I claim him. He's mine. Forever more until the day my God allows us to cross paths again to mend my heart that's been broken since age 9. All I know of his death is that he died of a massive heart attack on the steps of a friend. The rest is history and to be quite frank, doesn't even matter. The family came to a consensus not to tell me about his death until after the service. They knew I'd loose my mind. Oddly enough, it wouldn't have mattered one way or another. But what about my heart? And mending it? Impossible feat.
I'd just seen him the night before his death. He kissed me goodnight. And when I woke up the next morning, a copy of Aladdin was laying on the bed. Yet another gift from Bay-Bay for his Nurl-Nurl.
Yea, that man, is all mine.
I don't write about him often because the tears flow with ease. And I don't talk about him. It's impossible for me to tell you just how much he meant and means to me without a snotty nose, red tear stricken eyes, and much heaving.
February is a super hard month for me. February like holidays and family gatherings remind me that who I miss more than words or even these tears can explain, isn't here. Furthermore, it's our birthday month. He the 19th and I the 28th. The perfect Pisces pair.
At 7, he insisted on a birthday dinner at Red Lobster for me, with the family, for my first time. And I tell you, I was the happiest little girl watching the lobsters in the tank as he explained to me that those lobsters soon will be someones dinner.
I pray that I make and have made him proud, because life has never been the same since he departed. My grandma yells at me to this day because I don't call her like I should. And I know I'm wrong, but he's not there. Someone else is there in my Bay-Bay's place. I should still hear his hearty, boisterous laugh in the background or the horrible cinematography from his Sci-Fi flicks. I remember spending summers and nearly every weekend with my grandparents riding around in his white van with the burgundy interior and blue U-Haul floor cover in the trunk. Uncomplicated and true, true love.
My ex use to yell when we argued that "No one will ever love you like me". No sir, no one will ever love me like my grandfather did. The only time I cried over him was he I knew I'd never walk into my grandmother's project home and see him stretched out in bed, or ever see his beret hats or white button up shirts stretched over his protruding belly. He, was love.
And the amount of tears and snot I've blown in his remembrance, I will and pray to the high heavens for another day with him. Just to tell him one more time how much I love him. I didn't know how to as a child, but I'm sure he died knowing that there was one little girl left behind, would grow up with a broken heart because he wasn't there, loved him more than what her childlike vocabulary could express.
This year makes 16 years. And there isn't a year that goes by that I don't acknowledge his birthday or day of death. But then there are the days between: Christmas, Thanksgiving, my birthday, rough days, good days - that I don't pray for the closure that now as an adult woman, I never received as a child girl. I know he's gone. And I know that he physically is not coming back. And I know, at least I feel as though he is OK. I saw him a dream a little over a year ago, first time in over 10 years I'd seen him in something other than pictures. And he sat wearing his blue beret hat and white buttonup shirt stretched tightly over his belly. I woke up sweating, walked into my living room, hoping and praying I'd see him there. But he wasn't.
My mother is getting married this summer and Lord knows, as joyous as the day will be, to look into the audience and not see his black face all dressed up glowing and full of love, it will be harder than what I can tell you. But we'll make it thru, because I know his spiritual presence will walk us down the aisle.
Sunday is his birthday. I don't know how old he would've been. I just know I have to say happy birthday to the skies, thru my tears, and let him know that this now grown woman misses him just as much if not more than the girl child he left behind and that my love, to this day is unyielding and unmoving.
About Me
- GirllNexxDoor
- Philadelphia, PA, United States
- I suck at bios. Am horrible at telling interesting things about myself without embarassing myself at the same time. So I stick to the basics: My mind is forever active; always thinking and asking questions. I enjoy reading. Love writing. But if it were up to me, I'd love for a lifetime because love, is an animal that as untamed as it is, it's perfect.
Showing posts with label grandfather. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grandfather. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
The {every-year} Holiday Battle
Holidays with my family are always full of good times and the laughter of children. And of course, good great food. If you ask me, no one's cooking could ever rival my mother's. Which is why I was so excited this past New Year as we ushered in 2010 when I cooked cabbage for the first time and it tasted just like my mother's. Women, I believe, spend our lives trying to perfect our cooking to taste just like Mom's. My next task: the baked mac and cheese (my brother and I return home everytime she cooks it.)
But off of the topic of food.
As joyous and exciting as the holidays are, they're also secretly saddening. It's during these times we look back and reflect on the lives that we wish were present physically, and not just spiritually, or in memory. It's during this time of the year, that I get particularly sad about my grandfather, my Bay-Bay, no longer being with me. I can't speak his name, or think back to then, or what could have been for now, without becoming flustered and teary-eyed, voice crackling, and tears eventually falling. There's never been a man I've adored or loved as much as him. No man's memory has ever bought tears to my eyes but his so easily. His smile and laughter, his denim blue hat and staple white button up shirt, tucked into the waist of his pants and it sat snug over his protruding belly - are missed more than I could possibly express in words or in actions.
I was 9 when he passed. He died of a massive heart attack, and from what I'd been told, on the steps of a friend. He was and has always been my favorite man. And it's because of this, my mother, step-father, and the rest of the family, had chosen as a collective, not to tell me about his passing until after the service. Until after the logistics had been taken care of. I've always felt some type of way about that collective decision, because I'd never been given the chance, the opportunity to say good-bye. Granted I've said and say it in my dreams, whisper it to the skies above when I think about him, and when the tears fall so easily down my cheeks - it's just not the same.
It's due to his death that writing became my safe haven; the safest place on earth. But it's also due to his death in particular that holidays just aren't the same. Nor are birthdays. Or graduations. Or life-altering moments like the birth of my now 2-year-old sister or when my Grandma had to have brain surgery, my elementary or high school graduations, acceptance into college, or when I moved into my own place. Granted, he's everpresent because that's just how Bay-Bay is, it's never been the same.
As a child, I recall sitting on his back while we watched Star Trek or V (he loved Sci-fi flicks, and I've never been able to watch them since) while I dolled his hair up with barrettes and ballies. We'd take random trips to the ice cream parlor on Ridge Avenue. He'd let me help him clean out his white van with the burgandy interior. Or, he'd just sit, with me on his lap. It's because of him I fell in love with Red Lobster's cheddar bay biscuits and with Red Lobster in general. He was my Bay-Bay, and I was his Nurl-Nurl (and forever will be).
Courtesy of he and my Grandmother, I was spoiled, rotten, and there wasn't much of anything to do about it. The first grand, the first girl, I was lavished with gifts and candy, movies and late nights watching sci-fi flics with my favorite, main man. My squeaky cackle and his rolling, bellowing laughter always filled up whatever room we were in. My mother always says to me "Just imagine how much more spoiled you'd be if he were here". Unfortunately, just like we don't know how many licks it takes to get to the center of tootsie pop, the world may never know the full extent of my spoiled rotteness. From birth, when doctors deemed my life to be over before it had even began, this man, held and nurtured me from birth, daily. There was never a day that his love was not shown.
I was a little girl being shown what love was all about. What it felt and sound like. Was being taught as a child that when love is gone, however it departs, there's no replacing the void left behind.
It's been 14 years.
And holidays, life has never been the same.
That void, that hole in my heart has never scabbed over to heal.
As children, we're taught "I Love You" as a part of speech. But we don't understand the action, the feat, what it looks and feels like until later in life. And if we're lucky enough, someone pivotal enough, important enough, loving enough, like my Bay-Bay teaches it to us in simplistic ways that are easily digested for us as children. And as we age, it becomes clearer to us just what they were teaching us. And that's what hurts the most: we've known love since before our birth, but somewhere between that first breath and adulthood, we lose or have lost the language of love.
Lucky me, I had a man who as big, black, and chunky as he was, taught me just what love was and what love is so that as an adult, I could understand it, I could digest it just as easily as I had when he let me style his coily, soft black hair or say his nickname for me: Nurl Nurl. That, is love.
Lucky me, from birth to age 9, and even now at 23, that man to whom I hold so dearly and so tightly to my heart and my memories, loved and loves me the way love is supposed to be done.
So while you stuff your face this holiday season with turkey, stuffing, and baked mac and cheese, sweet potatoe pie, cheesecake, and egg nog, realize, that this is all about love and nothing else. While death is promised, life isn't guaranteed, LOVE, sits cradled somewhere between the two - and it's up to us, to recognize it, and be willing to share it with another.
But off of the topic of food.
As joyous and exciting as the holidays are, they're also secretly saddening. It's during these times we look back and reflect on the lives that we wish were present physically, and not just spiritually, or in memory. It's during this time of the year, that I get particularly sad about my grandfather, my Bay-Bay, no longer being with me. I can't speak his name, or think back to then, or what could have been for now, without becoming flustered and teary-eyed, voice crackling, and tears eventually falling. There's never been a man I've adored or loved as much as him. No man's memory has ever bought tears to my eyes but his so easily. His smile and laughter, his denim blue hat and staple white button up shirt, tucked into the waist of his pants and it sat snug over his protruding belly - are missed more than I could possibly express in words or in actions.
I was 9 when he passed. He died of a massive heart attack, and from what I'd been told, on the steps of a friend. He was and has always been my favorite man. And it's because of this, my mother, step-father, and the rest of the family, had chosen as a collective, not to tell me about his passing until after the service. Until after the logistics had been taken care of. I've always felt some type of way about that collective decision, because I'd never been given the chance, the opportunity to say good-bye. Granted I've said and say it in my dreams, whisper it to the skies above when I think about him, and when the tears fall so easily down my cheeks - it's just not the same.
It's due to his death that writing became my safe haven; the safest place on earth. But it's also due to his death in particular that holidays just aren't the same. Nor are birthdays. Or graduations. Or life-altering moments like the birth of my now 2-year-old sister or when my Grandma had to have brain surgery, my elementary or high school graduations, acceptance into college, or when I moved into my own place. Granted, he's everpresent because that's just how Bay-Bay is, it's never been the same.
As a child, I recall sitting on his back while we watched Star Trek or V (he loved Sci-fi flicks, and I've never been able to watch them since) while I dolled his hair up with barrettes and ballies. We'd take random trips to the ice cream parlor on Ridge Avenue. He'd let me help him clean out his white van with the burgandy interior. Or, he'd just sit, with me on his lap. It's because of him I fell in love with Red Lobster's cheddar bay biscuits and with Red Lobster in general. He was my Bay-Bay, and I was his Nurl-Nurl (and forever will be).
Courtesy of he and my Grandmother, I was spoiled, rotten, and there wasn't much of anything to do about it. The first grand, the first girl, I was lavished with gifts and candy, movies and late nights watching sci-fi flics with my favorite, main man. My squeaky cackle and his rolling, bellowing laughter always filled up whatever room we were in. My mother always says to me "Just imagine how much more spoiled you'd be if he were here". Unfortunately, just like we don't know how many licks it takes to get to the center of tootsie pop, the world may never know the full extent of my spoiled rotteness. From birth, when doctors deemed my life to be over before it had even began, this man, held and nurtured me from birth, daily. There was never a day that his love was not shown.
I was a little girl being shown what love was all about. What it felt and sound like. Was being taught as a child that when love is gone, however it departs, there's no replacing the void left behind.
It's been 14 years.
And holidays, life has never been the same.
That void, that hole in my heart has never scabbed over to heal.
As children, we're taught "I Love You" as a part of speech. But we don't understand the action, the feat, what it looks and feels like until later in life. And if we're lucky enough, someone pivotal enough, important enough, loving enough, like my Bay-Bay teaches it to us in simplistic ways that are easily digested for us as children. And as we age, it becomes clearer to us just what they were teaching us. And that's what hurts the most: we've known love since before our birth, but somewhere between that first breath and adulthood, we lose or have lost the language of love.
Lucky me, I had a man who as big, black, and chunky as he was, taught me just what love was and what love is so that as an adult, I could understand it, I could digest it just as easily as I had when he let me style his coily, soft black hair or say his nickname for me: Nurl Nurl. That, is love.
Lucky me, from birth to age 9, and even now at 23, that man to whom I hold so dearly and so tightly to my heart and my memories, loved and loves me the way love is supposed to be done.
So while you stuff your face this holiday season with turkey, stuffing, and baked mac and cheese, sweet potatoe pie, cheesecake, and egg nog, realize, that this is all about love and nothing else. While death is promised, life isn't guaranteed, LOVE, sits cradled somewhere between the two - and it's up to us, to recognize it, and be willing to share it with another.
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