Lesson learned. I can still see the sunshine through the rain and I do believe it was better for me to have (been) loved and lost (by) Che than to have never (been)loved (by) him at all.

I'm Baaacccckkkk (again)!

It has been 10 months since my last post....WOW. I've had plenty to write about since August 8, 2012....and I thought about posting many times....but, for some reason, I just haven't been able (willing?) to collect my thoughts, feelings & opinions and share them. As I type, I have no idea what I will talk about in this post. Really, I just wanted to take a peek at the blog and refresh my memory of what I had last written. Once I started reading, I couldn't stop at just one post. I kept reading and slowly but surely, an energy rose up in me that made me realize....THIS is what makes me feel (good, sad, refreshed, renewed, redundant, alive...and much more)....this is what I need to do more often.

Writing has always been therapeutic for me. Depending on my mood & experience, spontaneously, a poem will flow through me or I'll get bursts of short stories, whispers of book titles, streams of novel ideas (as in book, not new....well, new too but, you get what I mean)...and I feel relief....a  release. Just like the flow of energy.....ideas come to me and almost as quickly, they go. I need to devote more time to documenting these things as often as they occur. I know I've missed out on the next, Oprah's Book Club pick great american novel simply because I felt too busy....lazy....tired....defeated to put pen to paper (or finger to tablet). However, when I do jot down my poetry, stories, thoughts, etc, I find that I am 'in my zone.' I feel more like 'me.'

I've been doing that a great deal lately, too.....feeling (more like) myself. Alot has happened in my life, since my last post: I helped send my nephew (who I refer to as my sonneph) to college, I turned 40 and celebrated in a big way with some of the most special people in my life, I fell into (and victoriously got up out of) a deep depression, I let go of an old (depressing) 'love' and (was) found (by) a new love....then lost that love (*huge sigh*), began then quickly quit (but still had to pay for) a great semi-personal training program (*wtf Bfly?!*), dropped a size (but not really that much more weight....go figure), moved (well, directed the move....haha) my daughter and grandiva into their own place.....and so much more. Most importantly, during the past 10 months....especially, within the past 4 months....I found peace within. I am more loving towards myself, I smile more and I can say that I am genuinely generally a happy person.

I am ready to get busy in what I refer to as my 'second act' or 'showtime phase' of life. Ready to make (more) significant life changes and experience more joy, love and fulfillment than ever before. And I am ready to share more of me and my journey (with you, my readership), on a regular basis. Please check back soon....or better yet, subscribe to get automatic update notifications....for love, laughter and life inspiring posts.  Thanks for stopping by!

Much Love,
BFly

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.

In Memory Of.....

 I haven’t blogged lately because, within the past 2 weeks, I have had to deal with the deaths and attend the funerals of two of my beloved relatives: one connected to me by blood, the other by marriage, both by a strong bond of love. I could say a lot about Nessa & Jamel and the relationship I shared with each of them but if you know me well enough, you’re already aware of it and if you don’t, well, you probably wouldn’t really care to know. That being said, I want to give them their space on my blog, to let the world (well, the small portion who pay attention to BD) know who they were and what they meant to me.

April 21, 1961 – February 23, 2012

My older cousin, Vernisia Eaddy, best known as ‘Nessa,’ was the mother of one and an outspoken, funny and fun-loving diva. She moved to California more than 10 years ago but stayed in touch with family on the East Coast and made several visits back home. Each time she was in town, the family carved out quality time together that was always filled with love & laughter. Despite the fact that the marriage ties that originally made us family had been cut years ago, the bond remained and we never ceased regarding each other as relatives. She loved me as I loved her and her effervescent presence, bold fashion sense & big laughter will be sorely missed.

 January 10, 1972 – March 4, 2012

My first cousin, Jamel M. Tarver, and I shared a special bond. Not only were we blood relatives, born less than a year apart but our fathers were close brothers who practically raised us as siblings. Jamel was the kind of cousin/big bro who was endearing yet annoying. He was there, whether you wanted/needed him to be or not. He expressed his love with action not just words and was genuinely concerned with his loved ones’ well-being. He loved to be with his relatives and was determined to keep his own family (that included his wife and four children) together. Jamel had some struggles throughout his short life but he found solace in his relationship with God and his faith was strong. He was a committed husband, an involved & doting father, a loving and beloved son, brother, uncle, cousin and friend. Over 1000….ONE THOUSAND…..people attended his wake & funeral to pay their last respects. That, in itself, speaks to the kind of person he was. Jamel was not just my cousin, he was someone I could count on….at any time for anything. If what I needed was within his power, he’d have made it happen for me.

I’m going to miss his big smile, gregarious personality, belly-deep laughter and insane protection….but I will forever hold and feel in my heart, his everlasting love.

 

Rest in peace, my loves………