Spirit Speak 1

 

Dear Grandma,

I know that you and Grandpa watch over me every day, but I have felt your presence very strongly. I sense your worry about me ... that I am becoming too invested in what's unfolding.

I was sitting here, initially, about to nod. You know, to go along to get along, yet do my own thing anyway.

The points you have raised are very valid. 

Yesterday and today have solidified this.

Deep down, this goes beyond what's in the present. It is what has happened to me in the past. It is why, over time, I got so guarded.

You remember when I was open to getting to know new people? Only to get misunderstood. Talked about. Disrespected. Bullied.

I didn't talk much about the bullying. I kept it in my head. I was focused on my learning. I thought that if I excelled at everything and graduated from high school, then things would be better in adulthood.

I did all the activities I believed would lead to acceptance.

Yes, the majority of the college attendees had skin like mine. They wanted to achieve like me. 

I did have a few close friends. Some of them got scared away by "Barney" and never returned. The one that did ... well, Grandma, I did horrible acts that pushed him away. These acts haunt me to this day.

He has forgiven me; it took decades to forgive myself. 

Life continued.

I grew in many ways, but there was always a small part of me that wanted to be seen and accepted.

I know you and Grandpa did the best you could, but you couldn't make people be friends with me. There's free will; there's choice.

Almost every person I encountered under the guise of a friend did not match my definition. 

For me, a friend was supposed to serve an important staple. Yet, others saw this more as conditional or transactional. 

This put me in precarious positions with the latter. I invested time and resources to my detriment, but back then, I was quite the optimist.

I believed that if you treated a person the way you wanted to be treated, it would be reciprocated. I trusted that if I poured enough care and consideration into someone, it would be appreciated. 

More often than not, it didn't happen, so each mishap left me more depleted. 

I learned this was not the way the world worked. I became more protective of my time and resources, and I just concluded I was that lone wolf that wasn't meant to have a pack.

I never would have guessed that someone would come along who would embody the truest essence of what I wanted in a friend ... so much so that saying "friend" was not enough to capture what the person represented.

Even with the spiritual knowing, I hesitated. At first, I did not want to get too close; I wanted to keep everything on a creative level.

Then, we started talking about our lives and our beliefs. Everything just felt effortless. I did not have to edit what was in my head before speaking. Even if I blundered, it was okay.

It felt safe to be a human. 

I was very cautious using familial words. She perceived me as family right away.

Over time, it was not just the repetition of her perception, but the way she showed up for me, not just in triumph but in crises. I am just very grateful you got a chance to meet her before you passed.

Grandma, she is on a romantic journey, and I have always advocated for this. Having a companion means a great deal to her.

In the dating world, there was promise. When she attempted to explain our dynamic (family unit as opposed to roommate schematic), there were varying reactions: not understanding, intimidation, feeling threatened, and/or feeling jealous.

In her ideal world, this individual would be an addition to what already exists.

To be fair, that is a tall order for anyone.

There are a lot of elements in play. She has many autoimmune conditions. She was recently in the hospital for four days due to severe asthma exacerbation, a sarcoid flare-up, and pneumonia.

Today, we found out that she has iritis, which the eye doctor said could have resulted from her rheumatoid arthritis and dealing with the pneumonia.

To say that it has been a challenging week has been an understatement. 

I have been more heightened lately. It impacts my sleep pattern and my appetite. It's been difficult to decrease the volume.

Before my best friend chose her current partner, she was connecting with someone else. There were also others in the running.

I had a dream that encompassed the themes of change, choice, and free will. Interpreting dreams has never been my strong suit; I always looked to her for that. However, I was very reluctant (in case it was bad news), and I did not want to interfere with her happiness.

Grandma, as it turns out, the meanings unfolded.

One person eliminated himself immediately by decreasing communication. 

The other guy, who was the frontrunner, was unwilling to compromise when she wanted clarity and reassurance.

The final guy wanted my best friend to be a "fun placeholder" until he found the individual who checked all his boxes. Initially, she refused him, but when the aforementioned guy disappointed her, she was willing to take him up on her offer. My best friend had all but given up on finding a companion.

I did see more for her. Perhaps I should not have been so insistent if she truly did not see this for herself.

Yet, things played out in a way that paved the way for her current partner to enter.

My stance on this beau ... 🤔🤔🤔

Grandma, the best way I can describe his aura is a blackened bulb.

Yes, you can see light. The light still works, but there is blackness within the structure. I'm not saying he's dark; many unresolved issues stem from his past. 

I sensed this before she told me these things.

I expressed my concern: how some acts of care, devotion, and attention can also have flip sides. You know, the yin and the yang.

These have come to light before, and in the midst of her health scare.

It's time to circle back to what I said at the beginning of this. Why do I agree with your points when I was ready to acknowledge, but continue to do what I was doing?

Although she has told me to talk about my feelings (and I have done so), it got to the stage where she briefly compared it to a conflict almost a decade ago.  I was disappointed and taken aback.

With this relationship being brand new, I just needed time, space, and grace. The fusion feels too soon; I still stand on this. 

I was not pleased with how her current companion handled things when she was obviously ill: the whole thing of his having to see it to believe it.

Grandma, even when he heard her coughing, her struggling to breathe ... his insistence on a form of communication that was a struggle for her to deliver ... just sent me beyond the pale. He has tried to redeem himself, but that was a very bad first impression.

I do not doubt the power of love. It is obvious they love each other. 

Love cannot cure another person's trauma if that person is not ready to do their work. The work has to be genuine and sustained, not as motivation for the relationship's continuance, but because the person wants to be better for himself.

I do not want my best friend to regress. She has come so far.

Yet, if I get too invested, I also risk regression. 

I risk not preserving my empath's health. Some of what is seen I should hold close. Not because I do not care about my best friend. Because she needs to be able to see as well and navigate this early friction logically (setting all the other parameters aside).

His ability to advance beyond what has kept him emotionally and psychologically stunted is being tested.

The health of my best friend and the strength of her healing are being tested.

The propensity to protect the sanctity of our home has butted heads with my own preservation. 

They don't have to negate each other, but I have to find balance.

I don't want her to get hurt again; I know this is the last hurrah (pass or fail). 

I will still be here through the ups and downs. I just have to give myself grace and re-examine what that means and how to honor her and myself.

I just pray she understands.

I'm not going to tell you to stop worrying, but I've got this.

Thank you, Grandma, for the much-needed reminder.

❤

Simply Showing Up: The Update

 

Dear Grandma and Grandpa,

I did not think I would be writing today, but you both were heavily on my mind.

Around this time last year, give or take a few days, I admitted my struggles with getting in the holiday spirit. The loss of you, Grandma, was very fresh. As previously mentioned, holidays (especially Thanksgiving and Christmas) did not feel the same once you departed, Grandpa.

Before I speak on my overall temperature this year, Gino experienced a profound loss this year. 

Remember Gino? He is the young man who is Jazz's son. Grandpa never got to meet him, but he would have found him delightful.

Jazz did not speak much about Gino's father. It was a tumultuous situation that wasn't my story to tell. It resulted in Gino's father not being around for most of his life.

Gino did try in his own way to reach out to his father, but never received a response from him. Because Gino was developmentally different, his father was not accepting. This was especially sad, since Gino is his only son.

Well, was his only son.

Jazz discovered from a Facebook post that his father had passed away. This happened near the Thanksgiving holidays. He died from cancer. 

To add insult to injury, none of Jazz's children were mentioned in his obituary.

It was very tough for Jazz to tell Gino because he had never dealt directly with death. Gino navigated through this as best he could. Gino's sisters are taking it much harder.

Jazz felt bad about the suffering of her children, but she didn't feel sad about his loss because of all the man put her through. The complex emotions are understandable.

As for me, I do not feel as heavily immersed in grief, but I cannot say I am completely light, either.

The best way to describe the vibe is that I want to do holidays somewhat differently, starting next year.

Because it's usually Jazz, Gino, and me, it doesn't make sense to put together a huge meal. I do not have as much appetite as I used to, nor do I feast on leftovers like I did previously. This is due to the side effects of some of my medications.

This results in Gino having most of the food (which he never minds), or we end up discarding the food.

Grandma, you know how I feel about food waste. Especially since food has gotten so expensive.

Also, Jazz has started her dental treatment plan. She hasn't been able to chew a lot, so that has impacted meals during the holiday season.

I am going through mine as well, but opted to invest in most of the items until 2026. At least I got one phase of the deep cleaning done this year. It just sucks that dental work is so costly; I think my FSA funds this year will mainly go towards my dental for next year.

This year will probably be the last year for the Christmas tree. I went back to having an artificial tree. When I first moved to New Jersey, M was so big on having a real tree. It made sense, given the vast amount of Christmas tree farms in the state.

The cats (Colby and Franklin) would constantly be in and around the tree. Every day, an ornament would be on the floor or broken. For me, it was too much upkeep. 

Next year, Jazz and I will buy a taller tree. That way, we will be able to utilize more of the decorations.

The extremely cold weather and my arthritis do not get along. I aim to travel to warmer weather this time next year. Perhaps back to Florida like in 2018. It would be heavenly to visit Hawaii, but I hear it can get costly.

Even if Jazz and Gino decide not to go, I may just go alone. Just to experience the warmth and be near the water.

Snow is beautiful, but I don't like driving in the elements. Or having to do the cleanup.

I don't care what gifts I receive this year. I've arrived at that stage (at least with Christmas) where I care more about experiences than gift exchanges. You know me, I've always shown more care in giving people thoughtful gifts than the zest in receiving them. 

The traveling fire is slowly returning. I had fun at an event and a concert I attended this year. There is this concert that Jazz and I want to go to next year; if the tickets are still available, then she and I will do that. I am so ready for adventures, even if they are solo.

However, I'm practical and a planner, so the trips have to make sense to me. Others keep saying they will go with me (just name the time and the place), but there's not a lot of follow-through.

Like you, Grandpa, I don't like waiting on people, so it's best to do my own thing.

Also, the stuff that gives me joy isn't the same as others. I don't need substances. I don't need a ton of theatrics. To make me happy is more simplistic than people think; it may just come across as boring to those who want to be extroverted all the time.

I do have my extroverted moments if I'm doing something that is soothing to my ears, eyes, and brain. I have contemplated those group focus travels, but I also know how I get around too much estrogen. I am not for a lot of cattiness, drama, and pretense. Plus, I need moments of relaxation mixed in with adventure.

I do not want to take a vacation that I'm going to need a vacation from. To me, that defeats the whole purpose.

Okay, let me have some breakfast. I just wanted to check in. I'm hanging in there, doing the best I can. I have been more present, gone beyond showing up. I hope that around this time next year, I'll be sitting on a beach towel, looking out at the sun and the ocean, sketching or writing.

I love you both always. Happy Heavenly Christmas Eve!

Dear Grandpa: Rare Reflection

Dear Grandpa,

I know this entry seems early. In some ways, it is. It is early in that it’s not Father’s Day, but it is also early in that I am writing this on May 4th so that it will post on May 5th.

May 5th is on a Monday this year, and Mondays are normally the busiest day in my profession.

Jazz suggested I do a May 5th entry since I did one earlier this year on the day of Grandma’s passing.

No worries … it won’t become a habit.

I don’t like to think of that day ever.

Not of your passing, per se, but the chaos leading up to it. At least how it was conveyed to me by Grandma. 

Okay, albeit reluctantly, I think it's time I unpack this. Perhaps I should have resumed my therapy sessions on how to navigate an event that I buried so deeply that it's easy to Jedi mind trick myself into its nonexistence. 

Yet, to make it nonexistent would mean you'd physically still be here.

It was 2011. M and I had been in a relationship ... gosh, how long had it been at that point? I'll just say that we had made over a year. 

After losing my full-time job in early 2010, M did his best to keep things afloat. At one point, he was working two jobs. Eventually, he lost both, but didn't have the "gumption" (as you'd call it) to look for more work. 

The polishing of his resume ... me. 

The searching for jobs that would fit his limited skill set ... me. 

Actually applying for the jobs ... me. 

Sure, I had received unemployment, and the amount received made due for the moment. However, there's always pressure to get employment because "they" don't want you on unemployment forever. Goodness knows I didn't want to be on it forever, either.

Initially, I stayed the course and pursued careers in my majors. I would get the first interview, and with some, the second interview ... only to be rejected.

At one of the One Stop meetings, I was told that the reason I wasn't getting hired was that I had too much on my resume. When I asked for clarification, I was told that I needed to "dumb it down" and that presenting my "awards and both of my degrees made me look overqualified for any position." The person was probably saying it to increase my chances of getting off unemployment quicker. Yet being told to dim my professional light, after working so hard to achieve it, angered me.

Unfortunately, after a year of being strategic, the pressure was on: find work or be cut off.

M got odd jobs here and there, but was doing stupid things (stealing food, having attitude with bosses, etc.) that would get him fired. 

On the month of your passing, I was just hired under a temporary assignment. It was the 3rd day of the assignment when I received the call from Grandma. The anguish in her voice was palpable. Being in proximity, but was unable to say goodbye. Those final moments ... being taken away from her.

I know Grandma never got past the trauma. 

Although the company was sympathetic to the tragedy, they could not hold the position for me if I decided to leave. The decision was a no-brainer.

M wanted to make the journey, but someone had to stay behind to see about things. I made the long trip alone, praying for protection the whole way.

Grandma and I were each other's strength. I did what I could to help with what I could. There were so many moments where I wanted to cry, but I was so busy being the anchor to others. Unfortunately, that meant being that to the one individual who caused the most tumult.

Grandpa, imagine the scene. Grandma is on one side; my mom is on the other. Holding the hand of one while the other one was clinging to me as if the floor was going to swallow her. Told by other family members to stay strong as they broke into hysterics.

"Being strong" started feeling like a punishment. If anyone had the right to shatter, it was me. You were the only father I knew, and you were gone. I didn't get a chance to take that final trip due to the demands of the very job that cared nothing about me. 

I found solace in my closest friend. He passed some time ago, but I will always be thankful to him for being the quiet amidst all of the noise.

When I returned to New Jersey, I did not have the opportunity to unpack my emotions. I trekked through financial ebbs and flows ... as did M.

I don't want to focus too much on M, but I will say that he did not keep the promise he made to you when he saw you. I would have left eventually, but the presence of Jazz and Gino somehow accelerated events. 

I still joke that you are my good luck charm. 😊

It was on your birthday in 2012 that I started as a temporary worker at the organization where I eventually became permanent. Sure, at a few points while being a temp, I worked another job. Heck, even after being brought on permanently.

The toughest part was during the pandemic when our organization got hit with the furlough. Fortunately, I was one of the people that was deemed essential, so I was still able to work three days a week and put in for unemployment to fill in the loss of income. Some people were laid off completely until the furlough was over.

Admittedly, having a hybrid schedule suits someone like me. I like the quiet of working from home and not having to fight the morning traffic two days a week. It's not that I'm incapable of being in a busy setting. I've done it for a good portion of my professional career. Dealing with different energies and personalities gets exhausting. Thank goodness for headphones.

As far as the side jobs... 

I was okay with doing the grocery deliveries ... perhaps it reminds me of the days when I was a cashier at Piggly Wiggly. Yet, that dried up because so many people were doing that to supplement their income.

Amazon Flex was beneficial because you could choose which shift you wanted to work, and they'd usually be in four-hour blocks. The downside is that you weren't told ahead of time which area you'd go to until after you scanned all of the packages. Also, you had to deliver them within a certain time to get a good standing.

Driving, especially with your own vehicle, can take a toll. I did stop because it was a bit much. I was doing that while working overtime at my primary hustle. It was not a good work-life balance, but it was necessary because of the crisis.

The side hustle I have now is something I've always been doing. The only difference is that I get paid for it. Currently, it's ten hours a week, but it doesn't interfere with my hybrid schedule. 

Even with all the curveballs, I feel at ease. At least as much as a future-looking, schedule-planning, overthinker like me can be. It's important to have people around you who are like you in some ways, but differ just enough to provide equilibrium.

Whether she realizes it or not, Jazz provides that balance. She likes to talk (at least to me ... people have been getting on her nerves as of late), and I've always been a listener. It helps that she is interested in what I have to say and that she gets my sense of humor.

There are moments when I wish I'd met her earlier in life, but I am not sure we would have appreciated each other. Or, if we had grown enough as people, if the timeline had been accelerated. I believe we met each other exactly when we were meant to meet.

I did not get the chance to be a mother in a traditional sense. There was a mourning once my marriage ended. I would have felt worse if I had created life only for the person who created it with me to leave. I thought about finding alternate means, but on this subject, I'm too much of a traditionalist.

For me, being an aunt to Gino is close enough. He accidentally referred to me as Mother in response to a text and didn't go back to autocorrect. Not sure if it's a coincidence, but it isn't the first time it's happened.

I know you're curious, but honestly, I am not sure where my relationship with Mom stands.

When I let everything go, that was the truth. It takes two people. I gave her my number; she doesn't use it. She likes being on Facebook; I'm rarely on there.

What she desires from me is unrealistic: for us to bond the way I longed for when I was little. She was too jealous of the bond I had with Grandma and you, putting me in a position where I had to "choose". There should have been no "choice". There's no such thing as a child having too much love and support. 

She wants to recreate the past; I'm not interested in that. I just want us to be in a place where we can be civil and kind to each other as people, as women. Then, we can work on the other stuff. That's a practical, achievable starting point for me.

You know what they say about leading horses to water.

Yes, I'm switching topics because I don't want to speak about her anymore.

Do you know it's rare to find yellow meat watermelon up North?

Jazz and I were in ShopRite (I guess the closest equivalent in the South is Kroger), and I saw some slices. A gentleman was looking at them, and we struck up a conversation. A lady near us said she had never seen them before. He asked me if there was a greater benefit of eating yellow meat watermelon vs red meat watermelon. I didn't know. I just remember the joy you had growing them. The delight when you took the brown wooden-handled knife and cut it open. Shaking the salt on top of them. Spitting the seeds out on the side of the foil pan, which held the gourd.

I didn't tell the man that. I just said I didn't know. He told me to Google these things. I knew he was joshing.

I don't think the man knew that I am older than Google. Even older than WiFi.

Yeah, I think this is a good place to end.

Catch you on Father's Day.

Love you.

❤

What Makes a Family

 

Dear Grandma and Grandpa,

Today has been a long day. 

Honestly, the last two days, I've had less than five hours of sleep. It's all for a good cause.

When I move in purpose, my adrenalin is high and interrupts my sleep pattern.

Old habit from my school days, I suppose.

I do confess that I cannot remember much of what I did for Jazz's birthday last year. Grandma, your passing came six days before her birthday.

I tried to be present, but in light of the circumstances, I couldn't.

Her birthday was sandwiched in between the suddenness of your death and getting together money to go to your funeral. I was not sure how I was breathing.

She understood. She felt your loss as strongly as I did. Elements of you, Grandma, reminded her of her own grandmother who meant the world to her.

I was not certain how I would feel upon the anniversary of your passing, but I wanted Jazz to have a great, memorable birthday.

We are nearing our second anniversary in this house (Time does fly.), and we have not had company. Well, apart from getting deliveries and the occasional service calls, of course.

I knew I wished for this to change, and I thought it would be a wonderful opportunity to have Andrew and his wife Leslie come to visit Jazz and me here (without her knowing) 🤯.

It was not an easy feat: to recruit mutual friends when the other party is under the same roof. Yet, I put the plan into action and prayed it would come to fruition.

As it stood, Jazz was still working at one place that had not been very flexible with her hours. She had to miss out on many holidays and wasn't sure she would be able to get her birthday off. I told her to at least give it a shot.

However, it was still iffy.

In the meantime, she discovered that a time off request she'd put in a while back got approved for personal time off she hadn't utilized. 

Honestly, Jazz needed this. Most days, she only had enough energy to come to work, look at a show, play a relaxing game on her phone, and then sleep. We barely talked about things that were outside of what she was going through, which I understood.

During the time she was off, she got the good news she was waiting for: a transition to somewhere closer (15 minutes as opposed to an hour) that paid more and could give her more weekends off. 

Once Jazz returned from her vacation, it was to give her two weeks. I was relieved because it meant that she would be able to have her birthday off after all.

It's funny what little tidbits one can remember. You and Grandpa taught me things that stuck with me. I don't think I could retire from my day job to do any kind of hosting, but I did hone in on some of the etiquette that was shown to me throughout the years. 

I did my best to pace out my schedule, but it was quite the balancing act. At one point, I did get a whiff of what Gino ended up getting sick with, but I focused on getting myself well enough to continue. Then, I also had multiple doctors' appointments sprinkled throughout. I almost thought I was running out of time, but all I could do was the best I could.

The day before Jazz's birthday, we celebrated her new career. Sure, she has been in many fields before, but what she is doing now is where she is thriving. We never got the downtime to celebrate any of her other achievements before, so I was glad we were doing so now.

No pictures or huge fanfare, just she and I sitting down, connecting in a way we hadn't since all of the changes on both of our ends. 

After doing this, I did let her know I'd have to go back out. Jazz looked at me strangely. She knows most of my routines and working out on Saturday nights wasn't one of them.

Luckily, by the time I returned, she had retreated to her room, and I could sneak in the cake and the decorations.

During that day, Andrew and Leslie were checking in on last-minute things, and I was responding while making sure that Jazz was none the wiser.

Normally, I would feel a sense of anxiety, inviting others into my space. I'm not usually one to host events or anything. Yet, Andrew and Leslie came to visit when we were at the other spot, but it wasn't as zen because that spot didn't feel like home to me ... like this one does.

Side Note: You two would have loved Andrew and Leslie.

I just felt a sense of anticipation and hope.

Hoping that Jazz would be happy. 

Hoping that you and Grandpa would be looking down and feeling proud of me.

Hoping that I would feel the joy and satisfaction of my new family being together: the symmetry of home finally coming to life tangibly and intangibly.

I believe that happened today. 

I was able to push through after my recent knee injections. I'm feeling the effects of overexertion now but I had just enough moxy to pull things off.

My brain and body are weary but my Spirit is full and thankful.

I just had to share this.

Love you both.

To Simply Show Up (When You're Not In The Spirit)

 

Dear Grandma,

I woke up this morning.

I am breathing.

I am feeling the aches and pains related to the drop in temperature.

I paused so many times in my morning routine, but I eventually got going.

For the past few days (no, even longer, well over a month), the phrase, "Simply show up" has been a whisper in my dreams before I open my eyes. That is what I have been attempting to do since November.

I sit here wondering if checking out (not literally but emotionally) would have been easier.

I spent last month getting myself ready. I was trying to manifest all the courage, positivity, and determination to show up for the tribe. We were having company and I was doing the best I could to show up as the lighter me while feeling heavy.

The incident (I now deep the Sassy Southern Stereotype Saga) took so much out of me.

Yes, there is a crossroads over the swiftness of action and how it was handled.

Yet, it went deeper. I spent all of the week being at my most vulnerable, and truthfully when that happened, it made me regret doing so and being so.

I haven't fully reset. It has nothing to do with external forces but the turmoil it caused within.

A shattering ... yeah, that's the closest description that makes sense.

Even this month, I have "shown up".

From going to work holiday gatherings to donning Christmas colors and sweaters, I have tried to manifest the cheer and joy to match my festive looks. I even visited the stores for cards, stockings, and gifts, believing the trips could unite a spark.

My response to Christmas music has been to switch the station or put in my earbuds to block out the melodies. I can't bear them ... not this year. 

For me, Christmas has never been about gifts. Grandma, you know I have never been one to throw a tantrum about a gift I never received.

Christmas has always been about warmth and togetherness.

You and Grandpa were that warmth. Just hearing your voices and being near your energies meant everything. I did not want for anything.

It stopped feeling like Christmas with Grandpa's passing. Each year after his death, we would speak about him to elevate our spirits. 

Then you left.

I have no close family members with whom to share our memories.

This is the month Mom is consumed with Junior's loss; she is absent and unavailable. I have shed all the tears over a healthy bond that may never be.

Everyone else has their extended families and traditions, and like you, Grandma, I've never been one to rain on a joyous parade. 

The countdown to Christmas is on, and I cannot predict my countenance.

I have one more day of work, then off until the 27th.

Jazz works all week.

Gino has the adult day program for most of the week, except for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.

Who (in my immediate circle) would have the time to spare for the nostalgia? Apart from the Creator?

Showing up ... perhaps it may not be enough this year ... but it is the best I can do at the moment.

Happy Heavenly Upcoming Christmas to you and Grandpa.

Miss you.

❤️

Perception: Unspoken Rules

 

Dear Grandma,

This is not the post I had in mind to write. No worries; I will write that one and schedule it for a special day. However, the above graphic is the closest to matching where I am at the moment. 

The day started off rough. What I thought was just extended muscle soreness from working out is shaping into an arthritic flare-up. This means I will have to take prescription medication since the over-the-counter remedies have not been effective. Also, I was experiencing digestive upset ... more from the reintroduction of festive eating than anything. I decided to skip going to the gym; even without the soreness, it would not have been effective anyway.

By the time 9:00 rolled around, I wasn't hungry. My stomach was agitated, but I was open to having hot coffee.

While I was sipping my coffee, Jazz received a call from one of her family members, and the discussion of Thanksgiving came up. This family member commented that she was glad that one of her friends made the Sweet Potato pie because she said that her making the pie wouldn't be the same as a Southern black woman making the pie. 

My ears perked up at the comment. I wasn't upset yet, but I was wondering what she meant by the comment. However, I didn't want to be rude. Jazz and the family member were on video call, and the phone was facing so that only Jazz could see her. 

This family member continued to associate a Black Southern woman's rendition of sweet potato pie as something that's sassy and has attitude. That the sweet potato pie could hit her in the face. This family member was giggling as if this was the funniest thing ever.

Grandma, you know how my fingers start tapping when I'm getting annoyed or upset?

Well, my fingers started tapping against the coffee cup. Jazz has been around me for soon-to-be ten years now. She knows my unspoken mannerisms of agitation. Yet, since it's her family, I felt it wasn't my place to address this low vibrational, stereotypical, not remotely funny joke.

Instead, Jazz said, "So the pie was going to hit you in the face, huh?"

I went hot and cold at the same time. I was in utter disbelief. Some more emotions followed, but that was the very first one. A few moments later, Jazz said that she had to go to the bathroom as a means of the call ending because she could see I was very uncomfortable.

If Jazz had said what she intended to do to counter the disrespect immediately, it would have been one thing. But she is looking at me ... at my reaction. 

One of the things I've learned is that I do not speak when I feel hurt, wronged, and disrespected, not only will this manifest negatively, but I may become resentful. 

I was feeling a type of way, and I let Jazz know. There are so many layers that I don't even think she realizes. Her hesitation read as co-signing on the behavior. It was worse when she low-key tried to joke with that family member while looking at how it impacted me.

Grandma, you know I am the Queen of poker faces, but if anyone was talking slick to you, the location would not have mattered.

Jazz cared more about making things peaceful for her visiting daughter's last day here than the temperature of my emotions.

I get her viewpoint, but I don't agree.

There are respectful ways to check someone's ignorance and disrespect. She could have said, "It's poor taste to joke that way, and I don't find it funny" at that moment. Boom and boom.

The fact that the offense isn't addressed immediately allows the pain inflicted to linger.

This bothers me because I would (and have) never done that to her. 

Her daughter is leaving. Jazz will still be in this space with me.

I don't doubt that she is sorry, but I don't know yet how to move forward.

Jazz told me from the beginning that she considers me family, but she allowed her blood to disrespect me.

How am I truly supposed to feel like I'm family when in the moment to stand for me, she's selective in when that advocacy occurs? 

It makes me feel a way, and I can't shake it.

She's apologized and the whole nine, but the incident reminds me of the divide each time I defended her viewpoint of our connection to others, you know?

I left the house for a while and took a walk.

It's almost one o'clock and I haven't eaten.

I haven't taken all the medications that I should have at this point.

Grandma, I don't know what to do.

I'm not expecting perfection from any person. I never have. There are just unspoken rules when it comes to protecting those you love.

I didn't feel like she did that, and there aren't enough emotions to describe how that is impacting my energy.

Today, I am going to spend time with myself. I'm socially tapped out. I need to replenish. I'm going to pray for continued growth and healing. If this is the reveal symbolized in my dream, then I pray for the strength to navigate through what is next.

Until next time,

I love you.

Thanksgiving Eve

 

Dear Grandma,

The day before Thanksgiving is finally here. I did the best I could with the preparation.

My list was ambitious, but I am glad of what I accomplished. I did take the new mop out of the box but have not used it yet. Organizing and filing took a day longer than planned, so by the time I got to mopping the floors, I decided to wait until closer to Christmas to do a thorough mopping.

I still used the Swiffer mop ... well, I didn't want to not mop.

Jazz's daughter (the youngest one) arrived on Sunday. Jazz was all cool ... well, up until we pulled up to the airport. Then, it was all squeals, hugs, and waterworks. I am glad that Evie was able to come after all; Jazz did not want to get too excited in case things fell through.

It's Jazz's default: waiting for the other shoe to drop.

However, something told me that Evie was going to pull it off. 

I am happy for Jazz. She needed this win. There has been so much turbulence in the past few years.

I'm not saying this as a slight or even as judgment. It's just what I've observed. It's a distant cry from the person I officially met for the first time over ten years ago.

I'm not talking about the physical changes; heck, I did not even factor in the perimenopause, sheesh!

It's more what happened to her gusto — her overall light.

See, I always considered Jazz the optimist in our duo. There were moments when my thoughts would get so dark, leaning into pessimism and accelerated worry, but she would reel me in.

She would tell me that it'd get figured out, and many times, it did.

Jazz has not had the best luck with employment. It has nothing to do with being capable and not having the skills.

There are many factors.

For the jobs that required physical labor, their tenures were cut short by the chronic medical issues limiting her mobility and stamina. She also experienced jobs where staff was cut and she was let go. She did get to the point where she applied for disability but kept getting rejected (even during the appeal process). They recognized that she had these ailments but she was not "sick enough" under their guidelines to qualify.

I could say more, but I won't dwell on this. Except to say that it's infuriating.

Jazz is the type of person who wants harmony in all areas she is passionate about. This includes where she works.

Sure, many conclude (myself included) that this level of cohesion is almost impossible. Even at my workplace, I see more people coming to work for reasons other than enjoyment. 

Jazz's ability to go the extra mile is linked to how much she enjoys her environment. The moment things occur that consistently cause her sorrow, disappointment, and anger, she switches to indifference and figuring out an exit strategy. 

Grandma, I admit. I have mastered compartmentalization. Perhaps I have been burned too much by going above and beyond. Almost losing your life and being let go a few weeks after the trauma can do that to you.

Not that I am a slacker. I just focus on the task at hand.

When it's time to go home, I leave whatever challenges and worries related to my job at my desk. I sign off from work and reboot myself.

This is the best way for me. I know it isn't for everyone.

This isn't to say that I lack good interactions with people at work. I have found such a great treasure in Miss Pat. If you would have met her, you would have adored her. It goes beyond the Virgo connection. I believe she was meant to be part of my village. I'm more open to conversing with people and chiming in when there are commonalities.

Jazz has a soft spot for the special needs and elderly demographic, so she has preferred working in those segments. She has discovered that those segments (which should receive the most and the best care) do not get the care and attention they need.

This causes a tug-of-war in Jazz's heart.

Every place she goes, the clients love her, but the staff (yes, even the higher-ups) create the challenges. Therefore, Jazz winds up having to choose between being a mainstay for the clients and choosing herself due to the working conditions taking a toll on her well-being.

Jazz cannot compartmentalize. She has no poker face. The worse the conditions, the more her bitterness sets in. Her outlook dims. All I hear from her is what has gone wrong instead of the wonderful stories she'd share about her clients. Darkness and doom arrive daily.

Now, I am saying the words that she said to me those years ago.

I do want to be there, but I cannot engage with her heaviness while tackling my own. I expressed that I wanted no more talk of that place's doom, especially for the next few days. I am open to conversations about the clients or the staff she has a good rapport with.

I can't tackle the rest right now.

Jazz cannot be the calm when she is storming. It's okay. I do not expect her to be.

There have been moments when I've been internally spiraling and like clockwork, I'm putting out others' fires. Your loss amplifies the taxing of this practice: putting myself on pause while getting everyone else functional.

Telling people I'm not okay still makes me feel -icky. I'm unsure if that discomfort will ever go away. Yet, I've been able to do this more often, and that's an achievement.

I'm planning on returning to therapy. More so to have an objective ear and to keep me mindful than anything. I have not attended much since you've passed. Not since the therapist encouraged me to do a journal. I will contact her after Thanksgiving has concluded. Maybe she can squeeze me in before Christmas rolls around.

I took the cast iron skillet from the cabinet this morning. It's seasoned and ready for the cornbread. Gino doesn't eat the cornbread dressing. Maybe it's a texture thing. It's the only wet bread Jazz will eat, which is an achievement. It's my first time making it in this oven, so I hope it cooks the way I want it to.

Grandma, you would have loved this kitchen. Gas stove. Refrigerator with an ice maker. Plenty of cabinet space. Room to prep food.

The only downside is the sink (one compartment), but we have a dishwasher. I also bought a dish rack.

Jazz already shed a tear or two this morning. I told her I would do some writing; weirdly (or not), she knew I would be posting here (I didn't tell her which blog). I may drop a "Dear Grandpa" on the other blog, although I usually wait until his birthday or Father's Day. We will see what happens.

I have other things to do ... finish up laundry, have breakfast, get my nails done, shop for the rest of the food items ... not necessarily in that order, so I'll end this here.

Love you.

Upcoming: Holiday 1

 

Dear Grandma,

Normally, I would be winding down for sleep, but I have too much energy to expel. Also, I am waiting for my bedroom floor to dry. This may seem strange to you, but none of the floors in the house are carpeted ... except for floor mats.

However, it makes the house easier to clean.

You and Grandpa have been in my thoughts very often, even more so with the approach of Thanksgiving and Christmas. I am making something I haven't created in ages. Can you guess what it is? Yeah, I'm making the cornbread dressing this year. Jazz is going to try her rendition of a sweet potato dessert. Grandpa would definitely be a fan of that.

I know you aren't a fan of planes and the bus ride would have been too long, but I sure wish you had the opportunity to see where and how I lived. Sure, you expressed how proud you were of me, but to see that the guidance and lessons you and Grandpa provided paid off ... that's a different swelling of the heart.

I am doing my best to be in the holiday spirit. To do so has been rough. 

We are having company for Thanksgiving, so in some ways, it's easier to get in preparation. I've taken time to re-organize certain items and put up other items for donations.

I attempted to get the VVA (Vietnam Vets of America) to collect the boxes, but both times, they failed to show up without an explanation. I was disappointed because I'd given them so much in the past. I could not understand why they didn't show up; it's not like they've never been to my house before.

I decided to donate to the United Breast Cancer Foundation. They should arrive on Monday to collect the boxes.

I found a great deal on the deep 9x13 Pyrex baking dish, so I bought it at ShopRite. ShopRite is equivalent to Kroger down South, I think. I purchased this one as a backup, since years ago, a Pyrex dish exploded while being used. It was the square one (8 x8). I still tease Jazz about it, telling her not to blow up any more glass bakeware 🤣🤣🤣. She has a cool sense of humor, which is a plus. The world is too serious in this climate, and you have to be careful what you say.

I am excited to test out my new mop next weekend. Sure, we have the Swiffer (I know ... in your opinion, not real mops), and it helps in a pinch. For me, it doesn't feel the same. I'm accustomed to water and using my own cleaning solution. What I like most about this mop is that the clean water is separated from the dirty water. Plus, there's a mechanism that rings out the mop. This is helpful because of the arthritis. Also, who wants to touch the mop head, even while wearing gloves? 

I hope that my pace is balanced. Sometimes, I aim to do one task ... then before I know it, I've done ten. Sure, I don't have to clean two rooms in a day. However, when I get into a rhythm, I lose track of time and ignore cues. I am doing better. Writing down my goals and breaking them down into smaller, measurable tasks assists in more efficient time management.

I'm getting tired. I will sign off now. Cleaning is therapeutic for me. I needed someone to share my achievements with. 

I know you get it; you always have.

I love you. I miss you immensely.

Until next time.

Pouring Until Empty

 

Dear Grandma,

Last night, I had a dream about your ritual on my birthday. By ritual, I mean, you calling to sing "Happy Birthday" and then passing the phone on to Grandpa to send his brief but heartfelt sentiments. Then, in his fashion, he would pass the phone over to you and we would chat. The length of the conversation varied, but you would always call.

If you did not call, then you would send a birthday card. When Grandpa was living, he'd always tuck something in the card.

I woke up with your voice lingering, and I couldn't sit with Jazz and be one hundred percent present. I longed to be on the other side of the line. Not to where it would generate worry, but I wanted to re-experience the joy and happiness I felt to be cherished, appreciated, and poured into.

The realization that I would (more than likely) not experience such a high level of appreciation gave me heaviness in my heart. I was reminded of the punctures in my heart.

No matter how many memories kept it beating, the reality of your and Grandpa's absences would disrupt the rhythm and/or just make it stop.

I hesitated in expressing this. It is autopilot for me to carry the heavier emotions. I've learned it's unhealthy for me to continuously carry emotional weight, but it's become more complicated than being vulnerable and transparent. Many questions fire off in my brain in milliseconds:

• Who should I express this to?
• Is this person in a space to be receptive?
• Will this person discount what I'm saying?
• Will this person take offense?
• Will this person try to go tit for tat on who has the greatest amount of trauma happening?
• Will I receive the generic response of "it's going to be okay"?
• Or the standard, "Don't cry", "Come on, you're better than this", and "You're strong; no need for all that crying"?

Even typing this, it's maddening to go through this cycle of questioning before feeling safe enough to speak.

After deciding that I wanted to express these thoughts, they tumbled out, along with the tears, which had already spilled during my mental gymnastics.

Verbally expressing my emotions never seems as streamlined as when I write them out. There are digressions, and expansions on the digressions, but I try to get back to the core.

The multiple takeaways are:

I miss you.

I miss Grandpa.

It hurts that Mom hasn't stepped up to be the mom she said she wanted to be for me (for whatever reason). Yes, this is magical thinking.

(Sigh ... Chalk it up to remnants of the little girl who optimistically believed it's unnatural for a mother not to want the best bond with her daughter.)

At times, being of service isn't enough.

I pour into others that do not pour into me with the same exuberance. Those people who solely took from me are no longer in my circle ... most of them, you warned me about.

The ones who remain ... who truly care about me ... it's difficult for me to express this.

What can I say? When you are used to not being seen or heard, it feels like magical thinking to expect a different outcome.

There are moments when I could do with a few more hugs and words of affirmation, even though they are on the lower end of my five love languages.

To know whom to get the aforementioned from, along with not feeling awkward about being the recipient of these things, is a struggle for me.

I want life spoken into me, especially those rare moments when life feels harder than death. 

The latter is one of those days.

I visualize things I may want to do or have, but your loss makes these things hazy. Your birthday melody and your voice made the start of the day brighter and the end of the day incomplete.

How can brightness still exist in a world where you are gone? Where Grandpa is gone?

I'm still seeking that brightness. 

I'm currently poured out.

Before, I would somehow turn air into liquid and continue to pour.

Now, I have to simply say, "I don't have it."

Every moment, day, and hour feels too long to take things as they come. It all comes too fast, and I'm swimming against the tide of my anguish.

Today ...  I'm just not okay.

I love you.

💓