Call it ... the search

At my best, I am the kick drum pushing my feet down the street to the beat.
At my lowest, mine is the heart found in the woodwinds, poring out melancholy from my heart.
At my worst, I am at battle with the evil hidden in the strings, an orchestra's song of deception.
At my height, mine is the soundtrack to the Tragic-Romantic-Comedy that is being, call it spring fever.

Life is a song. Right know my soul jumps and nods to the sound of a Go-Go beat, Prescription.

At their best, interconnection is the entanglement that gives life purpose.
At its lowest, needing others makes you vulnerable and open to pain.
At their worst, relationships are a gathering of people speaking in different tongs, call it a tower of babel.
At its core this kinship is the tether that keeps you bound to this mortal coil, call it the ties that bind.

Relationships evoke passion. Passion derives from the Latin verb patior, which means I suffer, endure.; I allow, acquiesce, submit.

At my best, I feel as if I have the formula.
At my lowest, the answer to the equation has been lost or somehow misplaced.
At my worst, I push from the table turn and walk away, "Man! Fuck this shit!"
In my soul rages a battle that seems unending. I ask God to mediate.

At the Gate (Part 1)

It's Sunday morning. My mother is in the kitchen cooking breakfast. I leave in a couple hours, and I know it's bothering her. In the background "I know I've been changed" plays on the radio in the corner. Whenever she begins to get sad she turns to the one place where she finds peace -- God.

It is just shy of six months since Latoya died and the pain still floats through the house. Only the peace of the creator keeps the grief in check. Dad is in the back, in their bedroom. He is in his usual place on the side of their bed watching TV. He has to work tonight so he is engaged in his usual pre-work-week ritual -- rest.

Darrell Jr., is in the living room eating from the plate his grandmother just placed in front of him, sausage, eggs, and grits. Breakfast in the south ... breakfast at home. With all of the changes that he has been forced to accept in these few short months it amazes me how he is able to keep the precocious nature that only an eight-year-old boy could have. "Uncle, is it still snowing in New Jersey?" He asks with a sly smile, I'm pretty sure he knows the answer. He just wants to talk to me. "No Darrell, it's summer," I say as I look up from my laptop. I want to talk with him too. These moments are so few and slip through your fingers no matter how tightly you grasp, so much vapor. It's almost as if life is just a dream. A dream.

I hug everybody and tell them I will give them a call when I get home later tonight. And like that I am sitting at the airport waiting for my flight. I replay today's goodbye in my mind, the same way I have every time I head back out on my journey since I was 18 years old.

Pop is cool. He is more proud than he is sad. He's probably thinking, "my boy has made something of himself. And when life knocks him down, he picks himself up and makes something else of himself" ... Or something like that. Mama is thinking something totally different.

She'd rather I was still 11 years old and sleeping in my old bedroom, in the bed across from Lovell. That means he would be 10 and Toya would be 7 years old. I throw my head back to push the water back into my head. "God I would love that too,"  I mouth under my breathe. But we can't go back, we have to move forward.

Darrell buries his head into my side "Bye uncle." When I finally get him to look up I see a shiny glass sheet over his eyes -- tears. And behind them I see the real sadness he is carrying with him. In less than half a calendar year he has been forced to say goodbye to his mother. Then he was made to leave the one place he has thought of as home for the first eight years of his life. And now, someone else who he has come to depend on is leaving him.

It's not the first time I've left. In fact, me visiting and then leaving is probably the most consistent part of our relationship. The circumstances are different know though. I've had a lump in my throat since that moment. Now as the airlines gate attendant calls for me to board the plane I close my eyes and mentally push all the emotion racing through me deep, deep into the corner of my mind.

 I will come back to these thoughts later. Probably when I am sitting alone, meditating on the course of things. That's when Mara comes to visit ...  To be continued ...

Ronin Speaks (Correspondance between friends)

36. For what does it profit a man to gain the whole world, and forfeit his soul? 37. For what will a man give in exchange for his soul?… Mark 8:36

 

These past 12 months have been a flood of peaks and valleys, and through it all my resolve has been tested.

 

I recently made a comment that I am seeking (I guess that means my life is about) truth, no matter what. I am coming to learn the very nature about truth, it is a piercing light. It does not compromise, it often is painful, and it will remove some that you love from your life. But in the end it is necessary.

Truth is mournful 

My baby sister died in January after struggling with Diabetes nearly her whole life. I sat at her bedside for the final month, and for a time our family thought she would pull through. Ultimately, her body was not strong enough. I make the distinction that it was her BODY that surrendered. In one of our last conversations she made it clear to me that her will to live was very strong. The truth within this is simple, life is short. Leave nothing to be said for tomorrow because the sun may not rise on that day.

Truth is heartbreaking

My most recent failed relationship, and yes there have been several over these past years, seemed to reside at the corner of miscommunication and  misunderstood expectations. And I swear our neighbor was a lack of self love ... but any way. If I am being honest, we never really resided in the same house mentally or emotionally to begin with. I just wanted us to ... The relationship was moving too fast I admit and some genies cannot be put back in the bottle once opened. Nothing left to do accept put it down, turn and walk away.

Truth is compelling

I am finding my center again. Family and friends reside at the middle of my soul and I am in a constant wrestling match with the devil to keep them there. For example: I have struggled with a feeling of abandonment from several of the people I am corresponding with now! I have communicated with only one of you over these past few years and she has periodically reached out to see how I am doing. I felt some kind of way about that in the past. Over time I have come to realize two things: One, I am mostly to blame for this. How can a person know you are upset with them if you don't tell them? Second, that behavior is nothing more than a form of self pity, I HATE SELF PITY.  It doesn't take Rick Ross to tell me that "The Devil is a Lie!" Water under the bridge, I miss you all.  ...

The Ronin speaks

Omnipresent

A birthday is an affirmation of life.
An active, conscious acknowledgement
and thanking of God for the mercy he showed
in allowing you to be, though ever so fleeting.
Ever-present

Momma says Little-Brother Big-Tree saw you today.
You perched next to him as he dealt with a test.
Every time he began to let the devil win you sang.
Sang a quick song that he says would always calm him.
Always present.

I can only imagine what this conversation was like.
"Boy, what's wrong with you?" you chirped.
And no matter what his response you had answer ready.
"Why are you letting it get to you? It really don't matter."
Presently correct.

I speak of you now and every day in the present tense.
Because I cannot, and will not ever be whole without you.
You see I need you ... the thought of you looking down on me ...
I need this just to make it through each day.
Presently teary eyed.

We all try to go on with our days, with our lives without you.
But there is no rhyme, there is no reason. There is just discord.
There is no hue, there is no color. There is just grey.
You are our family's smile. And missing you casts a shadow.

But loving you is a beacon.
It shows me the way back. Back to life, back to family, back to love.
The present of your presence has me presently humbled.
He is omnipresent. And because of this you are always here, with me.

I Love you Tus,
Brother

A question answered

The text reads, "Are you wiser or just older today ...?" I could not think of a better question to ponder as the first day of my 35th year begins.

The "wisdom" that I have earned this year has come at a price, as does most knowledge. It seems the more you learn about this life the less you wish you understood. Wisdom, frustration and heartache tend to always approach locked arm in arm. If knowledge and ignorance occupy opposite ends of the spectrum and ignorance is said to be bliss, then what is knowledge? For me it has been many things, and yes one of these many things is the opposite of happy.

This is NOT self pity however. Be not confused ...

"I never saw a wild thing
sorry for itself.
A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough
without ever having felt sorry for itself."    --- D.H. Lawrence

I perch from my branch on the tree of life and bear the brunt of this winter of my discontent. The more I have sat here determined to see things through, the more storms have blown into my life.

"To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering." --- Friedrich Nietzsche

I suppose you are asking yourself, "Damn! Well is the mutha F---ka happy about his birthday or not?" Yes I am. Everyday God the merciful allows breathe to enter my lungs is a gift. One of which I am most appreciative. I simply always try to spend a small portion of each gift in quiet reflection. Today I decided to share.

Of these questions. All of which I have been asked this past year:

Do you miss her?, What about Darrell Jr?, How is your mother holding up?, Is your father doing OK?, Will you and your brother ever get along?, When will you move back home?, Are you going to move back home?, Damn G, are you ever going to settle down?, Uncle, what happens after we die?, Do you miss her?, Who are you really?, Are ... you ... happy?, Are you wiser or just older today? ...

My answer:

"That you are here—that life exists and identity,

That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse." --- Walt Whitman

 The grey hairs on my face tell me that I am older. The circumstances of my life might suggest that I am wiser too, I just know better than to listen to them.

Requiem for a Beloved

At all times and at once one thought recurring,
A mind still stirring, a heart yearning
At once and at all times one phrase repeating,
From this Earth all are retreating
Out she slips to the future's horizon,
out with the tide does her soul ever flow
Can Garrietta come out to play?
Not til eternity, for only God does the answer know

At all times and at once do eyes mist and blur,
a spirit's sale lists, arms fall open
At once and at all times do scenes fade to grey,
dreams for tomorrow lie broken
The shoulders feel no more warm sunsets,
but they bear no more burdens either
The mind has no great mystery to ponder,
and no disease meant it to decipher

At all times and at once does the tide of time wash away footprints
At once and at all times does a son's "I remember" set new imprints
A mother and a father's love stir the echoes and fill forever's drum
A brother's little root rests at tree, a brother's champion race is run

Can Garrietta come out to play?
"Lift your heart, hers is heavy no more."

Seeing Brother Mario off

 Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth; And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings; Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth of sun-split clouds ... Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.  -- from John Gillespie Magee Jr's poem "High Flight"

As I sit across from her today, it strikes me just how much different our interaction is compared to just a few days ago. The physical therapist is just leaving after her first session with my sister. The woman says she made "really good" progress in their first meeting. Damn, are we already at the point where we are "rehabilitating." Just a few days ago, I was trying to prepare myself for the worst. The worst just missed our door ... it found the family next to us.

His name is Mario. He was in the room just before my sister's in the Surgical Intensive Care Unit. He was also on life support, just like my sister, but he had suffered severe trauma to his head.  My father and I both guessed that he was probably in a motorcycle accident -- One of the guys that came in to see him had on a motorcycle club vest. Through the open door into his room I would sneak a peek at him as I walked past to see my sister. Mario looked young, younger than me, probably late 20's.

A few days ago, the same day my sister went in for her third surgery, Mario's mother told me the time was very close that they would have to take him off life support, he was brain dead. His mom told me this because I had just walked past Cathy being consoled in the hallway outside of the waiting room. I remember Cathy from my first day at the hospital: Beautiful woman, Latin decent, dark hair, hazel eyes and very, very quiet. Originally I thought it was because of the heavy accent she spoke with. But on that day, standing in the hallway, I discovered the more likely reason for her silence. Mario is her husband.

Back to this morning: I look around, trying to find his father among the growing number of people here to see Mario off. I can't find him. He is probably in Mario's room, at his bedside. The door is now closed and the blinds are now drawn closed. Appropriate metaphor, I think to myself as I walk back into my sister's room. Her door is open, as is the window out to the world, metaphor just gets deeper. 

Later in the afternoon: The nurse asks me to leave the room for a minute while they work with my sister. I step back into the crowded walk way and I pass one of Mario's sisters. She is more Americanized than the other family members -- she does not have an accent. She is more streetwise too. "The struggle's over dog," she says to me with as much courage and bravado as she can find. "I am sorry," I reply in a low rumble. She nods a thank you, then shrugs her shoulders. I take the elevator down to the lobby, I need some air.

When I came back up to the floor 30 minutes later the hallway is completely empty -- They are all gone. I can't say I blame them.  I would want to get as far away from there as possible, to try and outrun the memory of that day. I follow these two men into ICU as I go back in to sit with my sister. At first, I don't register what they are pushing, but then -- all at once -- it hits me. It almost looks like a bed, I think to myself. They wheel up to Mario's room and knock on the closed door, then they go in. I don't dare look in now, he has earned his privacy.

I have read that a lot can be said about a man through the actions of those he leaves behind. Or how much he was loved can be seen in the eyes of those who cry at his passing. If these are truly the measure, then the world lost a good man today. God speed Mario.

I go back in and sit with my sister. I am glad her door is still open. I thank God she is still here.

Wise words from the Brus ... the continuence

Another in the ongoing series. My friends are old wise men in training ... This from a past conversation about relationships.

"I wouldn't call it ego or pride. I would call it human nature. When we invest in someone we want to feel that they are doing the same thing. It's the art of reciprocation."

Watching the clock

"Promise me you'll always remember: You're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think."               --  Christopher Robin to Pooh

I think about this quote, I have passed it everyday on my way in to see my baby sister. Now, as I sit next to her bed, I survey her hospital room. I read all the numbers and charts, looking for any thing out of the ordinary. My eyes stop on the "crash box" just above and to the side of her bed. I simultaneously hate and love this clock at this moment. I love that it now reads 96 hour 45 minutes 30 seconds since we nearly lost my little sister. I hate the fact that it is even needed.

I lean in close to her and whisper "Good Morning." Her eyes dart open and study the room for a second before they find mine. "Hi there little sister." She blinks her eyes slowly, calmly as if to say "Good Morning" back. Then she tries to speak, the nurse would tell me later that every time she tries to speak she feels some pain. The tube that goes down into her lungs must burn with each word she tries to form, so this must be important. I lean in closer to read her lips.

After a few attempts, I finally make out what she is trying to ask me, "When are you leaving?" "Not until you are better," I say in my heavy-big-brother voice. She just looks up at me, but her eyes say "thank you." She doesn't need to thank me. "There is NOTHING that will keep me from you when you need me. I will always be here for you," I reassure her.  She lies back and relaxes her shoulders. Big brother is here baby "Tus" you can be at ease. 97 hours 00 minutes 27 seconds, 28 seconds, 29 seconds ...

The nurse comes in and tells us that the doctors are about to come in and perform a procedure on her, and they will need to give little sister an anesthesia. Her eyes immediately tear up and she frowns, she HATES anesthesia. "It's OK. It's OK," I rub her forehead and squeeze her hand. I try to think of something to help her relax ... I start singing.

"Rise up this morning. Smile with the rising sun. Three little birdies, each by my doorstep. Singing sweet songs, of melodies pure and true. Saying, 'this is our message to you ...' " Her shoulders relax again.  99 hours 23 minutes 46 seconds, 47 seconds, 48 seconds ...

In the waiting room

"Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage."                   -- Lao Tzu

I walk past a sign of this quote hanging in the hallway of the hospital's surgery floor. Darrell,
Latoya's only child, has a firm grip on my right hand. In my left hand is the bible my Grandmother Nancy carried with her most places until the day she died. Over either shoulder I support the weight of my emotions, as varied as they can be and as heavy and deep as they currently reside.

"Uncle, where are we going?" "For a walk Darrell. Let's go take a look out at the night skyline." I really just needed to get away from the cramped waiting area where we were sitting. My sister's condition has taken a turn that has raised everyone's attention, thereby raising the tension level to an unbearable amount.

My mother talks with family members, about something, everything, nothing. Anything to release the pressure in the room. My father sits back in his chair, falling into his thoughts. I'll leave him there for a few minutes, I need to go for a walk.

The view out of this ceiling-to-floor window in the elevator lobby isn't that great at all. In the distance there is a faint view of the bridge I wrote about my mother not wanting to cross, when she had "Salt and Pepper Locks." The hair she has left is mostly grey now, she cut it about six months ago.

My father looks over the top of bifocals as he speaks now. I see the lines across his forehead that only time can bring. Time is like the tide, constantly moving, never resting. It moves in toward land, then back out to sea again. The events of the past few days have been like a tidal flow.

Our family stand at the shore, waiting to see if high tide will bring our Toya back to us. Or if low tide intends to take her out the horizon of eternity. I can't just sit here and wait. I have to do something, so I walk. I bring Darrell with me to try and give his mind something else to focus on. He knows something is off. "Uncle, I can see my mommy through the window." "No you can't Darrell." We walk on and go down the elevator into the lobby before we realize we cannot go any farther. It's after hours at the hospital and most areas are now closed.

So we go back up to the cramped waiting room. The tiny room with my dad thinking and my mother talking and we wait. Maybe that's what people with courage do, they wait.

Tusta, I am not ready

I'm sitting in an airport, waiting for a flight to take me home.  Take me home to Jacksonville, Florida. Take me home to my baby sister. She is on a ventilator after complications with a surgery meant to save her life nearly took her life, and it still might. She is not conscious.

I sit in this quiet corner I have found for myself trying to workout my feelings at this very moment. Sadness? No, I guess I am simultaneously optimistic and resigned to the fact that "Baby Tusta," as I sometimes call her, has been fighting for her very life for quite a few years now. And it is a battle she may not win.  Still, I am half hoping I will walk into the hospital room she is in and hear her say "Whatchu want boy," in a playfully antagonizing voice I have gotten accustomed to hearing for nearly 30 years. I don't think I have fully come to terms with what's happening. I'm not ready.

I stopped a family member from crying while on the phone last night. "We have to be strong for Toya, mom, dad and Darrell. My God, Darrell. How do we tell him ... what do we say to him. He is still so young. What would I be without my mother? What do I say to him? What do I say?

If I am being honest I have cried for my sister many days before, in secret when I could really let out how I really feel. I have questioned God, damn near cursed him once. Yelled and gnashed my teeth to the point I passed out of exhaustion. For what? She is still sick and I can do nothing to change this fact. So I ask God for serenity.

Recently, I have been lamenting a break up that I have chosen to take pretty hard. How self-absorbed I must look right now. I'm disgusted with myself. I allowed myself to feel self pity because someone chose other than me, and my little sister has been fighting everyday since she was 7 years old just to stay alive! I wish I could trade places with her right now. She deserves to live far more than I do.

Her name is Garrietta Latoya Vereen, and she is loved. She is a far stronger person than I could ever hope to be ...