Over the last three months or so I’ve attempted to write a new blog countless times with no real success in completing it. I wanted to talk about grief - because I know it all too well - and yet again it smacked the shit out of me at the top of summer on June 1st, when I watched my mother crawl on the floor next to my auntie’s lifeless body and just lay there with her. It’s so much more to unpack here, but that’s the problem- every time I begin to write I get stuck and start overthinking - is it worth unpacking? Is it worth sharing my trauma with the world? Hell, is it worth sharing my happiness with the world? What am I getting in return? Do I even need anything in return? So many questions and so few answers (which is also the story of my life).

When you lose someone or something, there is space for you to gain something else. Grief can make that hard to see though. When the loss of something or someone is so great that it’s literally indescribable, that it literally makes you helpless and ready to say fuck it all, there’s no point in continuing on - you don’t even consider what there is to gain. Because the one thing that will always remain true is that when it’s of real value there is nothing that can replace what you lost (by death or by life). Losing a bond with a parent, a sibling, your best friend, that one auntie that was literally your ride or die, etc. creates a void that can never be filled. But something I’ve learned is it’s not about the void or trying to fill it. What there is to gain is not about replacing what you lost at all. What there is to gain has everything to do with your choice to sink or swim. Naturally, you will do both at some point in your journey. But which side do you want to end up on? Life is one big cycle of shit we can’t control, shit that isn’t fair, shit that makes our hearts beat a rhythm we can’t explain and our stomachs flutter with the butterflies of unfamiliar territory. What there is to gain is perspective, and that perspective is meant to complement our grief. It’s meant to complement our growth and catapult our healing but we have to let it.

Thinking about everything I’ve ever been through, but especially lately - I don’t really want to talk to be honest. At least not to people that I fear or know won’t get it. I want to talk to the people that I miss. The people that I could call whether I had good news or bad news. The people I could spend eight plus hours just talking about life with. The people that are the reason I have this void in the first place. And that makes me not know what to say, because I can’t control that feeling or circumstance. I can control how I respond to it though, and I’m working on it. Finding that balance between pushing through and making space to heal instead of crashing out is hard. I was taught to hustle. To work. To be strong. To run shit. But I get too caught up in doing that and it’s a nice distraction for a while, until I get a day off and I’m burnt out. I’m exhausted and all of the thoughts and empty feelings of loss and grief cripple me and confine me to my bed. It’s those experiences however that ended up highlighting what I could gain and taught me to start with shifting my perspective. So many times of going through life-changing loss you start to recognize depression a tad easier, and that’s when I ask myself - do I want to sink or swim? Some days I choose to sink, most days I choose to swim, but everyday I choose to honor God’s plan for me and the spoken and unspoken promises I’ve made to those that aren’t in my life anymore.

I still don’t know what to say, what to write, what to share with the world right now. But even when I’m stuck in place, I’m working because I’ve already committed to the decision that where I am now is not my final destination. So in the meantime, while I find my words, my creative spark and everything else again, I find comfort in the memories of those I’ve lost since a child. I take pride in honoring those that have impacted my life, in ways both big and small, and allow their legacies to inspire me to remember to swim when I want to sink. I remain steady in prayer and spirituality for myself and for those that I love that have been impacted by these same losses, especially knowing that some of them were impacted far more than me. I don’t know what else life has in store, and I will do my best to make the best of the rest of the journey. Honoring those that have gone home is not just for myself, but for my family, my friends, and my community - simply, everyone that I love. If you’re reading this I love you, and if you see the name of someone you love below know that I loved them too, and I thank God for their impact on my life.

This is for: Jerry Harris. Florence Woodfork. Jewell Beasley. Rosalie Woodfork. Major West Jr. Jalen Harris. Gregory Hines Jr. Shirley Jean Scott. Anthony Woodfork. Jarvis Smith. Matthew Hicks. Mansour Njie. Jerry Woodfork. Tahita White. William Smith Jr. Justin Burnley. Mark Brown. Minnie Washington. Jane Williams. Arkadelphia Campbell. Howard Woodfork Jr. Louise Redmon. Jacque Jackson. David Turner. Carolyn Boykins. Marcellus Martinez. Jordan Ivy. Jamaal Stanciel. Mary Payton. Inza Coulibaly. And the many others that may no longer be in my current realm, but have provided me with something or someone that has shaped the woman I am today. Here’s to the journey…

Thoughts from Not Knowing What to Say.

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