UrbanTherapy.

james died a year ago today. my original plan was to stay at home and take a quick trip to emo-land, emerging briefly to text carol to see how she was holding up, and then back to emo-land until troy got home from work.

well, you know what they say about the best-laid plans. or something. i was walking from conor & abby’s back to the train station a couple of weeks ago and mulling over the list of dates abby had given me for watching ali this month. it dawned on me that march 8 was one of the dates. i was trying to figure out how i was going to feel about changing my plans on that date and if i’d be up for it, emotionally.

then james “spoke” to me as clearly as if he was on the phone w/me or walking right next to me. i’ll spare you the details, but suffice it to say that he gave me the go-ahead to leave the house and not be emo. once i stopped laughing from the absurdity of it all (ask me about it off-line if you want), i decided to try to be a little zen about it. ok, james died this time last year, and i’ll be watching ali, circle of life, blah blah blah. not the strongest strategy i’ve ever come up with, but i was willing to work with it.

until late last week when i got news about some unmitigated bullshit w/r/t a longtime family friend who’s been in the hospital for a little over a week now. i’ve been pissed off about it off and on since saturday, and had managed to get myself into a state of quasi-zen today while babysitting ali. b/c, really, how pissed off can you be when you’re hanging out with a 8-month-old who (thankfully) wasn’t having too terrible of a day?

but i digress. i returned to pissivitity (i’m not even gonna spell-check that b/c i’m not entirely convinced it’s an actual word, so bear with me) this afternoon when i got an update about the aforementioned longtime family friend’s condition. the bullshit is still there but there was a temporary window into which someone impacted by said bullshit could peek through and get some clarity. yes, i know that’s vague, and i’m sorry, but certain folks who are involved (even peripherally) in said bullshit are on teh internets and the last thing i need is bullshit coming directly to my inbox.

in the middle of all that, carol & i were exchanging texts and she mentioned that this bullshit-ridden situation was proving to be a distraction from what the day would’ve meant. i felt some kind of way about that. on one hand, i’m glad that she has other things to focus on so she doesn’t drift off into emo-land. on the other hand, though, i’m pissed b/c the bullshit-laden situation is, well, bullshit, and none of us should have to deal with said bullshit, but here it is, which is bullshit.

(pretty sure i’ve set a record for number of times i’ve used pissed [and variations thereof] and bullshit in one post.)

it’s been an…interesting year. my niece got married, and she and her husband are expecting their first child this summer. my brother (he who was secretly divorced and has since married someone else) is going to be a father again this summer. back to the whole circle of life thing, y’know?

if heaven exists, i’m banking on james being there right now with our parents and having a good laugh at my expense for working myself into such a state. that actually makes me feel better.

typing this out also makes me feel better. reading this all the way through probably made you feel confused. such are the risks you take when you visit urbantherapy. don’t let it scare you away, though. it’s not all pissivitity and bullshit over here. sometimes there are lolz.

most of you know that i wear a chain around my neck with one of my mother’s old rings on it. when i started wearing it in high school, i put the ring on a chain b/c it was too big to wear on my ring finger. the habit just kind of stuck. i’ve gone through at least 2-3 chains (if not more) since that time, but replacing them was never a big deal – a clasp would break or whatever and it’d be time for a new chain.

when james died, the first and only thing i asked for of his was his chain. i can’t remember when he first started wearing a chain with a charm/pendant of his initial on it, but i do remember being in junior high & high school and coveting the chain. see, this was back when gold herringbones became insanely popular and everyone i knew wanted one. james had one already, which just made him all the more awesome to my friends. i got over the herringbone envy once my now ex-boyfriend bought me a chain. i think it was after that chain broke that i started wearing my mom’s ring on a silver chain.

fast forward to last sunday after church. carol’s giving me a ride to 95th so i can get on the train and go home. we’re in the car and carol hands me a small box.

me: “is this what i think it is?”
carol: “yup. you might wanna wait until you get home to open it, though.”
me: “good point. crying on the train – probably not a good idea.”

so i waited until i got home to open the box and sure enough, there was james’ old chain, along with some old cta pins that belonged either to james or to my father. obviously it wasn’t the same one james had worn back in the day, but it’s gold and yes, it’s a herringbone (or a reasonable facsimile thereof).

off with my old silver chain and on with the new (to me) gold one. i didn’t cry or have a mini-meltdown as i kinda thought i would, but it was still a little bittersweet.

and then monday happened. i don’t know wtf was going on with the universe that day, but i know my emotions were all over the place. i was angry, sad, frustrated, happy – all in the space of minutes. the rest of the week passed in a similar but not as emotionally draining fashion.

friday was ‘fun’ (for lack of a better term) for me b/c i had to go pick up our market day order. see, our usual pickup location is down the street & it’s usually on saturdays and 9am. i knew this would be a problem this month, b/c pickup is next saturday and we’re planning on going to the minnesota game, which kicks off at 11am. therefore, i changed our pickup location & time to friday at 2pm. it was weird b/c 1) i’d not been to this school before and didn’t know what to expect and 2) all i could think of was james telling me about a time when he’d had to switch his market day pickup location and how that story literally had me laughing & crying at my desk b/c it was so hilarious. of course, friday’s pickup went w/o a hitch once i actually found the cafeteria where market day was being held, but there was still some residual emo-ness in the air.

i think yesterday may have been the first day where i didn’t feel as angsty about things. and before you ask, i figured this out before i started drinking, so there. i guess i didn’t realize that there’d be an emotional adjustment period involved with the changing of the chains. i’m not saying that adjustment period is over, but i think i have a better handle on it now.

(this is being posted on what would have been james’ 47th birthday. – ed.)

part 3: march 2009 – present

i started writing the first 2 parts of this series in june. it has taken me almost 2.5 months to write this one. some of the delay can be chalked up to good old procrastination. if i’m going to be honest, though, then i have to say that i’ve been putting this off b/c i kinda knew it’d be the most difficult one (so far) to write about.

there are still times when something happens and i think ‘i need to call james & tell him about this’ or ‘i should call james & say hi’ and i have to stop for a moment and realize that no, i’m not gonna pick up the phone and call him. if i tried to share all the memories i have of james, this would turn into the longest.blog.post.ever.published.by.one.person.  if i said i was done mourning, i’d be lying. yes, i’ve managed to not have many major crying jags or breakdowns. yes, i’ve reached the point where i can share funny stories/anecdotes about my brother and it doesn’t feel completely weird. but to say that i’m done mourning? nope. can’t do it.

i mean, how can i not succumb to the occasional bout of sadness when i glance down at my class ring and remember that james bought it for me? or when i catch a reflection of myself looking a certain way and in that moment (really all the time, but particularly in that moment) i look just like him? or when i hear certain songs from back in the day that i first heard thanks to james?

i think one of the things i love(d) most about james was the fact that he was, for the most part, totally supportive of my relationship w/troy. daddy only got to meet troy once, and that was for maybe 5 minutes before we went out of town for thanksgiving. i think troy & i had been ‘dating’ for all of 2-3 weeks by then. (if you’ve heard the story of our courtship, then you know why dating is in quotes. if not, ask us about it offline.) i first mentioned troy to james a few weeks after thanksgiving. when i said troy was from compton, james sorta-jokingly threatened to shoot him. it wasn’t a completely idle threat b/c i knew james had a gun.

obviously james’ opinion of troy changed with time.  i remember james came to visit me and troy showed him around ‘xlo. i think it was after that visit that james decided to let troy live. every time i talked to james after that, he’d ask about troy. i think he was the only member of my family that actively mentioned troy, even though everyone met him at daddy’s funeral and i’d told them that yes, he was my boyfriend.

james was home sick when troy talked to my family about him wanting to propose. the next day, i got a voicemail at work from james, basically ripping the naysayers new assholes for not recognizing that troy was a great guy, and saying that he was happy for us and had our backs no matter what. when we got home from the wedding weekend, there was another voicemail from james, telling us he loved us and how proud he was of us and how great the wedding and reception turned out. i think we played that message at least 3 times in a row and saved it for as long as we possibly could. i don’t know about troy, but that support from james really meant a lot to me. it’s like james & i had a mental agreement to look out for each other and do whatever we could to make sure we were happy.

i can’t help but feel that sometimes i didn’t hold up my end of the bargain. i could’ve gone to visit james more often, despite the fact that hospitals make me claustrophobic. i could’ve called more or somehow tried to do more besides wear god out with my constant prayers and pleas on james’ behalf. i know it’s moot now and who knows if it would’ve changed anything, but it is what it is.

i like to think that if heaven exists, james is there, hanging out with our parents and having a good time. i’m sure he’s had a laugh or ten at our expense. i’m ok with that. i’m still laughing at him, so i think we’re even. some days i’m laughing to keep from crying, and other days i’m laughing b/c it’s fucking hilarious. seriously. just thinking about some of the stories is enough to make me laugh. have you heard the one about the little person at my grandfather’s funeral? or the one about picking up market day and almost getting into a fight with a group of developmentally disabled adults? hilarious, i tell you.

i don’t know if i’ll ever reach a point where i’ve made my peace about james being dead. hell, just typing that last sentence made me wince. i mean, i still miss my parents from time to time, but that’s more of a dull ache compared to the relatively fresh wound of james’ death. i guess part of it is b/c i had james around the longest, which means i have the most memories of him, which means it’ll take longer for that wound to heal.

part 2: february 1997

a couple of weeks before he died, i went to see daddy in the hospital on his birthday. i didn’t tell anyone at the time, but i said my goodbyes then. he was in a serious amount of pain, what with the cancer and the heart problems and the diabetes and the amputated leg. i didn’t want him to suffer anymore than he had to, and a part of me knew he was likely trying to hang on for my benefit. i think it was the week before reading week my junior year. i’d put all of my professors on notice that my father was dying and i could be called home at any point. i had a group project that quarter, and i remember trying to finish as much of my work as i could so the other group members wouldn’t get stuck with it. the night daddy died, i’d spent part of the evening off-campus working on the group project. when i got back, maya & i were hanging out in our room and i was trying to study. my (former) sis-in-law called, saying that daddy’s condition had taken a turn for the worse (or worst, as the case could’ve been) and she’d call back once she knew more. i couldn’t deal w/sitting by our garfield phone, so i went upstairs to troy’s room and tried to study. no, really. i had books open and everything. i may have even tried to highlight something and take notes and stuff.

if i’d been looking at a clock, i could’ve told you the exact minute daddy died. i felt it. i literally felt a shiver and i knew. troy called downstairs, but maya said no one had called yet. i decided to go back to our room and wait. after i got the call, i remember having the urge to run. so i did, from 2-red to the stairwell down to the lobby, through the tv lounge and back up the stairs. i collapsed in tears somewhere b/t the 2nd and 3rd floor, i think. troy was, no pun intended, with me every step of the way. i made it back to my room and started packing.

i remember staying w/sylvester that week and everyone having whispered conversations about how i was taking things. i was relatively fine. i was more worried about finals and papers and maybe having to take an incomplete in the class troy & i were taking together. (note: that class sucked balls and blew goats. i still have a strong dislike for the instructor.) i got through the funeral relatively unscathed – i only broke down once, and that was while i was reading the poem i’d written back at the beginning of the school year.

the burial the next day? not so much. i was fine until someone presented james with a folded american flag to honor daddy’s army service. i looked over at james and his face was completely wet with tears. at that point, someone decided it was time for me to drop the flower i’d been holding onto the casket. next thing i knew, i was sitting in the backseat of someone’s car, my aunt was holding me, and i was having a major crying jag. it’s entirely possible that i blacked out from grief, and to this day, i have no idea what happened or how i managed to get to the car.

it’s no secret that i’m a daddy’s girl. his mantra was that he’d do whatever he could to make sure i had everything i needed, and some of the stuff i wanted. compared with my mother, i have a bazillon memories of daddy. it’s to be expected, obv., since i spent more time with him. the funny-looking cta key i have on my keychain? that was his. i have a couple of bracelets (now broken) that he had made for me out of coins from my birth year. there’s pictures in my scrapbook. my allegiance to alcorn state? that’s b/c daddy always wanted to go there and play football. having a ridiculously huge bag full of shopping bags in the kitchen? i got that from him. the water pitcher that’s always in the fridge, the poring over grocery store weekly ads, the coupon clipping, the keeping the kitchen stocked with basics? that’s all him. every now and again, i’ll catch myself doing or saying something and realize that i’ve once again channeled daddy. i’m ok with that.

(editor’s note: this is the first in a planned series of three.)

part 1: march 1984.

i was seven. i was old enough to know that my mother had been sick for a long time, and still childish enough to think that my imaginary rabbit stew could make her better after she came home from yet another hospital stay. i don’t remember anyone using the word ‘cancer’ w/r/t to her condition around me, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t said. i do remember coming home from school and finding everyone gathered in our living room. no one could look at me at first. my (former) sis-in-law was the one who pulled me to her and broke the news, reminding me of the talk we’d had about how people go to heaven when they die. i remember breaking away and trying to run somewhere, only to be caught and picked up by one of my brothers, who took me to my room and put me in my bed. the only part i remember about the funeral was that it was at my mother’s church. when the minister asked all visitors to stand and be recognized, i stood up and pulled at daddy’s suit to get him to stand up. he wouldn’t do it at first, but i must’ve been really sincere about it and i guess he decided to humor me. technically, i was right – daddy and i were members of a different church, and i took this very seriously.

my memories of my mother are few, which makes me cherish them that much more. it’s long been understood that i’m a shorter and slightly darker version of her. it would’ve been nice to get her height instead of the ginormous shoe size, though. most of you know that the ring i wear around my neck belonged to her. it’s the only tangible belonging of hers that i have. there’s a few pictures of her in my scrapbook, and the aforementioned memories, and that’s about it. it doesn’t bother me as much as it used to – i’ve made my piece with the resemblance and the memories i do have of her.

-I’ll be back Wednesday, talking slower and with a Southern accent. This oughta be awesome, to meet new co-workers with “How y’all are?” and general good humor. First impressions being what they are, I’ll either be labeled an idiot or the nicest guy ever by the end of Week One.

-Hooked up my Sega for old time’s sake, and it was like scrambled porn. The video is going out on it, so I have to hold the cable just so, which I can’t do when the system is balanced on my leg, which is folded under me. I eventually gave up.

-Otherwise, it’s the usual that you’ve heard from me. It’s hot down here. I’m getting good sleep. I’m eating awesomely. Now, though, I have to think about going back to work and the creative things I want to get done, still. You never know what you miss until it’s gone, but I have a feeling that I’ll miss afternoon naps, being free to walk down to the comic book store, and Slurpee runs. Ah, well.

Love from down Souf!

when i was growing up, i had to go to church practically every sunday. my childhood was relatively traditional in the ‘black folk who go to church regularly’ sense, in that saturday was the day i had to get everything together for the next day. church outfit clean and pressed? check. underwear, shoes, and accessories all picked out and ready to go? check. choir robes clean, ironed, and hung in their bag in the closet by the front door so i could grab them on the way out? check. hair washed, pressed, flat-ironed, oiled, curled, or whatever? check.

as you might imagine, this got a little tiring, esp. once i was in high school and really wanted to stay home and do nothing.sundays off were a precious and valuable thing. if we were on vacation (not to be confused w/visiting family out of town, b/c we’d probably still go to church then) and skipped a sunday, it was cause for much internal rejoicing on my part. aside from that, though, we went…well, religiously.

except for 5th sundays. i swear i thought my brothers created this rule all by themselves and i was proud to be related to such geniuses. it’s simple, really: you get the 5th sunday off from church. in high school, this was the best.thing.EVER. seriously. i was already at church 2-3 times a week b/c sunday service, choir rehearsal, and bible study. combine that with an insane amount of homework and my never-ending list of chores, and i was pretty wiped out by the time saturday evening rolled around.

but the 5th sunday rule would make it all better. i don’t remember when it first happened, but i’m sure it took a few times for it to sink in. when it did, though, it was awesome.it wasn’t a hard and fast rule, though. i couldn’t assume that 5th sunday would equal no church. i had to wait until that morning to get up and find out what decision had been made:

“it’s 9:00. are we still trying to make it to church today?”
“nope. go back to bed if you want.”
a whole morning and afternoon with nothing to do? oh, it was beautiful. sometimes i’d find out the night before that we’d be playing hooky the next day, and that was even more spectacular. why? b/c then i could go ahead and do all my prep for monday (outfit, bookbag, homework, lunch, etc.) on saturday so i could do as little as possible on sunday.

once i got grown, i started invoking the 5th sunday rule for myself. to this day, it’s a running joke b/t me & my brothers. if any of us happened to show up at 1st c. on a 5th sunday, we’d give each other the ‘what are you doing here?’ look. if james & i talked the next day and one of us hadn’t made it to church, we’d just say ‘5th sunday’ and that would be that.

i was reminded of all of this yesterday as i got ready to go to church. yes, on a 5th sunday. my rationale was that i’d missed 2 sundays in a row, so this was as good a time as any to go. in my head, i could hear james saying something like ‘what are you doing? it’s 5th sunday! we’re off today!’ and it simultaneously cracked me up and made me a little sad.

now, the 5th sunday thing has become less of a rule and more of an option. if i’m feeling lazy, i can use the 5th sunday rule. other times, like yesterday, i’ll get up and go. as it turns out, i wasn’t the only family member at church yesterday. none of us said anything, and we didn’t shoot each other any weird looks, but i’m guessing we all thought about it.

i was talking to troy about this yesterday morning and he reminded me that his family also had a 5th sunday rule. i’m curious, readers – did your family have and/or do you currently have a 5th sunday rule? discuss.