Hi my loves! It’s been awhile...It’s been a long time --- 🎵Since I left you without a dope beat to step to (repeat)🎵 I know Woman With the Jar of Oil has been missing in action, but y'all know, I still think in movie quotes, song lyrics and, gifs. So, er, um... It's a lot them. Nevertheless, let's talk. Your girl has been out here busy, working on her business, being a mom, living life, getting closer to God, being obedient to His will and Chile, whew chillay! Let me tell you about that obedience. God will have you all the way out here. That’s part of the reason I haven’t blogged lately. Nevertheless, obedience is the step towards the promise, and the way my life has been setup, over these past years, you know, being a widow and all, I gots to obey. I don't have any time to be losing anything else in my life. I need everything He promised me, exceeding abundance and all. So, we got a lot of catching up to do, and now that I’m back we will get into all of that in the upcoming blog posts, but first I need to rant. So, we all know I’m a widow, right? But y’all, apparently people keep playing me out in these streets, like they don’t know. Ok, let’s start at the beginning. In the first year of losing my husband, people treated me with such care. “She’s fragile, treat her delicately." They called to check up on me and see how I was doing. They were offering to help me, “if you need something, don’t hesitate to call.”

Tears, weeping, wailing, pleading, and praying. Yep, that’s death. It’s sad dark depressing and morbid, yet there’s something about it that is…dare I say beautiful. Depending on your part of life’s journey, you may disagree. That’s ok. I couldn’t have described it as beautiful early in my journey of grief either. Let me explain how my journey unfolded. You see death came knocking on my door and entered without any invitation, interrupting my life, interrupting my happy plans. Messing with me. Messing with my child and violated every expectation I had. Death (or rather grief) was pretty powerful… until I decided it shouldn’t be more powerful than me. One day after feeling assaulted by death I decided I wasn’t going to eat the cake no mo’. That’s right, death wasn’t going to “Ike” me any more. I was going to Tina Turner that @ss. You remember the court scene in What’s Love Got to Do with it when Tina and Ike Turner were divorcing? She said, “Except my name. I’ll give up all of the other stuff, but only if I get to keep my name.”

It’s just a day later and I’m already out my element. As I walk into the funeral home, it feels like death surrounds me. I can feel the heaviness, the darkness. Fear and anger creeps in my mind. I walked to the back “showroom” of sorts with my husband’s parents. There are a few caskets for show (about three). Take a sit… Seriously, are we sitting in a room with caskets? Um, ok, sure I guess I will take a seat. I know d@mn well you didn’t just hand me a catalog of caskets like it is a clothing magazine. Sir this is not the Newport News magazine (you remember that catalog)? He seemed comfortable… too comfortable. My life had just been turned upside down but sure keep smiling mister. Since you’re just handing things out all willy nilly with a smile on your face, how about you take this catalog back, wipe that smile off your face, and hand me a proper catalog like one with bathing suits or shoes or something else I might enjoy. I felt like a petulant child. I knew this man was just doing his job, but I just didn’t know how to be pleasant in a funeral home. I was a bit flippant. I hated being there, and I hated what the funeral home represented. I just wanted to be in the silence of my own bedroom, but I had to plan a funeral. This was a whole ‘nother level of adulting that I had never prepared for. Metal or Wood? Wait, I could have sworn he said paper or plastic because he’s talking to me like he’s about to bag my groceries. This is not normal, sir, you are talking about caskets. I’m going to need for you to depress it up a little. Take that cheer out of your voice. Fine then… Wood. Side note after watching Aretha Franklin’s funeral that bronze/golden casket was quite captivating. I don’t think I gave metal its just due. Cherry, Maple, Walnut, Oak? WTF? It’s not like we’re deciding on hardwood to match cabinets. Damn! What kind of medallion do I want on the casket? Uh, is that like a necklace or some kind of accessory for a casket? You’ve got to be kidding me! Are we seriously trying to dress up a casket to make it seem less death-y? Is this really necessary?? Fine, give me three medallions that say husband, father, and son. It was my first task at managing our money. Take a deep breath, spend wisely. What would Deryk do? My mind flashed back to a conversation we had one day while watching television (prior to the cancer) about a funeral. We both had wondered why the people spent so much money on funeral, and we said we would never spend extravagantly on a funeral, and that money was to be spent on the living, not the dead. I wanted to honor his wishes, so I was conflicted about the price of the funeral. Additionally, I didn’t want the funeral to be about pomp and circumstances, nor did I want the funeral to be used to appraise the love I had for him. For no amount of money could reflect the love I had for him, but just like with any business, the funeral came with a bill. So with much guilt and uncertainty I signed the check knowing that if my husband were there he might side-eye the price. Ugh, now I’m feeling guilty and grieving. The plan was to host the first wake in our residential city, and the official funeral along with another wake in our home state. But how do I prepare for this? It’s only a few days after losing my husband? I have to face people. What do I say to them? What’s proper “wake protocol”? Forget, it, I will just wing it! I will just code-switch and wear a façade like I have in previous conventions, conferences, and other professional things. I will be charming and pleasant. Yep, I can fake it for a day, right? And if need be, I can use the baby to escape. She needs a diaper change and I need to breastfeed her... great that will be my excuse when I need to bolt. Ok, let’s do this… Who are these people? Sure, they’re nice, talking about how wonderful Deryk is and how much they loved him, but Harpo who dis’ woman? And whatchu’ talking about Willis? I don’t know this story and I don’t know you. Lady, are you crying, like the serious ugly cry… girl, bye I got to go. I can’t deal with this right now. Time for my escape! Damn, who has the baby? Sure, she’s probably not hungry, but she gon’ eat real good today. Mama needs an escape and you’re the perfect getaway. Damn, they found me in the car…. I didn’t go to the second wake, the one held in our hometown. I just didn’t want to do the formalities where people came to me in tears and I had to console them. Or having to rehash the story over and over again, acting like it was a normal day. Or people asking, how are you? Great, having the time of my life. How the heck do you think I’m doing… uh, grieving duh? So what you been up to lately? Really, are you serious? Well I have been trying to keep a man alive, you know the normal? I had done enough of the pleasantries at the first wake. I refused to do it at the second one. I will save it for the funeral. I didn’t want to follow anybody's rules on my grief. I’m one for good etiquette, and I even taught an etiquette class once. But I gave zero ***** (you know the rest). Forget etiquette. I didn’t care what people thought or said, I had to survive and I refused to be pretentious or inauthentic about it. At the burial site, I really wasn’t mentally there. Not present in mind at all. I just wanted to take my baby and put her down for a nap. That was the last time I was at my husband's grave and I have not been back since that day. I'm sure I'm being judged for it, but I don't care. I know many like to visit a loved one’s grave site for comfort, but it is not a place of comfort for me. In fact, I can’t think of place that is less comforting or nostalgic than my husband’s grave. For me, the grave was the last resting place of his body, the resting place of a body that no longer looked like him in his last days, and a resting place that had none of his spirit and none of his soul. I didn’t/ don’t want to go to a place that reminds me of sadness or death. I’d much rather be in a place that reminds me of his life, like our house, or particularly our closest. I like to sit in our closet and smell his clothes and wrap the arms of his shirts around me like they’re his arms. For me the place of his burial could not be further from who he was. I wanted to surround myself with my husband’s legacy, and for me death was not his legacy but rather his life was. So, the closer I was/am to his life the closer I was/am to him. At the funeral I didn’t wear the normal “proper” black attire that is customary. My life felt dark and my soul felt black. Well, let’s say navy blue or charcoal, because a black soul sounds a bit hellish. But nevertheless, I didn’t want to clothe myself with the darkness when I already felt surrounded by it. So I wore a bright silver dress. I didn’t sit in the traditional first seat in front of the casket. I didn’t want to stare at my husband’s dead body the entire service and I didn’t want my daughter seeing her father like that. She was only 9 months. What if she reached out to him? How devastating would it be for her to reach for her father and he not reach back? I wasn’t prepared for her to yearn for him. I knew that wanting and missing her father was part of her future but I wasn’t ready for her to begin that journey of pain that day. I told myself that I had to delay the inevitable for a little while longer. After the burial and repast, our closest family and friends came back to my husband’s parent’s house. It was nice being surrounded by them. It was very fulfilling, but not enough to fill the hole left by my husband. Everyone was catching up with each other, laughing and talking, but nothing seemed funny to me. Nothing was even smile worthy (except my daughter). I enjoyed my friend’s presence though. They had so much life and hope in them, and I had none. Their lives were taking off, and everyone had started to become settled in their lives. Our lives had been parallel up until that point. As they laughed and reminisced, I looked around and realized that while everyone was moving forward, my life had just been stalled and rerouted. Once again I was out of my element. One of these things is not like the others, one of these things just don’t belong. I felt that “thing” was me. So, I removed myself from the group, and walked upstairs. When I got to the top of the stairs, I looked back at everyone over the balcony as they sat so casually on the couches and sofas, I looked at their faces one by one and realized that things would never be the same. Geez, that was a rough one to write. Thanks for taking the journey of the whole funeral process from the planning of the funeral until the burial with me. It definitely was emotionally triggering because of the death but it was extremely difficult to be reminded of that terrifying feeling of the being catapulted into “the unknown.” Planning a funeral was the first time I felt out of my element and from that point, that feeling became my perpetual existence. It was a stark reminder of the fear that crept in that day and infected me. I had one foot in the life I had planned beautifully, and the other foot in the abyss of a whole new world (cue the soundtrack to Aladdin). And as you might imagine, it wasn’t as thrilling as a magic carpet ride and I did so dared to close my eyes (shout out to the 80’s babies who caught that). I figured that I wasn’t even equipped to handle or plan a funeral, so how could I be equipped for this new life? But I look back at the moment and realize I got through that funeral, and with each passing day, month, and year I have gotten through that too! Do I still feel out of my element? Child, all the time! Lord help me, I sink often, and for a split second I panic. Falling into the abyss of newness (or anything for that matter) ain’t fun. Then I remember that whenever I was out of my element or sunk before all I had to do was keep swimming until I saw the light and when I looked up I was above water. So anytime I feel unprepared or out of my element, I just tell myself to look up and just keep swimming. Just keep swimming my loves because there is light on the other side of the abyss. Blessings!

Hey y’all! Thanks for coming back and thanks for the support. I’ve been gone awhile. After pouring out my little ol’ heart to y’all, it took a toll on my emotions. Thinking about all those tough moments was emotionally draining and I had to take a break… Nah, I’m lying. That’s what I was going to tell y’all, but I ain’t no liar. So… Truth is I’m tired (in the voice of Tamela Mann Take Me to the King). Seriously though, I was tired but not because of opening my emotions and reliving those moments of grief for writing this blog, but emotionally and spiritually. I was in a serious funk. That thang took a hold of me and wouldn’t let me go. Of course there’s a story for it. Want to hear it, here it goes… The last two weeks of July I started feeling really heavy. Of course, I have my occasional days when I’m “in a funk,” but I just couldn’t shake it. I’m all about the light and positivity. I value being pleasant and kind. Daily I speak against the negative, I pray for myself and others, glorify God, and live a life of thankfulness. Normally, most things just roll off my shoulders, and I rarely hold grudges. I let stuff go easily. It’s a nice consequence of my grief. I mean, when you’ve have dealt with the kind of grief I have, you have no time to hold on to anything that can drain you. Grief sucks the life out of you. Been there, done that and it was too much. So when negatives creep up, I actively work at removing it. So damn a grudge. Gone on dust your shoulders off boo (that’s what I tell myself). Well, the end of July, Boo has not been dusting her shoulders off. In fact, I had let it sit, collect and gather. I wasn’t trying to combat negatives feelings or thoughts. No taking the high road, turning the other cheek, or praying on it. I was just all in my feelings… just marinating in it. I’m talking straight attitude, rolling eyes, rolling necks, one hand on my hip, snaps in Z formation kind of mood. You know, the don’t test me, you betta’ move over type of mood? Did you catch that that Biggie reference? I was just so in my flesh. You ever get in a mood when everything bothers you? You’re just dissatisfied and nothing is right. When you want what you want, and you want it now! You know, the Veruca Salt kind of mood. You remember the spoiled little girl on Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Well, this month was my Veruca month. I wanted exactly what her spoiled little self wanted. What’s that you say? I wanted the golden egg, just like Veruca, metaphorically speaking of course. You see the Golden egg represented something unique, rare, precious, desirable and valuable. So, that’s right, I wanted the “golden egg” of a life. Of course, we all want a golden life and normally I feel pretty golden too. If my life were a movie, you would probably hear “living my life like its golden, living my life like its golden, living my life like its golden” as I shimmy down the street in red stilettos. But stop the music *record scratch* I’m feeling pretty toxic, entitled, selfish, annoyed, rude and downright angry. July: Where is the damn gold? Your life was golden before you lost your husband. But now… girl stahp!!! Normal me: I have daily challenges with life. Yes, the struggle is real, but I’m content and satisfied with my life. I’m happy. I choose happiness!

“I don’t think you’re over him,” “At least you’re young enough to still find someone else,” “Did you breakdown yet?” “Are you the twin who lost her husband?” These are just some of the insensitive things people have said to me. I know they mean well. Bless their hearts they try, but it still comes off as insensitive. Here I am trying to have a casual conversation and then out of nowhere nonsense ensues. Sehjfkefhekfjskjfnh… See that! See how weird that was. That’s what it’s like gibberish, just out of nowhere. It’s hard enough trying to have a regular conversation with strangers anticipating the dreaded questions. Them: Are you married? Me: Yes, uh, actually, no Them: So you’re single? Me: No, well actually yes… I am a freaking widow. I am both married and single. How do you explain that without going into all the awkward details? You can’t. Being around strangers can be quite comforting because it allows anonymity. I get to be just like any other person walking down the aisle. Great, no pity eyes on me today! Hold on is he talking to me... Stranger: Hi, how are you? Me: I'm ok, thank you. Stranger: Just ok? Me: *politely smiles* Yes, just ok. Stranger: Aww, come on now, why just ok? Me: *politely smiles again* Oh, I don't know. Guess I'm having an off day. Enjoy your shopping. *attempts to walk away* Stranger: *continues to push* Me: Here we go. My husband just passed away about 20 days ago. I have a 9 month old who doesn't nap in the day and wakes up every 2 hours in the night. I am barely dealing.

As a widow you go through so many stages. I went through countless stages…oh child, let me correct that, going through countless stages. Not to mention trials and lessons. Oh, the lessons! I’m so tired of lessons. It’s like God is handing out lessons (kind of like Oprah) to her audience, you get a lesson, you get a lesson, you get a lesson, but I’m flagging Him down, like wait, wait I’m the only one in this audience. Let’s share the lessons. In fact, I have someone in mind. Lord, you know he needs a lesson. Teach him a good one. But God is like, nope, it’s all about you boo, don’t worry about them, these lessons are for you! I tried to negotiate these lessons with God. God:

I knew what he looked like. He had already lost a lot of weight by then. He weighed less than I did. I doubt he even weighed 140 pounds. I was saddened by the weight loss mainly because I knew it bothered him. But also, because he would not be able to physically pick me up. Follow me, I'm not going where you think I am. Sometimes, he would pick me up and carry me over the grass. See, when I wore sandals, I didn't like to walk in the grass because I was scared. Well, I ain't never scared (as Bonecrusher plays repeatedly in my mind, shout out to SpelHouse homecoming 2003. That was a good year), but I was overly concerned that a bug would get on my feet. A little irrational…maybe! Even my husband would scoff at my little quirk (albeit playfully), I knew he liked carrying me. It was one of our things, and I wasn't ready to lose "one of our things." The weight loss was scary, heartbreaking even, but I dared not let him know. Two days earlier, the hospice nurse sat at my dining table and implied the end was near for my husband. I didn't care what she said; I still had faith for a miracle. That's why it was called a miracle. I was his wife, his rib. We were one! So, I decided my faith would create his miracle. If I couldn't believe for a miracle, who would? I took my vows "in sickness and in health...until death do us part" very seriously. But, I was ready to fight death, and I was going to do it by faith, even if no one else did. They didn't believe he could make it. Who is "they"? Family, friends, doctors…a lot of people. On the other hand, I was going to have faith until his very last breath. All everyone else saw was a man on the verge of dying, but not me. They wanted to make him comfortable in his last days. I wanted him uncomfortable. I know that sounds harsh. Let me explain! He was not the kind of man who would be complacent. He was always moving up the ladder, "on to the next." So, I was like, "you about to be on to the next part of our life together and that ain't gon' be death." I firmly believed that. I could not allow him to be complacent with the idea of dying. Still, I didn't show much emotion. I remained steady.Unfortunately, on July 9, 2014 the hospice nurse was right, the end was not only near but it was imminent. That day started off well. I had listened to music and danced around my room. My husband had eaten an apple that day, I felt optimistic about it since he was barely eating. Things were looking up…at least that's what I thought. It was after 10pm. My daughter and I went to give my husband a kiss goodnight. "Pressy, give daddy a kiss." She leaned her little body down and kissed him while I was still holding her. Then, I leaned in and gave him a kiss as I said, "Goodnight, I love you." "I love you too baby." Those were the last words he said to me. I took Pressy up to put her down for the night. I finally got her to sleep. Then, I went downstairs to re-fill my water bottle about 11:30 pm. My mother-in-law called me with a sense of urgency in her voice. As I walked in, it was happening, he was dying right before my eyes. I stood there with my water bottle in tow. His body did this jerking motion. Then he looked at the right corner of the ceiling, and then he was gone. He was literally alive one second and in the next second he was gone. I'm sure it was not a long time but the time stood still. I stood still! His mother was on the right side of the bed, and his dad was on the left side. I was at the foot of the bed. I said quietly, "What does this mean?" Thinking about it now, it was such a silly question. But I guess I just had to hear someone say it, to confirm what had happened. My mother-in-law calmly and sweetly said, "He's not here with us anymore baby." I began to shiver. My father-in-law said, "Maybe you should sit down." I sat quietly. I did nothing. I stared at my husband's lifeless body. He did not look like himself. He really looked like a dead body and it was in that moment, I realized just how sick my husband had been, and in the next moment I realized my faith had failed me. Eventually, I got up and called my sister, and for the first time I said the most horrifying words I could ever imagine, "Deryk just died." That was the first of many calls I had to make. The nurse, the funeral home, our friends… The funeral people (I don't even know what they're called) rang the doorbell. They had on black suits. I mean seriously, it was midnight; did they sleep in those clothes? The funeral people told me they could not fit their stretcher through the door, so they would have to carry him out in their arms. There was no way I could stand there and watch them carry my husband's lifeless body the way he carried me over the grass. That was our thing. So, I picked up my water bottle and I finally took the sip as I walked upstairs to our bedroom and realized "our thing" was gone… Woosah! Exhale with me. Y'all that was intense for me. I don't know if that was heavy to you, but child that thing almost took me back. But nope, uh uh, I gots to lighten this up! The next post, we are keeping it light because this ish is too heavy to stay in day after day. See you later!!!!