Sunday, March 20, 2011

Journey through grief: Slushy Gray-Wintery White

A few months ago, while rummaging through my moms extensive book collection I came across the book,  Some Love, Some Pain, Sometime by J. California Cooper.  The title instantly stood out at me because of my circumstance.  I am becoming a lover of all things black and white, beautifully bound hard covers can brighten the darkest days.  It's the feel of it, the look of it, the spell of a good book that intrigues me.

I first encountered, the greatest book of them all, B-I-B-L-E, bound in black, inlaid with gold on burgundy and blue upholstered wooden pews.  I didn't know the value of a good book then, and black n' gold often functioned as the easel for my greatest creations, my muse peppermint sticks and lemon-drops.  The Great Book is more than a muse now, it is the center of my life, and at times like now the only thing that I can lean upon.

This week was filled with alot of love, and alot of pain as healed wounds were reopened. As many of you may know four years ago, I lost a huge chunk of myself, when my grandmother died.  The healing process isn't over, though I have come very far.  Losing a matriarch in the black community is far different than loosing a father figure. Often mama and grandma are the only guardians around; they care for you when you skin ya' knee, bust ya' head, even come to the rescue when old girl down the street tryna' mess witchu'.  They often function as mama and daddy.  I am not sayin' that this is the best way, but it is what it is, and it is how it is in many African American homes.

When my Ma-Ma (Ma-muh is my mother, you may not be able to tell the difference, but there is one) I lost a piece of self.  My identity was nurtured by a woman who was the first to lay eyes on me out of the womb and cut the cord of nourishment, only to feed my hunger later.  It was always Nette' and Jeema. Our adventures took us by car, by air, by plane, by train across the States.  Yes my mom was there, but because of the occasionally bickering, fighting, and the apparent similarities in personality, that's how people knew us.  The dynamic duo was torn apart on the slushy gray-wintery white February night when Ma-Ma was called home.  I know that she was in pain, I know it was her time, but that hasn't made the affect any easier.

As I sit her, clicking at the keys, wiping away the tears, I realize that I can't let the pain out-way the love.  The love I have, the love I've had, and the love I will have in the future.  The Good Book taught me that.  The ultimate application of love was shown in the pain of the cross.  For some heartbreak, but as the blood come's running down deliverance should be found.  I can live, because He died.  I can move forward, because though death surrounded me, God found me in the midst.

My journey hasn't ended yet, and as I got the call that several close friends lost their Ma-Ma's and Ma-Muh's my heart broke. I know that they will experience a whole lotta' pain, but they will overcome by His wintery-white love.

Najeema Iman, I AM Curly Locks
"I believe in Kingdom blogging!"

Some Love Some Pain Sometime - 1996 publication.

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