I Believe In You

We judge cultures, ethnicities, upbringings, etc.  We’re born into our circumstances; we don’t choose them.  Later, some choose the wrong path, but we don’t encourage them.  Why not?  We’re all humans and deserve the opportunity to be loved, trusted, great; especially when we are “undeserving.”  I’ve been written off before.  At times I just needed someone to believe in me.  It would’ve changed my life.  This is why I believe in people.
            I’m from a black, single parent home, raised in a government housing project until we received a housing voucher.  Mom built an amazing façade.  My sister and I didn’t notice our deprivations until we got scholarships for private school.  Us: black, impoverished, hand-me-downs, silver Volvo that had to be jumpstarted.  Then we were carless until the Stacks gave us the gold Saturn (God bless them).  The list continues.  Them: majority white, shiny Beemers, children of lawyers, doctors, etc.  It was/is the epitome of k-8 education, but there, I was a statistic.  They said I had learning disabilities and issues that they, apparently, didn’t want to deal with.  A place that, later, became a safe haven for me decided that I wasn’t worth it.  I was different, but at ten I didn’t know how to express that.  I needed someone to believe in me.
Expelled in the fifth grade, parents split, poor black kid in a rich, white county.  I felt hopeless.  At 16, I attended the church I was raised in.  I should’ve found hope there, right?  I got involved in ministry, changing the lives of others and myself.  Rebuilt friendships, made new ones, found mentors, became a mentor.  I faced obstacles and didn’t deal with them properly, like most young adults.  Instead of refuge, I encountered judgment and condemnation.  I grew there, but it’s oxymoronic that I conquered depression, anger and addiction after I left.  I believed in and trusted you all, why couldn’t you do the same?
Now, people express their belief in me.  Some have been around for my entire life, but were too busy to carry me along.  But that’s not what I needed.  I needed someone like my grandfather, but closer than a ten-hour drive.  I needed my mom to be transparent and prove that scars aren’t handicaps.  I needed a school head that didn’t make me feel crazier than the kid who ran away from school every week.  I needed mentors to not just fight spiritually, but physically, even when I made it impossible.  Because of my experiences, it’s important for me to spread worth.  “I believe in you” may never be spoken, but the message will be conveyed.  Little black children, I believe in you.  Those who are told they aren’t smart because they don’t test well, I believe in you.  You are smart.  Inner city children, I believe in you.  Homeless man, I believe in you.  Convicted felon, I believe in you.  The person who has never been told that they can, and will, be great; I believe in you. 

Good Mourning

In life, experiencing heart break, pain, loss, etc. is inevitable. Yesterday marked three years and five months since my grandfather passed away. My grandfather was the most influential man in my life and losing him was a big struggle for me and the rest of my family. Nobody can live forever and not all things are meant to last forever, but when we fall in love with something, or someone, so deeply we tend to forget that. Especially when that person, or thing, is such a huge part of your life and has made you who you are. I remember sitting in a hotel room, the night before my grandfather's funeral, with my sister and cousins and all of us expressing how shocked we were that our grandfather was no longer living. The youngest person in the room was a sophomore in high school, so we were all well aware that people die, but we honestly believed that our grandfather would/could live forever. My mom, a middle aged and educated woman, told me that the idea of her father being immortal wasn't just something that was believed by the younger generations in the family, but she and her siblings felt the same way. 

Well, it is possible for people, things and situations to be taken away from us, but continue to live in our lives. The grieving process is the most important step to, not only allow ourselves to heal, but to allow that particular thing to continue living. Many people are told that grieving and mourning is a weakness, especially in the male community, but it is actually a strength. For a while I thought that I had come to terms with my grandfather's death, but on the first and second anniversaries of his death I cried so much that it made me physically weak throughout the day. From January 8, 2012 - January 8, 2014 I only cried four times in general. Those two times, the day my grandfather died and the day of his funeral. That may be a lot for some people, but for me it was a sign that I hadn't truly allowed myself to open up, emotionally, for those two years. Crying, or feeling the need to cry, is a big part of my emotional state of being. I'm not sure why, but when I'm overly happy, sad, mad, or whatever other emotion I may feel, my eyes tend to water up. It's always been like that and for me not to do that meant that something was wrong. 

I realized that I wasn't allowing myself to truly deal with the fact that I would never see my grandfather, face to face, in this life again. I realized that I hadn't mourned over his death like I thought I had. I learned that mourning him would not be an easy, one time process and that allowing myself to grieve in the way I needed to grieve was not a one day a year process. It could be a one day a year process if I wanted it to be, but that would only extend the amount of years that I would need to complete it. Last year I realized that I needed to think about my grandfather's life, his death, how I felt when he was alive and how I felt after he died, almost everyday. I also realized that when I do that emotions will start to rise and I needed to allow them to. This was the only way that I was going to fully heal and allow my grandfather's death to become that same influence that his life was. It would be the only way that my grandfather would be able to become alive and active in my life again instead of a tombstone engraved in my mind and heart like a tattoo.

Grieving is different for everyone and can be handled in different ways. Crying, screaming, cursing, etc. are only a few examples of how people heal and allow situations to be freed from their hearts. Some grieving processes take a long time and some may only take a day, but you will only know how long the process is going to take once you allow yourself to start it. There are also devices to help us grieve. If you're an emotional eater and alcohol drinker, or things of that sort, I would recommend staying away from those things during your process because it can only add to your list of things to heal from. Maybe having an alcohol free year would be a better option, or going on a diet. You will also notice that you tend to stop doing things you love when you're internally bruised. Force yourself to start doing those things again while you're grieving. Working out, taking hikes, making music, listening to music, learning, writing, reading, traveling and the list goes on. It may sound weird, but I found that it was better for me to do the activities that I loved by myself. We're always told to get out and do things with others when we're going through things, but if you do things by yourself it allows you to think about the situation that you're currently grieving over while your doing the activities that you love. What does this do? This allows you to start associating the situation with positive aspects of your life again. The same way you did when that person was alive, when you were in that relationship, when you had that job, when you were a top athlete before that injury, etc. It also allows you to find ways to make the situation work in your favor. Then you will see that the person, relationship, or whatever it may be, didn't die, but it transitioned from a physical state to an emotional, spiritual or mental state in order to inspire you in different ways. I worked out, listened to and made music, read and wrote a lot when I finally decided to start my grieving process. 

Here's the first poem I wrote at the beginning of my journey:

Good Mourning

Almost two years and it feels like yesterday. 
Mom always tells me that you're proud of me, but
I highly doubt that. 
They always tell people that die to "Rest In Peace,"
but what about the ones they leave behind?
We sit. 
We cry. 
We hurt. 
We curse God. 
What about us?!
I can hardly rest and I don't have much peace.
You always told me to take care of my family. 

To look out for them. 
But now who's gonna look out for me?
You know?
Make sure I'm okay?
Send me twenty dollars for good grades?
Im grown. I work. 
I didn't need the money, but that's just what you did.
Well, I'm not okay.
My grades have slipped
and I don't feel like myself. 
I haven't shed a tear in over a year–
besides the ones that dropped a couple lines back.
I pray... kind of. 
I barely ever write anymore. 

I wrote that poem for your 50th wedding anniversary. 
Mom-mom cried, you had the biggest smile on your face. 
It was then that I thought maybe I had some sort of gift.

Your approval was all I looked for in almost everything I did. 

You wouldn't approve of this.
I've let you down.
I've let those down that look up to me.
It's like every lesson and word died with you.
Now, I refuse to let that be true.
You're still here as long as I'm still here. 
Im growing.
I'm loving.
I'm learning.
I'm writing.
I'm praying... actually praying.
The tears I held back, held me back.
Legacies die if we don't pick them up.
Not only am in picking yours up, but I'm starting my own.
Head high, chest out...
Just like you taught me.
God first, watch everything fall into place...
Just like you taught me.
Love how I want to be loved...
Just how you taught me.
Almost two whole years.
I can't start this year how I started the last.
Life is tough.
The devil tore me down with what God used to lift me up.
You...
I miss– you.
I thank– you. 
I love– you. 
Im letting go of– you,
for me.
Now you can be proud of me.
Plus, I know you'll always be there.
You know?
To make sure I'm ok.
Walking right next to God...
Perfectly pressed slacks, a crisp button down shirt.
Precisely trimmed beard and a Kangol hat.
I can rest and have peace
because I finally had a good mourning.

I hope this post reaches whoever it needed to reach. Remember, you may cry during the night, but joy comes in the mo[u]rning.