Monday, July 19, 2010


The most dominate factors to my growth have come via my journey through love and pain. Those rewards did not come from the love of others. It was more about my ability to recover the love -- I lost -- for myself.

This post was inspired by:

A Smith,
Ms. Ann @ The Old Black Church

I love love love personal blogs. I view my blog as personal, but what do I have in common with the above women, and what do they have in common with each other? Well, they all have either lost a loved one, or are in the process of losing a loved one, or has written about the pain of supporting a loved one or letting them go. To some degree, I think everyone has been there.

My father never had to cut the cord from me. He didn't see my deepest struggles. He passed away at an early age.

Some of my greatest memories are the times I spent with my father. I loved to watch him play softball. Those were different days, they were slower times. Drug abuse and fatherless children were not the prevalent topics of discussion. I can remember going to far off places with my father and his softball team. Well, we lived in Illinois, and what seemed like a distant land, was nothing more than a small town or a corn field on the other side of the Mississippi River. But to me, it was a place of wonderment. Just as in the movie "The Field Of Dreams" the farmers built it and we played in it. Actually, I went to shag foul balls. Since the ball diamonds were carved out of corn fields or near a corn field, a foul ball, or a home run that landed in the corn, was worth 5 cents to the luckiest or fastest kid that retrieved the wayward Spalding. I was pretty fast and didn't mind getting scratched by the corn stalks.

After returning home, I shared my bounty with my brothers. Sometimes it would be as much as 1 dollar. A paltry sum by todays standards, but a kings ransom back then. The neighborhood movie cost twenty two cents. A fresh hot bag of popcorn could be had for a nickel, likewise for a small pop. Those were the days, 3 raggety black kids enjoying a day at the movies. I remember the joy on my fathers face. He was proud of me and my brothers, and pleased that we had a great time together.

My father was a man's man. In his last days I had to carry him to the bath room. He was to weak to walk the distance and to proud to take care of his business in his bed. I remember the look on his face - he couldn't do for his self. I still remember my loss for words. He didn't have to bare the pain of seeing me down, yet, I felt the pain of losing him. Although I no longer wear that pain, I remember what I had to go through to put it in it's proper place.

My mother saw me on the ground. She saw the depths of my struggles. I'll get back to her.

Kit, (above), has shared some of her recent struggles with her son. With the conviction and courage of a lion, she has shared her pain of a mother holding on to a son, that seems to be lost in a storm. She has documented that journey, which at times, has been very disturbing.

Many bloggers have gathered at her blog with words of encouragement and inspiration. One such blogger, A Smith (above), went there to share her story. She told of her lover that was struggling with drug abuse. Her lovers mother told her to run away from her son. It was her opinion that her son would drag A Smith to the ground. Even though Ms. Smith loved this man, she finally realize she had to let him go. She told him she couldn't do it anymore. They broke up and a few months later, her lover committed suicide.

A Smith dropped by Kit's blog to share a little compassion, empathy, and wisdom, on the process of going through her own storm. She said, although the ending to her story was not how she would have planned it, and was not without pain, she now believes the thought of letting go was much more painful than being in her present state. She said she still misses her guy, but the healing process began when she made the decision to let him go. Now there's a possibility for solutions, if only for herself.

How does a mother let go?

I am not a mother so I can't answer that question, but I know how my mother forced me to swim or die. She simply told me she had given it to God, and she was done. She couldn't do it any more.

After my biggest fall, my friends and family told me they had never seen my mother as low as those days of my turmoil. They said she was dying inside. While in my struggle, her feeling and emotions were never at the forefront of my mind. So, in retrospect, it was only fitting that she left me to my own demise. I am grateful that she cut the cord. She told me that my burial was paid and I had to sink or swim. Oh lord, did I sink, but I didn't drown. My gratefulness extends beyoud my obvious rewards, but moreso to the fact that my mother found the courage to release herself from my pain. There's an old school songs that goes... "when something is wrong with my baby, something is wrong with me".

I included Mizrepresents and Ann (above) because both of them have shared their journeys with me. I don't know if they've given any details of their lives so I will refrain from doing so in this post. However, through our common struggles, we've exchanged words of wisdom and words of encouragement. They may not know it, but their words have inspired me to continue to write and to continue to share in a courageous and honest way. Other people may not know it, but I know they cry... sometimes.

Maybe one day we will all sit down at the same table and have one big cry. Men do cry, and sometimes, tears come from joy, and hope, and the realization that it's gonna be alright in the morning.

Sometimes I’m up, sometimes I’m down
Oh, yes, Lord
Sometimes I’m almost to de groun’
Oh, yes, Lord

If you get there before I do
Oh, yes, Lord
Tell all-a my friends I’m coming too
Oh, yes, Lord

Nobody knows de trouble I’ve seen
Nobody knows de trouble but Jesus
Nobody knows de trouble I’ve seen
Glory Hallelujah!

By the way, they don't make music like that no mo'. It's another love TKO!

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