Four Turning Thirty: My Daughter’s Big Plans For Her Birthday

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Happy New Year!

It’s been a while and there is plenty to catch up on and I will make sure to do so for real.

Cydney is turning four on Saturday. Ever since January 2nd this has been virtually all that she’s concerned about. Every commercial that comes on Disney Jr is followed up with “Can I have that for my birthday?” She’s not being annoying about it; she’s just excited because she knows it’s Cydney season (Well, every day is but it really is come February).

Cydney is focused on becoming a big girl. She’s potty trained; but we’re still working on the overnight bathroom scenario. She says that when she turns four she’s not doing that anymore. She’s also getting herself dressed, picking out her own clothes, and bathing herself as of Saturday. Typical toddler things that she’s saying because it’s pretty normal to want independence at the tail and of three.

Cydney is definitely an old soul. For the last three weeks she made it clear that four years old is her coming off age. She’s going to be an adult. I have been informed that she will be growing hair on her legs because big girls have that. While getting her ready for her bath she told me “When I turn four I’m growing scabs” while pointing at her chest. She was dead serious. Apparently four means becoming a woman.

I find humor in the things that Cydney says because she isn’t joking. There is no comedic undertone in the statements that she makes. Because I think she’s been here before, I’m thinking these moments are the older spirit seeping out. She speaks her mind and is clearly observing things that she sees and is articulating what she seems to have thought out thoroughly.

In three days my daughter will be turning thirty. How do I know this? She told me.

Three Years Later and a Phone Call From Heaven

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We remember the days that people die more than birthdays. Why? Because we weren’t there for the birth of our friends’ and loved ones. But we do remember where we were and what we were doing the moment that we received the news that they are no longer with us on earth.On Monday December 8, I received a notification on Facebook from a photo I posted a year ago that same day. It was a picture of Timile and I standing in front of the Christmas Tree at Atlantic Station in Atlanta on December 8, 2007: our one year anniversary. It was one I hadn’t posted any time before so I thought it would be nice for Timile’s/my family, friends, and followers of the blog to see. Here’s a picture of it.

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December 9th is the day Timile Brown’s fight with cancer had ended and God saw fit that she came home. It is one of those days I will never forget not just because of the loss; but how I found out and that it was the beginning of a new life for me.

I have been doing the best that I can to move on; yet somehow I always felt stuck. I have said that I have healed from the loss but the truth is you never fully recuperate from this. Accepting that has been integral in pressing on like I have.

I felt relieved that someone had commented on the photo. Facebook’s algorithm placed it at the top of time lines so I didn’t have to say that it wad coming up on three years since her death. I didn’t have to say or do or even post on this blog about it to honor losing the person who at one time was closest to me…Facebook and the mother of my best friend in college did it for me.

I remember exactly what I’ve done each December 9 since then. I spent time with our daughter Cydney and kept busy. This year I was at home. All I could think about that morning and virtually all day was of someone else I had loved. I even gave them a call to say good morning. Coming to a realization of what and how I felt gave me peace. I wasn’t thinking so much about my past as I was the future.

This morning around 1am I went outside on the back patio and I did something I hadn’t done awake since November 19, 2011: I talked to Timile. I apologized for not reaching out and hoping she understood. I told her how eager I was to move on; but was feeling stuck with facing this and it wasn’t because I wanted to forget her…it was for me. I told her that I’m doing the best that I can with our little girl, how smart she is, and that she would be tickled by her antics that are a nice blend of the two of us (she might be a little ticked that I’m essentially raising a girl version of me).

Then I paused because I realized what I really wanted to say was “Thank you.” I thanked Timile for pursuing me when I didn’t think we were a good fit, for teaching me how to love unconditionally, for Cydney, and for all of the things that I had learned during our five years together.

After saying that I will make an effort to talk to her more often and goodbye it dawned on me what I really wanted to thank her for. I wanted to thank Timile Denise Brown for fearlessness. I didn’t learn this directly from her. I acquired-or refined-this behavior in everything that I have been through since. I’m not afraid to try, fail, love unabashedly, lead, speak my mind, or run from conflict because immediately I’m looking for restitution. That was the “Aha!” moment I was supposed to be taking from this all of these years. But you gotta go through the gauntlet in order for the lesson to be learned.

I went to bed around 2:30am. I had a dream in which my phone rang. It was Timile calling me. I asked where was she as if she were on earth but I knew where she was calling me from. I asked her how is it up there and she said she can’t stand playing Taboo with some of these people, inferring to how well she and I played as a team. She then said “Oh well.” The conversation was as casual as the one I’d had with my friend on the morning of the 9th.

We didn’t talk about Cydney. I told my mother about it this morning while Cydney and my nephew were eating breakfast and she asked “Did she say anything about me?” I said no wishing that wouldn’t disappoint her; but I think that’s because Timile, Cydney, and God got their own thing going on. If I wasn’t or don’t do right by her then she’d step in and ask me “What the fuck are you doing?”

We actually got into it about placing stuffing in a two-chambered tupperware container and I was telling her “Nah, I gotta make room for turkey.” I think this was symbolic of me saying that in this I have to make room for someone else in my heart. Stuffing is the bomb and all; but turkey is the meat everyone is really into. And I think this came up because when I talked to Timile earlier in the morning I had told her I was ready to fully love someone else and that the spot that was once hers I want to give to someone else. You know, it was hard as shit to tell the deceased wife they’re no longer number one but it was necessary to say for my healing and moving on. By the end of our talk she understood.

Actually, right after that the conversation ended because I sneezed. The call had been dropped and all that needed to be said happened. While I will always remember Timile, who she was, and will even continue to talk to her I think last night was about beginning the rest of my life with someone else whenever that day comes. If I wasn’t before or logically was before and not emotionally capable I can fully say that my mind and heart both agree and I have peace.

Some Thoughts on November

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November is my favorite month. Yes, my birthday is that month; but that just gives me an extra appreciation for it.

The prefix nov means that it is actually the ninth month of the year. It’s the beginning of the end. The leaves come off the tree and everything that we know about the current year dies with it. The most drastic weather change happens during those thirty days.

You know what to expect when November rolls around, yet it is highly unpredictable. This year we have had days in which the weather ranged between the 20’s to 70’s all within the same week. Buffalo got the kind of snowstorm you’d expect in January and was one that will stay in the record books for some time.

I bring all of this up because I haven’t written at all in the month of November on my site. Hell, I haven’t written much on my blog at all during the whole fall. It has been a month of transition with a lot of unpredictable moments. I needed to take some time to get myself together and adjust to my own life being different. There is plenty to write about and I will begin to share.

I took this time to focus on trying to finish the first draft of this book while raising Cydney. She’s doing well. School is really school for her in which we do homework every night and she’s been becoming quite the soccer player. She’s in a period of adapting to life being different. Cyd is still internally rectifying the not having a living mother and has a doll who is now her pretend mom. Yep…plenty to write about.

It’s December 1st, and the next time November comes around I will be three weeks away from turning thirty. I spent twenty-eight stepping out on faith and trying things that I didn’t think that I would or was afraid to do. Professionally I’m still hustling; but the writing has really begun to take off. I have had a few major companies call and inquire about my stories and services. Some have come to fruition and some I am being a little superstitious by not mentioning just yet. In my personal life I have done the same and am looking at the silver lining in it all.

The saying is “November, please be kind” or something like that…it always is to me.

If You Could Describe Yourself in One Word…

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Just now I posted this picture to my Insragram. That’s who I am. Uncompromisingly forthright and for the most part I unapologetic for being this way.

I either sugarcoat the hell out of things or I keep it too real. I care too much about how others feel so I’ll either tell them what they want to hear, say what I really want to say in a nice way, or I come off like an unexpected punch to the stomach. I wouldn’t say that I lack empathy, I just internalize the feeling because I don’t know how to express it. Some may say that I’m aggressive, I’m an asshole, or being inconsiderate of one’s feelings when I am. However, what no one can say about me is that I’m dishonest.

For the most part, people associate blunt with having a negative connotation. Not necessarily. My being this way makes me hilarious. I throw around one liners with random references and my friends can’t help but laugh because I’m normally saying something that is true or I’m asking the question many are afraid to ask…but they’re thinking it. I’ll address the proverbial elephant in the room in a light hearted manner. If I can make you laugh I can earn your trust. Once I’ve earned your trust my being honest makes me loyal. One can trust I’m going to give objective advice and love unconditionally because there’s no hiding.

The truth is that if I am frank with someone that means I hold you to the highest regard. I respect and see you as someone who can handle the truth. On a deeper level, I am revealing who I’m: guarded. I am blunt because by nature I am a very shy person. I hide behind my sense of humor and wit because it’s my wall. How people respond allows me to extrapolate how they will act in extreme circumstances and I know where to place them in my life. I’m reactive so my facade of sarcasm gives me an avenue to assess one’s character and personality. I’m looking for the unconscious knee-jerk response in which people reveal who they really are.  My defense and coping mechanism is also a simple psychological test. Because I’m reading body language, looks in one’s eyes, the speed or lack of response to a text message I’m always right. No, I’m always right. I can’t be hurt by someone who revealed who they are and they didn’t notice it. With that said, the way that I use being blunt isn’t aggressive; it’s passive.

In friendship, my direct approach is what makes me a good friend. I have a friend who had one foot in the door and one out in a relationship. She loved her boyfriend dearly; she wad just afraid to fully allow herself to fall in love. When they would get together and drink she would often get into fights and the insecure teenage girl would come out. So she was en route to to visiting him and was looking forward to it. I told her she’s going to have a good time until she’s had a drink and get mad at him about it. She said “You’re just going to pull my card like that?” Yes. What I did was tell her without telling her was to keep in mind this pattern of behavior because it could potentially be a hindrance on their relationship. Sure enough it happened. But she was aware of the pattern and was able to make what could have been a breakup a teachable moment. For the most part, people don’t like blunt behavior because it holds a mirror of one’s self up and they have to face their own fears, phobias, and shortcomings. The other side of that is that while one may be mad at the messenger they are on the road to self – improvement which is much easier to do when you have someone to be there with you. And that’s where the loyalty kicks in. I also treat people how I want to be treated: be honest with me. The truth may hurt but it’ll also set you free.

In love I’m the opposite. I don’t communicate at all. I’ll let a few infractions slide and then comes “Where keeping it real goes wrong.” I’m very forgiving so I usually get over being hurt very quickly. Yet, I’m going to hold one accountable and eventually once things have blown over I will say “Hey, this hurt me feelings.” Well, it doesn’t always come off that way and even when it does a fight usually will ensue.

Accountability is the reason I am blunt. In being loyal I’m going to let someone I care about know how they affect me so that they are aware of their actions. It is never for a guilt trip and for the most part it isn’t for me. In fact, the being direct is so that they are conscientious of how they treat others. Why? Because as a jerk I should be able to take what I dish out.

I’m also blunt with myself. I constantly put myself under the microscope in an effort to continuously tweak my own shortcomings. I’m actually my harshest critic so I welcome such honesty to strive to be the best person that I can be.

I love that I’m blunt. I owe my successes to it. No matter how compelling my story may be; what has made me good writer has been that I do so candidly. And to be frank I have the numbers to back that up.

…for the sake of humor I left the informal definition of blunt being a hollowed out cigar for marijuana purposes intentionally.

My Best Friend’s Wedding

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One of my best friends since high school got remarried this past Friday in Tennessee. He moved down there almost two years ago for his dream job and was in the midst of a nasty divorce. They had two children together and through it all he has been a great father to them.

In May of 2013 he was in New York handling some business and we went out. We were talking about life and I showed him a picture of this girl I had just started seeing and he knew by the way I talked about her she was a pretty big deal. He then pulled out his phone and told me he had recently met the girl whose picture he was showing off. I was happy for him. After all I know that he’d been through it was good to see him smiling again.

We talked every so often and I would ask how things were going. He was turning into a different man than the one I had known since I was thirteen. He was going to church, telling me about lessons he had learned from the sermon, and that the girl he was seeing was the reason why. I clowned him for turning into a southern church boy because I had to do it.

This past June he called me and let me know he was coming to town and wanted me to meet her. Of course I had to do it. He also told me that he was going to propose to her. I got to his parents’ house shortly after he got on one knee. I said to his new fiancé “I’m not here to see him. I came to meet you!” My friend couldn’t be happier showing her off. I’d never seen him be like this about a girl, ever; including his ex-wife.

Last Sunday I ran into his mother. I was driving with my mother to my nephew’s football game, I saw her going for her morning walk, and stopped her to say hey. She said “Have you spoken to your boy recently?”

“Nah,” I replied. She said “He’s getting married on Friday. So you should call him to curse him out.” Out of respect for his mother’s wishes I did just that.

With his story on my mind I sent him a text message Friday morning because I felt compelled to write about him and I wanted his permission to do so. He called me and I was there for him like a best man but over the phone. I asked if he had something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, and told him to be careful when he throws his bouquet to his bridesmaids.

After making fun of him for a little, his ex-wife had come up in the conversation from both of us and I said “Fuck her. We’re here because of one woman!”  This shit right here is a huge fucking deal! Today is gonna be the day you all will remember on the bad days and is the start of the rest of your life.”

I was truly happy for my man. He left the place that he’d known on faith. He had no idea what God would possibly have in store for him. He became a changed man and he was blessed with someone who wanted to share life’s journey with him. In spite of some fairly fucked up circumstances he never got jaded and took that out on someone else. He was willing to try again as if the first time didn’t happen. Now he’s her husband and because he loves her dearly, the father to her son.

I told him I better see some pictures, when he gets deflowered that night that it may hurt the first time but it gets good, and to text me the garter since I’m not there to catch it.

Without realizing it my best friend gave me a little hope. I had been through some pretty rough experiences that have made me even more cynical than I was before I met Timile.

I have been unafraid to try again, yet there was always a part of me holding back. Not because I was afraid; but because there was a phobia of the unknown. I’m not looking for someone to be a substitute to Timile that could never fill her shoes because that’s false.  My mother said it to me last night and gave words to what was just a feeling to me just last night. She said “Timile met you because her spirit knew it was leaving soon and she needed the best person she could find before she left.” Not that I think I’m the best at anything, but it was in fact true. I told her some stories about the beginning of our relationship that confirmed what she thought. I say all of that to say that while Timile was once here she isn’t anymore. I have been blessed with a wonderful little girl and as much as I would love for her to have a new mother that’s not what I’m looking for…Just someone who could be good company until one of us goes. For that I’d give her the world. For being there for Cydney I’ll throw in Venus and Mars as well.

I want to thank my boy for reminding me and solidifying some of my thoughts by just living and being an example.

Being Aware of Breast Cancer

One is never fully aware of cancer until it affects someone they know personally. We all know someone who has been affected by it. However, it just doesn’t hit home until that one person you knew one way begins to slow down, goes bald from chemo, fingers get dark from neuropathy, has scars from surgery, and gradually become a shell of the person you once knew before the end in many cases.

July 2011: I am living in Buffalo taking care of my family as my wife Timile is undergoing chemotherapy treatments. She was diagnosed as stage four February 23, 2011; nine days after our daughter Cydney was born. It had been a rough time; but we were making it and Timile was actually beginning to do better. Her cancer which metastasized all over her body had been localized to just being the tumor in her lower esophagus. Things were starting to look up.

One evening I got a phone call. It was my father. I don’t remember his exact words because they don’t matter. He told me that my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer and she didn’t want to tell me. In spite of what she had just heard she was still trying to be my mother by not giving me anymore bad news at a really hard time.

Fuck….

Within five months I became a father, the love of my life is diagnosed with terminal cancer, and so is my mother. That’s a lot for anyone to handle. At twenty-five years old I was barely a man myself and was virtually forced to become someone thirty years older than I really was. There was to time to process things of grieve. I had to keep it moving.

I remember being in the car driving somewhere with Timile and Cydney when my father called. I told Timile right away and I could see her feeling really bad and as much as possible trying to be there for me. She suggested that almost right away we should drive down to New York to see her.

Sometime in August I recall being on the phone with my mother. She was just venting to me about how she felt. She didn’t want to do surgery. The idea of possibly having a mastectomy was devastating. In theory, I understood because to her it meant losing part of what makes her a woman. We talked for a while; well she talked and I listened. By the end of the conversation I said to her something like “Look, I understand. Be thankful that surgery is an option. What I wouldn’t trade for surgery to be an option.” She was silent. It was one of those moments when I had really felt life was about to be different. Keeping it real with my mother based on my own experience was one of those moments that made me realize I was a grown-ass man.

Moving back to New York shortly before Timile died was hard. It was difficult to relive what I just went through immediately after Timile succumbed all while fighting to get my daughter back. The silver lining was that all that I had been through made things a little easier for her. If she needed to talk to someone I understood and could tell her about the process. When something new came up I was able to relate as much as humanly possible.

As I had said before, my mother was still trying to be my mom by looking out for my mental well-being. I may have driven her to surgeries; but she knew I couldn’t really visit her in the hospital. I just couldn’t do it.

My mother didn’t want me to take her to chemo, either. That was probably the most emotionally experience for me. It was May 3, 2013 and I had just met a girl about two weeks earlier. We were going out on our second date within three days and something inside of me felt like she was someone special. My mother knew that this was a big deal and offered to watch Cydney after she had chemo. She was adamant about me not taking her. Her plans had fallen through and I had to do it. Watching her get hooked up, her metaport being flushed, and sitting in that chair that I had done every two weeks for six months two years prior was hard.

While I was in the present moment with my mother I had flashbacks of sitting with Timile. I laughed and joked with her through it. The moment had felt like life was coming full-circle. Here I was sitting with my mother undergoing a process that reminded me of how I lost my partner…in order to begin the process of my own healing and moving on. It was as if God was giving me a mental and emotional cup-check before I got back in the game. By all means it was mentally, emotionally, and spiritually taxing. But through the whole experience I mostly thought about how excited I was to see the girl in a few hours thinking she must be some kinda special for me to go through this…

It is October 7, 2014 and my mother is cancer free and is celebrating another birthday. It’s her first birthday without her mother and I’m sure that is on her mind. But I know one of the reasons that her mother stayed around as long as she did was that she wasn’t leaving earth until her oldest daughter was out of the woods. That’s what mothers do.

Because my mother is going through her own personal struggles she can’t and isn’t always available; but I know in her own way she is doing the same for me. I may not be a mother but as a parent this experience may have been one of the most valuable lessons I have ever learned from her. The other day my mother told me out of nowhere that God doesn’t give people what they can’t handle and that this road that He made for me was because I could handle it. My daughter by all means is a firecracker and handling her under such circumstances means God must think pretty highly of me.

Happy Birthday, Mom.

Love is Not Patient…

“I don’t take any days off.”  Timile didn’t have any response to that statement.  I had finally shut her up.

It was the summer of 2009 and I was selling cars.  I worked seventy-five hours a week trying to convince affluent Atlanta suburbanites to buy Volkswagens for commissions.  I hated the job; but I loved the challenge of coaxing people into buying the product.  I would meet people who were just coming in simply kicking tires, have a conversation with them, talk in circles until I found what their needs were, and then make them think that it was their decision to buy the car.  I would get off of work at 8pm, travel forty-five minutes home, still give Timile an appropriate amount of time, be in bed by 1 just to do it all again at 6am with just Sundays off.

One day I was exceptionally tired.  It was a slow day and I felt like going home.  I left work early and called Timile.  I told her this was my plan and she was starting to get annoyed with me.  She was fixing to tell me about how as many times she didn’t feel like going to work and I would tell her to go.  For once I got stern and basically said to her “Look, you can say what you want about me but if there’s one thing I don’t do, I don’t take days off.”

She knew exactly what I meant.  I wasn’t just referring about work; I was talking about us.

“All night grindin’, I don’t take no breaks.  All day grindin’, I don’t take no breaks.”- Ermias “Nipsey Hussle” Asghedom

Timile could say just about anything about me.  Even though I can be lazy at times the one thing that I never did was take a day off when it came to her and me.  Timile moved in with my roommates Devin, Walter and I shortly after we started dating.  She had severe depression and anxiety disorder.  She was seeing a psychologist and a psychiatrist.  Being in our spacious townhouse was much better for her than being cooped up in half of a dorm room with dull walls made of concrete.  Some days she would just lay in bed and I would write her papers for her and she would edit them after.  I was doing this all while taking eighteen credits and working at a record label.  In fact, part of the reason that I left my job was because she needed me at home.

Whenever times got tough I never faltered.  My love and work ethic was truly unconditional.  When Timile had decided to move to Virginia and I didn’t have a job I did what I had to do to make things happen.  I sold insulation at home expos, bussed down motorcycles, helped my cousin with multiple sclerosis take care of her ninety-five year old husband for anywhere between twenty to one hundred dollars a day, and just about whatever I could get my hands on to help her get her own place.  I even talked to a friend of ours which is how she got her job when she moved back.  There were plenty of days that she didn’t deserve that level of commitment.  However, it wasn’t my place to say whether or not she did; my sole purpose was to love her through her mess and make shit happen by any means.

Many people quote 1 Corinthians 13-the love chapter-but they don’t really live it.  

“If I speak in the tongues[a] of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. 2 If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. 3 If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast,[b] but do not have love, I gain nothing.

4 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5 It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6 Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

8 Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues,they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. 9 For we know in part and we prophesy in part, 10 but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. 11 When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. 12 For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

13 And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.” New International Version

I have probably written this somewhere else before; but I’ll say it again: the proper translation isn’t “Love is patient.”  It is “Love suffers long.”  Patience gives a connotation of resilience and long-suffering is about persevering.  Resilience means to be buoyant while adjusting one’s self then going back to one’s original state.  It is an adjective.  Like love, persevere is a verb.  It means to actively endure, work through, and wade in deep waters.  Patience is a return to form after periods of stress.  It is a guitar string that is plucked, vibrates, and eventually rests.   Long-suffering would be the energizer bunny that keeps going and going no matter how many walls it bumps into.  Patience is empowering and can take one’s capacity to long-suffer to another level.

The difference between Timile and I was that no matter what happened between us I kept going.  To this day I remember things that Timile has said and done that hurt me and even left scars.  However, it never stopped me from loving her.  My day-to-day output never changed or faltered.  

I recall sitting in our living room one time.  Timile was on Facebook and she was looking at pictures of someone she had begun to date a little before we started.  She looked at pictures of him and his new wife at President Obama’s first Inaugural Ball and I wasn’t appreciating the look on her face.  She looked jealous and said something about them attending while we were in out apartment in Georgia and I was unemployed at the time.  She showed me the picture and I couldn’t bear to hear it when I was trying the best that I could.  I left the room and went into my little home studio and began to listen to some music.  Shortly after, she followed me into the room because she had kinda worked herself into frustration.  She said to me that this was who she chose me over.  That was the life that she could have had.  

Now mind you, we were living in the apartment that I had bent over backwards to get.  The lights were on because of the job that I helped her get.  I paid half of the rent and bought groceries.  I had my own apartment; but my lights were off because we had moved into her place and I had let mine fall to the wayside.  That really hurt.  Timile had been on dates and dated other people while we were living together.  I never did.  None of this changed how hard I worked for us.  That’s why she had nothing back to say when I told her “I don’t take any days off.”

“A lot of n****s ain’t cut from that same cloth.  They might give em space.  Gotta play it safe.”- Ermias Asghedom

Nipsey Hussle’s “The Hussle Way” had become an anthem of mine ever since the first time I heard it.  While I wasn’t from Los Angeles, never was in a gang, or sold drugs I just felt where he was coming from.  I played it heavily during the spring of 2010.  By the fall, I had to give it a rest.  After not listening to it for months I found myself driving around New York running an errand for a pregnant Timile.  As soon as the beat dropped I rapped every word as if I had those same experiences.  Timile didn’t like when I fell asleep before her.  So I would stay awake until 4am, wake up around 7am to do what I could to find a new job or hustle up some money, by the time she woke up it was all about making her pregnancy as easy as possible.  My family and her weren’t getting along and I was feeling torn because everyone was putting me in a very compromising position.  Each time I recited the chorus had become a crescendo.   I got louder and louder as I rapped “All night grindin’.  I don’t take no breaks.  All day grindin’ I don’t take no breaks.”

I still live my life the Hussle Way.

  

Why I Still Haven’t Visited Timile’s Grave Site

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I posted this picture on Instagram on Friday afternoon.  Virginia had been on my mind heavily and I decided to share some of my thoughts.  A couple of friends of mine told me I need to stop playing around and visit Timile’s grave site.

Why?

If one had been the places that I’ve been they would understand.  I found out on Twitter Timile died.  The family from Buffalo wasn’t allowed to go to the funeral because they were told thay took Timile away from them.  In actuality, it was them who pushed Timile away.  The day after Timile died I recieved a text message from her phone in which someone was sending off conversations that were between Timile and I.  I never got a chance to say a proper goodbye.  I spent five months regaining custody of my daughter because Timile’s parents said they didn’t know where I was and not only had been given a subpoena with my address on it.  From what I was told, Timile’s homegoing services had been changed to a separate venue because people heard where services were being held.  I had been called a drug addict, an unfit father, a deadbeat dad, treated like I was nothing to this girl but sperm and the one who took her away from the protective bubble they had created.  Fuck no, I don’t want to visit…It’s just a body.

If the tables were turned Timile wouldn’t want to and probably wouldn’t visit me.  She was way more stubborn than I am.  If it took me nearly three years to even consider visiting; it would take her a good decade before she did.

Like I’ve said it’s just a body.  Timile lives through memory.  The part of Timile that is living and my daily love letter to her is the little girl that I got ready for school this morning.

I have made my peace.  I have forgiven Timile’s parents for putting me through the ringer.  It made me into the man that I am.  Yes, I am cynical, guarded, trusting of no one, and strategic about almost every move I make.  But that gives me something to improve upon.

There’s a silver lining in everything.  I had to become someone else in order to adapt to life after Timile left earth.  If I hadn’t been put through the fire there would be no blog.  In these last two years I have entertained many; but most importantly I have helped a lot of people along the way.

When I took the picture above I was leaving court in Virginia for the third and final time.  I didn’t want to come back to Hampton, Virginia.  It had left a bad taste in my mouth because I had been there for fighting, supporting Timile’s best friend in which her parents had pressed trespassing charges and would have charged Timile as well; cops called on me twice-once with Timile-for the trespassing incident-because I was taking Cydney and leaving the state with her…

I’ve been through some shit.  There’s no other way to say it.  The places that I’ve been these last four years almost anyone who could or would tell me to visit Timile’s grave couldn’t handle where I’ve been.  If I actually told many of these stories that I type with ease and casualty would make many cry if I did so in person.  What would probably be the most disturbing part about it is that I can do so as if it were simply a story I heard.  Clearly I am affected by all that has happened; but I refuse to let my past be a part of my present or future.

I have been seriously considering taking that trip to Hampton.  With as much that has been going on in my life I have felt that even though it is just a body I should do so for me.  The truth is I could have the same conversation with Timile Brown ate her grave that I could as I’m typing this…She’s not going to say anything back.  It would be for me.  So if doing so is for me than I’ll do it on my terms.

…….

I took the last month or so off because there has been a lot going on.  There has been lots to talk about and I will be sharing my adventures again starting today.

Heaven Is On The Moon

Everyone thinks their child is brilliant. My daughter really is. She has an extensive vocabulary and her ability to reason often astounds me.

I was braiding Cydney’s hair last night. She kept looking around at things in the room and asking what was hers and what belonged to me. As I finished she pointed to these Russian figurines-the kind in which you can open up one and a smaller version is inside of it-and asked if those were mine. I said “Yes. Nunu gave them to me.” Nunu is what Cydney used to call my grandmother who passed away about six months ago.

I asked “Do you remember who Nunu is?” Cydney replied “Yes. She died because she was sick. Did they put purple rocks in her skin?” I quipped “I’m not sure.”

“She’s in heaven, now” my little girl then said. We talked about this for a moment. I was curious to see how this was going to turn out. I told Cydney “She’s in heaven, like your mommy.” Cydney then asked me where is heaven. I told her that heaven is in the sky.

“My mommy is on the moon?” Taken aback I said “Sure.” The look on Cydney’s face changed as she told me “I want to visit the moon and see my mom. I want to take a plane and go see her soon.”

“You have to stay here and take care of me. Your mommy is watching over you from the moon. While I take care of you, you take care of me.” That was the best explanation I could think of without blatantly saying that she won’t see her mother for a very long time.

“No! I want to go to the moon to see my mommy. I miss her” Cydney said. I asked “You don’t want to stay here with me, Cydney?”

“No. My mommy died because she was sick and now she’s in heaven. Heaven is on the moon.” Cydney repeated heaven is on the moon as if she was taking this abstract concept and accepting it as logic.

The look on Cydney’s face had changed from when the conversation started. She began to look sad. She really is figuring this not having a mother thing out. I know she loves me to death; but there is something noticeably missing in her life and she is well aware of it.

Clearly this is something Cydney thinks about. When I came home from work last week my mother told me that out of nowhere Cydney told her and a friend “Timile’s my mommy. My mommy died. I want a new mommy.” During our conversation last night she said this to me again. There’s nothing I can say or do about it.

This is a hard pill to swallow. As a parent you want to be able to do something when your child is hurting. Her behavior has changed because of this. I’ve been told that she won’t say good morning in school to her teachers and sometimes refuses to call them by their name. She’ll give a little attitude and say something that’s humorous but I have to be a dad and reprimand her.

My mother explained to Cydney’s teacher that neither one of them can really comprehend what my daughter is going through. I spoke with her teacher at the beginning of the summer when I first noticed Cyd’s regression. I’d told her that she has women in her life, but she knows they’re not her mother. I referred to a friend of mine Cydney has attached herself to, but she’s been really busy. All in all, everyone is doing the best they can.

Until she figures some things out she now has an extra special reason to look at the moon.

Honest Thoughts About My Past

I pride myself in being an honest person. If I’m asked a question I will answer objectively. I call shots the way I see them and the process in how I come to conclusions means I’m usually right. Most people appreciate what I write because of this.

I’m going to be real: I don’t miss Timile. That may sound harsh but a long time ago I accepted that she’s gone and have moved on. At this point I am used to her not being around. I think what makes this easy for me is that Cydney is young and has no active memories of her. I can talk about her or any hurt that may be associated with her casually and candidly because there are no unanswered questions. No what ifs, nothing I’ve ever wish that I could have said to her, or regrets. When I look at pictures of her or hear stories I can smile but that feels like a lifetime ago. I hardly know who the kid with dreads is in them anymore. I have scars and they’ve healed; but they’re more or less because of what I have been through… Vietnam flashbacks.

The other night I was on Facebook. I saw a picture and it made me laugh out loud. It was the first time I wanted to tell Timile something that I couldn’t. It was about a friend of hers and I wanted to say “I knew it!”

It was a fleeing moment that provoked other thoughts. Nothing sad or taking any trips down memory lane, or anything. I had begun to ponder of there is anything else I would have wanted to tell her. I couldn’t think of one thing.

When I think about who we were it wasn’t bound to work out. We were very different. We didn’t have much in common. Our time together was a learning experience for me to learn, grow, hands on experience in loving unconditionally, and preparation for whoever God did make just for me. Our relationship required so much sacrifice of self. I couldn’t be my unfiltered self around her. I had to pretend or ignore likes and interests of mine. I say all of this in hindsight because from 2006-2011 I was happy.

I looked at a few pictures of Timile that night. I see a girl in her early twenties. She’s a kid (for the record: I look at most people in their twenties as kids) and she looks incredibly young. That’s where her story ends: twenty-five. I have a little over a year; but I’ll be turning thirty in 2015. I am 100% sure that the person that I am now would not be compatible with her. Truth be told, there are people I have dated in the last three years who were a better fit when Timile and I were together. That’s why our paths didn’t cross then.

I think whoever I’m going to marry is someone I already know. We may be friends, acquaintances, or something in between. Like I said, I’m just calling shots how I see them. They may or may not have known Timile personally. But on my end, it’s not the elephant in the room.

Right after Timile passed away I cut my locs, lost 75lbs, and literally became someone else. The person I was with her and who I am have some things in common, but not much other than history and experience. I am more concerned about my future than I am my past. This is probably the real reason I can’t say I miss her.

I say this to say to anyone who has had extreme circumstances and pain to understand that it’s up to you in how you let your past define you. If it still affects your present, do something about it. Today’s a new day.

…Read It Because I Wrote It

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