3 Worst things…part 2

IS THAT TRUE?

So this was kind of ridiculous to me but please read on. A high school acquaintance, whom I hadn’t seen since those days when the only things that mattered was if I remembered to bring my homework assignments, bumped into me at about a month or so after. I had been drowning. Drowning, almost willingly in any and everything but the truth and reality. I was doing just that when he noticed me, bumped right into me as I was headed to dance and grind away the horror that was now my reality.

It was a club we’ve been at before. It was a club in which my mothers murderer had been to as well. I never actually felt comfortable or safe there even before the incident. The people there were a little aggressive. Well, no, the women there who enjoyed the company of other women were a little aggressive, correction too aggressive. Anyway, this high school acquaintance saw me and without a breath or missing a beat he asks, “Hey is what I saw about you on the news true?” That was it, his words. With every careless word he spoke in that one question, which was more of a statement, a harsh shove and kick back to reality was what I had to endure. I wished he hadn’t been so long winded with it? I mean he could’ve just said, “Sup, you good?” His words made it clear to me that yes Goretty you are a statistic and yes people all over know about it. You can’t escape. “Yea, its true”, followed by a walk to the make shift bar was all I could muster up. I had to get away from that blunt reality he shoved me into and quick. The spot where the murderer had sat then danced was becoming all to clear to me.

Proverbs 29:20 Do you see a man who speaks in haste? There is more hope for a fool than for him.

…Again, I’m just sayin’

 

3 Worst things said to me post tragedy…(3 part blog) part 1

NOT NICE

She was an associate of my mothers. I don’t remember exactly who this woman was or how my mom knew her but her words ring clearly to this day. The circumstances was nothing major. I wasn’t arguing  with her or anything like that. Perhaps I was too nonchalant about her presence at that moment or too aloof to whatever she may have been saying. I don’t know but she said to me, “You’re not a nice girl anymore like when your mother was here.” Mind you my mother went to Paradise in October and I moved out of state in February. So her judgement, her assessment, her analysis of me was based off of a less than 4 month tragic event. Not to mention, I didn’t remember this woman, not then at that moment in which I was probably still living in shock, so it had to have been someone whom I only met a handful of times. I was 21 years old, just turned 21, barely an adult. She had known Goretty in pigtails perhaps, which a fun fact I use to call doo-doo braids lol. Anyway, the fact was she didn’t really know me, not truly. And even if she did, was that something to say? Those words penetrated deep in my mind. I carried those words.

My mother’s death was full of first for me. I never had experienced true lost, betrayal of a close friend, or had I ever experience real disapproval of an adult before her death.

I’m not nice anymore, hymph…I wondered what else I wasn’t.

Matthew 12:36 But I tell you that men will have to give account on the day of judgement for every careless word they have spoken.

…I’m just sayin’

What I need.

Right after my mom passed and everything was fresh and happening, various people and relatives feared that I wouldn’t speak after the tragic end of my mothers life. It had been a few long muted and deaf hours. I was a zombie-like form. Things moved around so fast around me. Noises blared such a high pitch that I heard nothing. My pulse raced. I knew why but didn’t at the same time. The word statistic was all that rang deep within me. Was I really that girl? Was this really happening to my family? Has what surrounded finally touched me?

After what felt like an icy cold eternity, had passed, the things slowed down. They were people. Doctors, nurses, relatives, policemen and women, and of course lets not forget the bystanders. The deafening high pitched sounds became audible. The nothingness ceased for the moment. It was the various conversations, cries, prayers and questions. I remember being shook to speak. From what was said, someone from the various groups of people desperately needed me to speak that instance. They feared I would never speak if I didn’t utter a word right then. It was the thought process of a relative. More so to stop the shaking and prompting and the being touched, I said something. Something quick like, “I’m fine.” I wished to be deaf again. That’s what I needed, or so I thought. I was too aware. Too aware of what just occurred. Too aware of the smells. Too aware of every conversation about me and my brothers. Too aware of the freezing cold that crystallized every atom of my  being. I was too aware. I hoped whatever the nurse was going to give me could minimize that feeling. That restless, overly alert feeling. No such luck. I wanted to shower. I was refused. I wanted to escape everyone, this whole moment, this whole ordeal. And where was my younger brother? None of this. None of this was what I needed.

2 Peter 1:3 His divine power has given us everything we need for life and godliness through our knowledge of him who called us by his own glory and goodness.

…I didn’t realize it then nor was I willing to accept it but He was all I needed.

Now what?

The word mom never held so much meaning to me until I had no one to call by that name. For many years after her death I preferred to be working or sleeping through holidays such as Mother’s Day. Even after having children I felt a bit out of sorts celebrating on those rare occasions.

I was 21 when my mom was murdered. Her funeral was a blur as much as anything else during that time. The constant memory of the one and only song that replayed over and over, “Mama”, still brings a lump in my throat. Who knew we should’ve had more music on that tape? Leave two very young adults to put together a funeral and well that’s what you got. At least in our case. With my younger brother in a coma, casualty from the gruesome event, it was up to me and not so much older brother to deal with details. Of course relatives extended help but there was a sense of obligation. She was our mom. We had to make the decisions.

The funeral was crazy to me. I mean I knew my mom was a goodhearted person and she gave of herself to anyone in need but wow! I can recall numerous times when she would pack up food for random people, invited many people at different times to come stay with us because they were down on their luck. It was never a surprise when I overheard someone thanking her for some act of kindness she showed them. I knew people valued her on her job where she was an RN for many years. I knew our church loved her. She was loved yes, I knew, but my gosh! It wasn’t until her burial did I realize just how much people respected her. You’d have to have some ounce of respect to go to someones funeral. The grave site was quite a sight. It was utterly packed and cars were still coming in. Who knew she knew so many people, touched so many lives, earned so much respect from so many? She was just mom. She was just my mom. But now, now she was gone and I felt numb. Numb and cold. Cold as the brisk October air. I felt totally lost. Not a word to explain, not a thought to hint at a feeling worthy of this emptiness. Mom, a word I could never say to anyone again and feel what I should feel when uttered.

In an effort to comfort me, someone who I can’t recall, said to me my mom wouldn’t want it any other way. That her death was preferred over my own or my brothers. You see, we, my younger brother and I shared that horrible experience with her. She was the only one to receive the fatal end of it all. Of course I understood the logic behind the words and I know my mom would give her life for her children all over again but….did I wanna hear that? Side eye and sucking my teeth Haitian style. Now a deep sigh. “Now what?” was all I could think to myself.

Now what? I needed a new skin. Mine burned and itched. But it was mine. I needed a new brain. Mine was full of emptiness and it swallowed me deep. But it was my mind to deal with. I needed a new heart. Mine was broken into dust. My mom is no longer and I am stuck with remnants of my former self. I hardly knew me before. I still needed her. But now…..Now what?

Romans 14:8 If we live, we live to the Lord; and if we die, we die to the Lord. So, whether we live or die, we belong to the Lord.

…she now belonged to the Lord in death as she did in life.