13.9.11

Seeking Closure


It’s 9/13.  I thought I’d be done with 9/11 but it’s not over.  Mayor Bloomberg pleaded with the world to stop referring to the site of the 9/11 as Ground Zero, refer to it as the 9/11 Memorial.  The 9/11 Memorial was finally opened on 9/11 and families were the first ones to visit these hallowed grounds.  There is now physical space where we can pay our respects to those who died that fateful day.  The news has been full of images – mostly sad and poignant.  My friend, James will be visiting the 9/11 Memorial on Thursday.  I wish I could go myself but the pain is too raw.  I want to visit Andy’s name and pay my respects but I can’t get myself to stand where he died – not yet.  So to connect with Andy, I asked James to make a rubbing of his name for me.  He will.  I wait with bated breath because I look forward to and dread holding Andy’s name.

With the opening of the 9/11 Memorial there was a hope that the world could move closer to finding a way to put to rest 9/11. I thought I’d find closure on 9/11 with these events but it’s not over.  I think it’s the start of something I can’t put my finger on – something so uncertain, unclear, I'm afraid.

On Sunday, 9/11 I erected a 9/11 memorial of my own in my building’s lobby to help me and others continue to heal.  I created a space with the help of so many others – Carlos, Jaime, Ry-An, Rudy, Max, Jack – to reflect, remember and heal.  I thought it would take just 2 hours to erect the memorial, I was so wrong.  It took 5 hours.  This memorial is more incredible than I could have ever imagined it to be.  I give thanks to all who lent a hand to create this incredible space.

My hopes for this memorial are not just for me but also for my community to reflect, remember and heal from 9/11.  Slowly it’s growing - flowers, newspapers have already been bought to the space.  I haven’t added my own personal reflection or expression of 9/11 yet.  I thought my contribution of actually putting up this memorial would be enough but it isn’t.  I’m searching for a way - and pray and hope - that I will find a way to find closure for myself.  Maybe that’s where I’m fooling myself.  There is no closure to 9/11.  There is no way to end remembering 9/11.  Instead, I need to figure out how to live with it forever.  

I’m grateful to my building’s management for permission to keep this memorial up until Sunday, 9/18.  It gives me and others more time to figure out how to honor and remember 9/11.  I’m organizing a ceremony that will include dismantling this memorial because to be honest, I can’t do it by myself.  I need the community to take the pieces down.  I need support and assistance to take down something that I can’t forget, something I won’t find closure to.

9.9.11

Two Brothers on 9/11


dedicated to Billy and Andy


Isaac & Ishmael

It happened on a day quite clear
A day when fear came to call
It shook us all

Two brothers standing side by side
Precious souls inside begin to fall

Who would have known our lives would change
Once and for all

When Isaac fell Ishmael cried
He had no choice but to fall, too

What would you say if i told you
We were made that much stronger after all?

When Isaac fell Ishmael cried
He had no choice but to fall, too

What would you say if i told you
We were made that much stronger?
We were made that much stronger
So we can love each other after all.



Jeff Jeudy feat. The Soulfolk Experience.
Copyright 2009, Used by permission.
http://www.myspace.com/thesoulfolkexperience


What a beautiful song. I was moved and touched by the beauty of the rhythm and words when I encountered this piece of music - melodic and strong in word and rhythm. It’s a song about two brothers. But something didn’t sit right about this song and when I learned what this song was about, I knew what was wrong for me. It’s a song about 9/11.

The lyrics explain themselves once you understand the context. It’s beautiful, poignant and oh….so….painful….. Love and hate this song. Love its beauty. Hate the inspiration.

This song took on another meaning when I learned about two brothers whose lives were forever changed on 9/11. In 1989, I was a youth pastor to two incredible, lively, wonderful brothers in their younger, teenage, more carefree days – days that shaped them to be the men they were on 9/11. About three years ago, I ran into Billy (the older brother) at church. It was wonderful to see one of the youth group members I had nurtured all grown up. He was grown, with a scruffy face, some lines beginning to etch on his face and that’s what troubled me – he looked too old for his age. Something wasn’t right. But I didn’t let this stop me from being glad to reconnect with one of the students I had pastored some 20+ years earlier. I ran into him a couple of times and we casually chatted. Then it occurred to me that I hadn’t seen his younger brother, Andy and so I asked about him. Billy’s face took on a puzzled look, his eyes that were always clouded took on a darkness and that’s when he told me – Andy died on 9/11.

My heart fell and I cursed God. Yes, I cursed God. Because until that moment, I thanked God that I didn’t know anyone directly who had died that horrific day. Of course, that day has altered me forever but I didn’t carry the burden of mourning someone I personally knew every year on 9/11. I was getting off easy. Those whom I mourned for were strangers. It sounds twisted but it’s a privilege to mourn someone you don’t know directly – at least you can be sad from a distance. Not having been a part of their lives nor having them be a part of your life makes mourning/remembering someone a whoooole lot easier. Now that’s been changed.

Moving toward the 10th anniversary of one of the most horrific days in history is hard for me. It was bad enough as it was (I have my own 9/11 story and I hope to someday share it) but now it’s been made so much worse. For on that day for the rest of my life, I will remember these 2 special brothers. Knowing that Billy is forever changed and Andy is dead breaks my heart. I can clearly see their faces as teenagers in my mind. Both smiling, full of life, your typical teenagers – brothers standing side by side. Now this is replaced by the pained face of Billy standing alone. No brother by his side. Left behind to face the rest of his life alone. Brother without brother.

There are many prayers to be said on 9/11. Many tears will flow. Cries and howls will be lifted to the skies. Ceremonies will be held all over the world. I’m comforted the 10th anniversary of 9/11 happens to fall on a Sunday. I’ll be at church with my church community mourning and remembering together. I find comfort in knowing that this year – when the world marks this tragic day – I will be sitting in a safe, nurturing, supportive space where I can cry my heart out for 2 brothers.

5.9.11

A Blessing. A Gift.

Eleven years ago my life was forever changed.  I was blessed with one of the greatest gift given to this little planet called Earth.  K was born to us.

He’s amazing and I am humbled to call him my son.  Who knew that this woman who never had any intentions of having children would be entrusted with such a precious creature?  He came 5 weeks early.  We had ab.so.lute.ly nothing in the house – not even a diaper.  Baby showers were scheduled for September because so many of my friends and family would be out of town in August.  We were really caught off guard. I guess he was in such a rush to make his mark on this world that he didn’t care no preparations had been made. 
 
He has made a mark – forever changed the world in oh so many ways.  Mind you, I’ll be sharing some incredible stories and you may think wow, what an exceptional boy.  Yes, he is that but also keep in mind, he is very much your typical 11 year old boy full of attitude, lip and angst – I will read this blog when he really gets under my skin to remind myself that he is uh.ma.zing.

This summer has been full of life changing events for him (and the rest of us).  He did some incredible feats of wonder that we never anticipated.  

You know how we say some people are lifesavers?  (I always asked what flavor.  Ha ha.)  He really was.  A couple of weeks ago, he literally saved his little brother’s life.  We were at the beach and Z broke the cardinal rule – never go past your brother when you’re in the water.  Well, he did.  Thank goodness I was at the bathroom while all of this happened – I would’ve completely lost it.  My girlfriends were keeping an eye on the kids and could see Z was drifting away and possibly in trouble but neither were strong enough swimmers to help.  They were shouting and gesturing for him to come back to no avail.  K heard the commotion and sensed something was wrong with his brother.  He got to his little brother before lifeguards realized trouble was brewing and helped them.  K told me a couple of days after the near miss tragedy how he had to go under water (water was even too deep for him to touch) to hold his brother up above water.  Fortunately 2 lifeguards whipped out there quickly and bought them back to shore safely.  Tragedy was averted but this was too close.  I could’ve not lost just one of my boys but both.  Thank goodness K was there to save his brother. 

I’m so proud of him.  He’s actually getting tired of me saying this to him but how can I stop??

Earlier this summer, after exhausting days of preparation for his (and his classmate’s) graduation ceremony and prom, I did an unimaginable thing.  I accidently left K on the streets of Washington Heights.  After dropping off friends at 161st Street and Amsterdam, I noticed the trunk was open.  I stopped and he got out to close it.  He then opened the rear door to get in and I said, “Oh, now you’re too good for the front seat?”  I heard the door slam and took off.  I didn’t look back and drove home.  After parking in the garage, I told K to get out of the car.  Nothing.  I panicked and looked in the trunk to see if he was playing a joke on me.  Nothing.  My heart was racing.  I didn’t even stop to call D and tell him what was going on.  I whipped out of that garage so quick.  I had only left him out there for 10 minutes but that was not good – for you see, K has never wandered the neighborhood by himself.  He was familiar with the lay of the land but he never had to do it on his own.  I went back to the spot where I saw him last and drove around shouting his name.  I took what I thought would be the route he took home but nothing.  I finally pulled over and called D.  All he could say (and rightfully so) was, “F***!”  He left the apt. to go look for him.  We were in a serious panic.  Our 10 year old who has never been without a companion was now wandering the streets of Washington Heights alone.  I felt so guilty and horrible.  As I was talking to police officers, giving them information and details of what had happened, D called to say he just got home.  So relieved but still so panicked – I needed to hold my baby.  I rushed home to find him in the bath completely traumatized.  He thought I had done this on purpose.  I apologized profusely and told him that though I may mess around with him, I would never, ever go this far.  I would never put his life in jeopardy.  I could finally breathe but only partially because it was time to clean up the mess I had made.  It took a couple of weeks but we’re all better now.  Since then we’ve made a walking trips around the neighborhood about safe routes and talked about what to do in case you’re in trouble, etc.  We were going to do this anyhow to prepare for middle school and just because he’s growing up but this wasn’t exactly the way I wanted it to happen.  Nonetheless, he’s stronger for this and has grown from it.  I learned to stop messing around with my boys so much and to be a better mother.

His summer of incredible feats doesn’t end here.

Just 10 days ago I got word that a friend’s mother-in-law had passed away.  She passed away on her granddaughter’s, A’s birthday.  K went to kindergarten with A and I shared with him what had happened.  Grandma was already sick with cancer and the family knew she could die any day.  On A’s birthday the family went to visit her in the hospital.  Grandma’s husband had thoughtfully bought cupcakes to celebrate A’s birthday.  They lit the candles, sang Happy Birthday, A made a wish and blew out the candles.  It was then Grandma drew her last breath.  K could see how shook up I was by this.  Sweetly he said, “But mommy, she died celebrating A’s birthday.”  How beautiful and mature.  My child showed me beauty in the midst of tragedy and made me feel so much better.

Well, this story doesn’t end there.  So knowing that a party was scheduled at the same time, I ask K if he could go to the funeral – he wouldn’t miss the party, we would just be late.  I told him there was absolutely no pressure, just shared that I thought it’d be good if A could have one of her friends there.  I told him to go think about it, there was absolutely no pressure for him to go.  With no hesitation his next words were, “OK mommy.  What will I wear?”

He was ever so gracious at the funeral.  His first was his great-grandmother when he was 9 months old and now it was for his friend he went.  He didn’t have to go but he chose to go.  I know his presence made a difference to A.  He even gave her a card.  So humbled by him.

My baby is growing up and I know he’ll continue to amaze me.  For the first time I cried for joy and pride.  I made an absolute blubbering fool of myself.  On his first day of middle school orientation last week, parents were asked to come for a brief introduction.  After saying hello and how are you, they asked everyone to make a tunnel through which the students would join us.  As parents, family and friends cheered, I lost it.  Cried like a baby.  My heart couldn’t hold in the joy and pride I was feeling.  

My tiny premature baby who only weighed 6 lbs and 4 ounces – so small that his daddy could cup him in his hand - is now almost as tall as me and weighs 130 lbs.  He’s growing up.  He continues to amaze me.  Can’t wait to see what he does next.

24.8.11

Alone Again



Again I ended up going to a concert by myself.  Last year it was Melissa Etheridge (July 16, 2010 blog, “Alone”), this year it was “The Sounds of Charleston: From Gospel to Gershwin” at the Circular Congregational Church in Charleston, South Carolina.  Funny how I end up going to concerts alone.  This time it was on our annual family vacation and I had hoped the family would come but nooooo, the boys wanted to go swimming and so again, I went alone to a concert.  I won’t complain because without the boys, I fully enjoyed the concert.  Without them doing what boys would do during a concert, I lost myself in the evening before me.  The host, William Schlitt was engaging, narrating a story that I never knew – he bought Charlestonian history alive through music.  (By the way, this is an on-going concert series and I recommend you go if you get to Charleston.  It’s worth the time and money.)

Did you know that Charleston was a center of culture way back when?  This was the place to be before NYC or Boston.  The St. Cecelia Society of Charleston was one of the first music societies in the US to bring music to the scene.  The concert took us back in time to experience music as it evolved in Charleston. 

Mr. Schlitt introduced the first musician of the evening, pianist, Micah McLaurin who beautifully played music that was coming out of Europe – Hayden and Mozart.  Everyone at these concerts were wearing white powdered hair and fancy clothes.  I tried to imagine myself in a fancy gown – not my shorts, t-shirt and sandals.  NOT.

Then we were taken to the battlefields of the Civil War.  Charleston was the place where this horrible war started.  In fact, it’s the 150th anniversary of the start of the war and Charleston was gearing up for a 4 year remembrance of the war.  Mr. Schlitt prefaced this segment with an apology of sorts because we know that the Civil War (as is all wars) was particularly unpleasant and somewhat an embarrassment to the city of Charleston.  I mean, who wants to be known as the city who fought to keep slavery?  Nonetheless, history is history and the past cannot be erased – so they have to keep that legacy and make the best of it.  

Getting back to the music.  It didn’t matter which side you were fighting on, music on the battlefields kept up the morale of the soldiers.  Imagine being cold, hungry and exhausted.  How do you keep your spirits alive?  One way was music.  Some of the music was definitely lively – to keep the spirits of the soldiers up.  One of the musicians, Professor Bart Saylor had gone to the Appalachian mountains to learn music of the battlefield from the grandsons of soldiers who had fought and played music during the Civil War.  Their music was not written down and so he had to sit and learn from these old men the music that would have died with them very soon.  How amazing the music was able to be preserved for all eternity.  Thank you, Professor Saylor.  One of the pieces, “Lorena” by H.D.L. Webster and J.P. Webster was thought to have caused men to leave their battle stations.  This was a love song promising that if the soldier lived, he would be a good, faithful, loving husband – it tugged at my heart.  Imagine how desperate the men must have felt that the promise to be a better husband was what kept them alive.  Of course, “Goober Peas” by P. Pindar and P. Nutt (ha ha, P. Nutt – peanut??) was played.  What a hilarious song.  So glad Mr. Schlitt shared the fact that the word goober originated from a West African word for what we know as peanuts.  Let’s give credit where credit is due – especially when it comes to the history of colored people in America who have been and continued to be forgotten for their contributions to American history and culture.  The segment ended with The “Yellow Rose of Texas.”  What a beautiful way to end this part of Charlestonian history.

Then we moved onto what was one of my favorite parts of the evening – Gospel Spirituals.  Professor Carl Bright, his daughter, Guinevere and family friend, Genesis sang and played powerfully.  I love gospel music and consider it an absolute treat and honor to hear it live.  Love, love the story behind these gospel songs. “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot,” “Go Down, Moses” and “Wade in the Water” were performed in the most amazing way – just one piano and three voices filled the space.  Just wished more Gospel Spirituals had been shared.  As innocuous as the Gospel Spirituals were, they were powerful and brilliant - very, very clever.  For in them there was code being shared about when it was safe to escape to the North.  The slaves shared through song amongst themselves word of what was going on without seeming to be sharing information.  Also great was how they were mocking the slave owners to their faces.  Here the slave owners were proud to have converted these “heathens” to Christianity.  Stupid slave owners were thinking: Wow, they’re singing about Moses – See? These uneducated, heathen slaves have embraced our faith - We have power over them.  Well, in your face!  “Go Down, Moses” was one of those spirituals that was code for freedom.   The slaves weren’t just singing about their newly found faith, but moreso, they were singing about their own liberty and justice to come.  They were singing about breaking the chains of slavery that these unjust, cruel masters had wrapped around them.  They were the victors in the battle of faith – the very faith that the masters thought they could use to control them.  HA!

Then the evening lightened up with a medley of George Gershwin played on the piano by Ghadi Shayban.  Though Gershwin was a New Yorker, he wrote his most famous American opera, “Porgy and Bess” in Charleston.  Opera???  I was shocked.  Always thought of it as a musical.  Well, I learned a new thing.  He was a character.  Full of himself but ever so creative and brilliant, leaving his mark on American music.

The pinnacle of the evening was the closing.  We were told that we were sitting in the very space where the composer, John Newton of “Amazing Grace” worshiped.  It was during the Civil War and in Charleston he wrote this famous hymn.  How perfect that we end our evening of music with everyone singing a hymn of hope, forgiveness and redemption in a city that had shamelessly defended the evil of slavery.  After singing all the printed verses, Mr. Schlitt cued Professor Bright to continue playing as we all sang Praise God for one last go around.  I stood in that space, held my hands up and prayed that soon, someday that God would make the words preached by the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King ring true -  "Free at last, free at last. Thank God Almighty, we are free at last."

I left that church refreshed, inspired and full of hope.  Going to this concert alone was exactly what I needed.  I will never forget it.

14.8.11

The Gap (and no, it’s not the store)

As God's beloved children we have to believe that our little lives, when lived as God's chosen and blessed children, are broken to be given to others. We too have to become bread for the world. When we live our brokenness under the blessing, our lives will continue to bear fruit from generation to generation. (Henri J.M. Nouwen)

Our emotional lives and our spiritual lives have different dynamics. The ups and downs of our emotional life depend a great deal on our past or present surroundings...The ups and downs of our spiritual lives depend on our attentive listening to the movements of the Spirit of God within us. (Henri J.M. Nouwen)

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No more hesitation, no more fear, just coming back to blogging.

Recently, I reread the blogs I’ve written so far, and please permit me to say, “Daaaang, I’m good.”  I knew I had to get back to that place because it’s where I belonged, it’s good for me.  Ideas have been swirling around my head since I last blogged, much has happened and I need to share.  But I couldn’t get started and it hit me hard why.

A couple of weeks ago, my family and I were having dinner with good friends we hadn’t seen in a while and Gerri asked me how I was.  Hesitating, I told her that I’m now good but that things were pretty bad.  I shared that what I was telling her wasn’t known by a lot of people – not even members of my family - and that’s when it struck me.  I was hiding something – it wasn’t a shameful secret but I was hiding.  And hiding isn’t healthy.  And hiding was preventing me from being completely, shamelessly, utterly me so here it is.

I shared with her – and now with you - that I’m at the other end, the good end of a very debilitating, traumatic period of my life.  I was depressed.  It sounds like nothing but this was the real deal. So depressed to the point that I’m still on anti-depressents.  To be honest, I didn't realize I disappeared from my blog – and the world – when I became overwhelmingly depressed last fall.  At first I didn’t know what was happening to me but I just had ab.so.lute.ly noooo energy, no interests, no nothing. I had become a shell of my former self.   All I wanted to do was lay around and do ab.so.lute.ly nothing which was what ended up happening for a while until I figured out I needed to do something.  I was sick.  Don’t know how I got to a therapist who has helped me so much - healed me and put me back together  – just know that I did it.  When I started seeing Thea, she saw how bad I was and after a couple of sessions, she recommended anti-depressants but that took about a month of prodding from her end to get me to go get them.   I guess I couldn’t believe that I was so badly off that I needed meds.  I didn’t know or even want to admit how sick I was.  I only realized how sick I was once I started getting better.  Together for 9 months, we met to get me well.  The good news is that (as she put it so aptly) she worked herself out of a job.  Yup, she has sent me off on my way.  Wow.  Who knew?  I had my last session on July 15th.  Of course, she’ll always be there for me and I’m more than welcome to go back.  Also working on getting off my meds – my doctor told me that I could start weaning off.  That’s just taking longer because you have to be “well” for at least 6 months before you can be taken off as you might have a relapse.  

Don’t pity me.  And please don’t feel bad for not being there.  That’s one of the tragedies/ironies of depression – when you need someone, you’ll run away from them even when they’re chasing you down.   

I just share this story because….  
  • Because it explains the gap in my blogging – and life.  There are those of you who have wondered why I did literally disappeared off the face of the earth for a while and I do owe you an explanation.  Thanks to all who stuck by me by giving me lots of space to figure things out – yeah, it’s an oxymoron – but sticking by me by not being stuck to me was exactly what I needed.   
  •   Because by not sharing my story, I will also be guilty of perpetuating society’s negative stigma of depression and mental illness – especially now that I’ve been through it. Maybe my witness as one of the survivors of this devastating illness will help lift off the veil of shame and misunderstanding around it.  Without it, maybe less of us will endure this alone and be able to share with the community.
  • Because I hope to give hope for those who may be hurting.  I hope I can help even one person to come out and get help.  It’s there.  You don’t have to become the utter wreck I was, in such a bad place to go get help.  It’s really not necessary to endure the pain alone, it’s fixable.

It happens to the best of us.  Some will be shocked.  Others not shocked.  I learned so much about myself and everything around me sitting in that red armchair in Thea’s office.  So many blogs to write.  And now I’m delighted to say I’m ready to get back to blogging soooo ….here… I …come …back.