Tag Archives: family

Sep 5 2025

Love: What It Is and What It Ain’t.

My mother got admitted around midnight in July 2023, after a full day at the hospital. I called my girlfriend at the time, who is an oncology nurse, as soon as they took my mom in. She didn’t answer; it was late, she lives in Houston, I thought nothing of it and had bigger things to think about. She called me later that morning and apologized, sharing that my call didn’t go through her Do Not Disturb settings.

I left XXL Magazine in April 2023 because I was tired of being treated like a clown, knowing how much I contributed and how much of myself I poured into my work. We didn’t end on bad terms, but I couldn’t stay, it was untenable. I worked for OkayPlayer from late February until about the end of July. When that was done, I flew out to Houston to spend time with my then-girlfriend because I obviously missed her and needed a break from NYC. My day to day life was splitting my time (very unevenly) between handling a majority of my mother’s day to day caretaking needs, and working for OKP; I absolutely earned some time for myself, with my dad fully taking over my duties in my absence, with my sister coming when her work responsibilities allowed.

I was in Houston from about 6 weeks, a little under half of July and almost all of August, making sure to come back home before my mother’s birthday on August 27th. Somewhere around the middle of August, my mom texted me to tell me that when she went to her immunotherapy appointment, they discovered that she lost 15 pounds, and were scheduling an emergency CAT scan for her. I was over 1,000 miles away; I felt helpless. Every day I was in Houston, I worried about her, even with my mom asking me not to. I wanted her to be ok and I didn’t want things to go left while I was away, which was one of my worst nightmares.

After the CAT scan, they realized my mom was fine, her weight loss was solely due to her not eating enough, not any issues with her cancer, which wasn’t worsening. She was staying up late and and waking up later because she was watching the Olympics, even though she was fully aware she can watch the replays on my Peacock account. She did not care; my mom LOVED track and field and had no qualms with keeping her nearly 70 year old body awake at 2 am to watch it. All that waking up late cost her time to eat, and she wasn’t thinking about food anyway; she was thinking about the breakdancing competition on her TV. Of course, this aggravated me, but I laughed, happy that she was ok. I flew home about a week and a half later, making it home for her birthday. I don’t even remember how we celebrated or what she wanted; when your mother is as ill as mine was, you tend to just hope she makes it to certain milestones. She made it past Thanksgiving and Christmas, her favorite holidays, and this would be her second (and final) birthday with us.

When I was in Houston with my then-girlfriend, everything was fine between us. About 2 weeks after I got home, we were having a normal text convo, and she revealed she felt “weird” about a dream she had. The dream? She left me because I took too long to get engaged to her. I didn’t take this seriously because, I had no job and a very ill mother, there was nothing I could do about that. But I was also offended, because we had been together five years; I told her in year 2 she was the love of my life and that we were going to get married. I didn’t see anyone else for me, and the way I treated her reflected that. So for this “dream” (sure) to come up, then for her to act like I had no reason to be annoyed by how she was evasive about what the dream meant to her, blew this up. I asked repeatedly, in plain language, what does this mean, and she said “If you’re asking am I going to follow the dream, I’m not.” I wasn’t asking that at all. She then revealed that if she were to get to the point of being tired of waiting to be engaged in real life, she would “have to see how she felt in the moment,” which is a crazy ass answer. Nonetheless, the convo ended peacefully but I knew she was still mad, which didn’t make sense to me then and doesn’t now.

About two weeks after that (two week intervals were very big for me in 2024), we had a text convo about my mental health struggles, the despair of my mom’s now up and down health, my changing family dynamics, my career issues; basically, everything bothering me. I was the lowest I had ever been in my life. I was honest with her about how terrible and depressed I felt, like things would never get better for me internally and externally.

The next day, she texted me and said “I’m having trouble staying positive about your situation.” It is one thing to feel like someone you love is in dire circumstances; it’s something else entirely to tell them you are running out of hope for them, when they already have little hope for themselves. It was such a strange and hurtful thing to say, but I was so upset about my life, I just moved on. She didn’t try and clean it up or anything; she felt how she felt.

Over the next month, she would begin to distance herself from me, one time outright disappearing for a day and not speaking to me when I started texting her about my struggles again, then telling me she was busy with such things as watching the Netflix turd known as The Circle and working out. She was gone from the early afternoon until the next morning, something she does not do. When I asked her about it that morning, she acted like her behavior was normal and that I was acting weird for asking about it. Just a bunch of dumb ass excuses to cloud the truth; the terrible circumstances I had to face due to my mother’s illness, which I didn’t choose, made her just stop caring about me and what I had going on. My mom falling ill and music journalism collapsing in on itself changed my timeline for everything; there wasn’t shit I could do about that, and she knew. She was too much of a coward to say it was too much and she wanted to leave; she just became more and more callous.

This all culminated in her sharing that she feels a lot of “angst” in our relationship, mostly connected to us not having a plan for our relocation (she didn’t want to stay in Texas). The issue at the core of this is, she told me she wanted to move to another state; since we were long distance, the goal was to live together once that move happened. I told her since I have the flexible career (journalism) and she didn’t (oncology), she should look up the cities she can work in, then bring them to me and we use that as a starting point. She agreed. She then spent three years and only found 3 states, which I had to keep asking her over and over to give me. She spent years dragging her feet, and now, with an ailing mother and my life falling apart by the day, she felt it was urgent.

This led to her saying I “blamed” her for us not moving, 4 days of angry texting that led to her telling me she was not going to talk to me until the weekend (she shared this on a Wednesday in mid-October). I have expressed since the first year of our relationship that I don’t like the silent treatment/disappearing act, especially in a long distance relationship, because it’s unfair to me and also dangerous. If something happened to her or something happened to me, how would either party know if one half is intentionally ignoring the other? She knew how I felt about that behavior, and decided to do it for 4 days because she felt disrespected, something she would then not be able to explain when asked about it once she resurfaced. I wasn’t rude, I didn’t curse at her (because I don’t do that), I didnt yell, I was just tired of everything deteriorating, followed by vague answers as to why any of this escalating. She simply didn’t want to deal with her very real desire to walk because my life was fucked up, and chose to bullshit around that point.

We got on the phone that Sunday night. Longest phone call of my life. We spoke for 3.5 hours, but I knew my relationship was over in the first five minutes. As I mentioned earlier, she didn’t answer when I called to tell her my mom got admitted to the hospital. She didn’t answer again about 13 months later when my mom had to go back to the hospital late at night. I wasn’t tripping, but remember that she said she would handle it the first time. She called me later that morning and tested it like a day later; still wouldn’t work. She told me she would address it, and I moved on. I didn’t bring it up repeatedly, I really didn’t care since she said she’d take care of it.

Five minutes into that three hour call, I asked why didnt she take her phone into her service provider’s store and let them fix whatever the issue was with her DND. She interrupted me to say “…because I don’t have time for that shit and its not a high priority right now.” I was so taken aback by this answer that all I could muster was a “Wow.” You had a year plus to figure out why your phone literally doesn’t ring when your long distance boyfriend, with a sick mother, calls you after 12. I wasn’t calling to make kissy sounds in the phone, it was for an emergency every single time. This did not matter to her and I had to accept what I had thought for the last 2 months; the woman I planned to spend the rest of my life with, no longer gave a fuck about me. I kept talking because I wanted to give her the floor to share whatever her grievances truly were and well…..that was a ride.

Before we got to what she was upset about, she tried to defend disappearing for four days, before giving up and admitting it was excessive. Then she brings up us relocating, and starts arguing with and disputing that she wasn’t telling me where she wanted to move, along with not telling me when she wanted me to move in with her in Houston, temporarily, before a bigger move. This back and forth lasts too long, and out of nowhere she says “You’re right.” After my confusion, she reveals that she was “intentionally” not giving me any info on either move because she knew I was going through a lot with my mother, my family and my career. As if she was doing me a favor.

She made it seem like her leaving me in the dark was some sort of noble deed, after arguing that she wasn’t doing so. There is a way to discuss us moving, with tact. The answer is not to have developments, not tell me, then tell me you didn’t tell me because I was having a difficult time, which is indirectly blaming me for something I didn’t tell you to do. To be honest, I don’t believe this at all; I think it was just a convenient excuse. She wasn’t telling me and concocted a non-existent argument because she just wanted to go.

The convo continues on and she says something to me that I thought people only said in movies. “So you’re perfect?,” she exclaimed, after 10-15 mins of me airing grievances that she both couldn’t defend or explain. She tried to get me to “guess” what I did wrong in my relationship; when I refused and told her to say what she had a problem with, she shared the most callous shit I’ve ever heard from a woman.

Her first issue with me? She felt I took too long to get medicated, for my mental health struggles. I have generalized anxiety disorder and depression. I wasn’t angry, or abusive, or horrible to people…I was just sad and heartbroken all the time. I was afraid my cancer-stricken mother was going to die every day, I had no money, I was struggling as me and my family went through this uncharted territory; I was in pain. She expressed long ago that she was pretty much tired of me talking about how upset I was all the time, and that’s what she wanted the medicine to do; shut me the fuck up.

I didn’t get medicated for over a year because to put it plainly? I was afraid. I grew up being taught not-so-great things about taking mental health meds and I was afraid of side effects, personally. I had to push myself through that and decided to go get help when I couldn’t breathe as we waited for the results of one of my mom’s many CAT scans. Funnily enough, I was only given a low dosage of Trazodone. So, I’m being made to feel like shit over a medication that isn’t that serious at all. After I explained everything I said here, she said “That doesn’t make sense.”

Her next grievance was also ice cold. She told me she would have handled my depressive episode better than me. Yes, me being miserable over my mother being sick and the other stressors in my life, she would have done a better job than me. I was calm for the entire call; this was the comment that truly pissed me off. She has never experienced what I was dealing with, there is no comparison to make. She was angry that I didn’t ask how she was doing over a course of four text conversations; she bought it up when it happened, which was weeks before. I apologized and we were fine. For some reason, she bought it back up, and I was lost as to what she wanted me to do. It was never intentional. I told her “If I forgot to ask how you were doing, why wouldn’t you assume I was really struggling at the time?” She responded with, “Oh, I knew you were [struggling].” Very well then.

We finally end the call, she texts me the next morning saying she can’t talk because she’s behind in work because of our convo/issues last week. She then starts talking to me about when she wants me to mail her gift to her crib (her birthday was the next day) since she was going to be out of town at a festival in Atlanta. I knew about the festival, but the audacity to talk to me about your bday gift (which was never sent), along with you now having no time to discuss all that crazy shit you said last night, was insulting. She also suddenly realized she should take her phone to get fixed after saying it wasn’t important the night before; she knew what she said the night before about her not having time or prioritizing was both mean and bullshit. And no, she didn’t apologize for saying that.

I told her in that very same text convo that I no longer want to be with her based on her behavior as of recently and the things she said on that call. I gave her the option of getting on the phone to talk, but if she didn’t that’s fine too. Not only did she not call, she didnt text, she didn’t say another word.

Things were bad. Then my mom called me into her room to tell me she had to go back on chemo, but did not want to tell me because she knew I was upset about my breakup. The illness that would eventually take my mother away from me was worsening, and she still thought to protect me first, by waiting a couple days to tell me. I now finally knew the difference between someone who truly loves you, and someone who just says it.

I have not heard a word from someone I dated for 5 years, since October 21st of last year. She treated me like shit, then disappeared in silence. She didn’t send condolences after my mother died this April either, and she knew, because a bunch of her friends took it upon themselves to reach out to me. You really never know how someone will abandon you, but I found out, in the most difficult time I’ve ever faced.

Jun 16 2025

Cancer, My Momma and Me.

In July 2023, my mom’s longtime doctor called and told her that she needed to be rushed to the hospital. Her red blood cell count was so out of whack that he thought she was bleeding internally. At this point, my mother was very depressed over her younger sister’s death, leading to her eating less, sleeping a lot, and being in a general state of malaise I’d never seen from her. I knew she was sad and really needed help, but I never thought she was sick. I used to tell her to go to the doctor for a check-up all the time; she ominously told me right before she went that she was concerned that she might be really ill and decided to cancel my long-distance, now ex-girlfriend coming over for dinner. In something my family has said a lot since my mother’s passing, she knew.

My mom got admitted to the hospital around midnight. Back at home, I was eating once a day, and not sleeping. I was terrified, and seeing my mom in a hospital bed was really difficult. One day during this stay, I walked in as a doctor said she had liver cancer, which didn’t make sense to any of us, based on her habits. They came back in the next day and said they believed she had colon cancer which had metastasized to her liver.

Easier to treat than liver cancer and much more sensible to me, I was kind of ok with the doctor’s (unconfirmed) diagnosis. But I was still in serious denial. My mom? Handled it incredibly. She admitted she cried with my father the first time they believed she had cancer, but by day 3, she was just willing to do what she had to, to get better. Meanwhile? I’m losing my fucking mind, but hiding that from my mother. She got discharged on the 6th day after a biopsy earlier in the week; we had to go home and wait to see what the results were.

I believe we had to wait about a week and a half. In that time, my dad came home and revealed that he had a mass in his colon, discovered during his routine colonoscopy. He would need surgery to remove it, and they took a sample from the mass to check it for colon cancer. So, in short, me and my family had to wait to find out if both of my parents had colon cancer at the same time. I can only describe the experience as feeling like the top of my head was exploding, every day, with no relief; I don’t know how I survived. My dad’s sample came back clean, but after his successful surgery that cured him, they found out he actually did have a very mild form of colon cancer; my mom’s biopsy revealed that she had Stage IV colon cancer, that had spread to her lungs and liver, and she would have to start chemotherapy.

My mother made it a point to tell me, my sister and my dad that she wasn’t going to die immediately, because God was going to give us time to prepare for her to go. Yet again, she knew.

My mother’s first course of chemo was from August 2023 until mid-February 2024, just after my birthday (Valentine’s Day). My mom was a medical miracle; at 68 years old with advanced cancer, the chemo had shrunk half of her lesions and totally removed the cancer from her colon. We all went to the cancer center to see her ring the bell; we took photos and videos that never saw the light of day because my mother was very private about her illness. She was so happy that she cried; I felt tears welling up in my eyes that day, and I do right now. That was when my mom was the most like herself, and once she got put on immunotherapy, which was just an injection she got every 3 weeks, she only got better and better.

Now that her illness was taking less out of her, my mom returned to traveling with my father, one of her favorite things to do. My mother is very funny and incredibly smart; I’m wiping tears of grief and pride thinking about how unique her personality was. I knew my mother was doing better, because not only did she have a lot more energy, but she was back to talking shit about people.

My mom had to be taken to the hospital again in December 2024, one of a flurry of hospital stays throughout the year. When she got there, the oncologist on-site saw her and said her chemo wasn’t working. He ended up being correct; my mom was continuing to lose weight and struggling to eat. My mother was in the hospital for 5 days, even through NYE. Her personal oncologist took her off of that chemo in January, and switched her to chemo pills. The advantage of the pills is they would be easier on my mother’s system and she wouldn’t need to go down the stairs and leave the house, a task that was becoming more difficult for her with each passing week.

I regularly cooked for my mom, handled any day to day issues that came up, and helped her walk around the house. The neuropathy from all the chemo took away the sensitivity in her hands, making it hard for her to pick her pills up. I used to drop them in her mouth, and hold her water bottle, that was now too heavy for her. Seeing her that weak really killed me. This was all so sad, but my mind was set on helping her no matter what. How poorly she was doing was barely registering, but I felt it in my spirit. I felt in my (ongoing) inability to sleep, because I fashioned myself into a light sleeper so I could jump out of the bed and help her in crisis situations, which started to happen with more and more frequency. I felt it in my constant anxiety and fear, worried I was going to find my mother dead in her bed every morning.

My mom had to be taken to the hospital again in April because she had jaundice. I mentioned her eyes to my sister, and she said she had already noticed it. My sister called it in, and her oncologist said she had to go to the hospital to get her liver checked. I was honestly too afraid to call myself, because my mom had been in the hospital barely 2 weeks before, now so weak that she had to be taken home via ambulette, with the EMTs strapping her down flat to a stretcher and carrying her up the steps. I praise my sister for taking the initiative, and her courage got my mother examined.

Ultimately, they couldn’t help her. Her eyes and tears were yellow because the cancer in her liver was worsening, and there was no area where they could stent it and free the bile. On her second to last day, two doctors came in and told us that my mom’s options for cancer treatment are limited, that they didn’t believe she could keep doing chemo because of the state of her bones. You need healthy bones to produce red blood cells; my mom’s skeleton was so worn down from both the chemo and the cancer spreading to bones in her back, that her count was struggling to recover. It was up to my mom’s main oncologist to decide on the next step, on May 20th, a date I dreaded. I fully expected her to tell me my mom was going to die, that day.

My mom was discharged on April 17. They sent her home with the kind of aid she rejected in the past; she now had an in-home physical therapist, a home health aide 3 times a week, and a nurse dropping by to check on her. All 3 of these women were excellent to my mother, but that week is when I realized she would need even more help. She needed an aide that was around more often, and part of the reason my mom finally accepted that kind of help, was to ease the weight on me of taking care of her. I went out more, but my mom was on my mind at all times. I was enjoying myself (I guess) but it was very difficult.

The morning of April 26 at 9:01 am, I was woken up by my sister calling my phone, urging me to go in my mother’s room, because she believed she was home alone. I went in, reassured her, rearranged her in bed and fixed her pillows with my dad, and left the room, as she told us to go. At this point in my mom’s life, she couldn’t really move her legs or body in bed (due to muscle atrophy), so we would have to move them into comfortable positions. I fell asleep, and my eyes jolted open at noon, my own voice in my head saying “CHECK ON MOMMY NOW.” I went back in that room and what I saw broke my heart.

My mother was trying to talk to me but was nonverbal, just grunting through her clenched teeth, and not blinking. Then she started breathing heavily, almost panting. I yelled for my father, who ran upstairs and held her. We alternated in and out of the room, as I called 911 and we had to get dressed; we’ve called the ambulance for her so many times that we had a system. When I went into my room to find a hoodie to put on, I was panicking and couldn’t find anything. I heard, again, my own voice say to me, “Your mother is going to die. Stop rushing.” I immediately calmed down, slowly looked and found my hoodie immediately. I felt calm rinse over me, but I also hoped I was wrong. But I knew I wasn’t. I knew.

I went in that room and she was breathing so lightly that I thought she stopped. I yelled for my dad again, he runs to the bed and is cradling her in his arms. She took two more breaths and left us, and that was the last time I saw my mother alive. She passed before the EMTs got up the steps, and I will never forget how their demeanor changed when I led them to my mother. They relaxed, and had a gentle ease about them that I didn’t see in the many EMT duos I’ve seen in her room. They knew. One of the EMTs put the oximeter on her finger and it was flatlined, and never activated. I pretty much saw that and broke down with my father. Then I called my sister and relayed the bad news.

My friends, my sister with her boyfriend in tow, and my cousin rushed to the house, the officers and EMTs were wonderful to us in such a difficult situation, everyone went above and beyond. My mother passed peacefully, in the bed she loved, in the house she loved, in the arms of the love of her life. She would not have wanted it any other way. Her head rested on her pillows, turned towards the big window in her room. The sun illuminated her so beautifully, and she looked so pleased, that I had to remind myself she was gone. Even typing it right now, I can’t believe it.

Of course, my mom is always with us through her lessons, wisdom and eternal love, but not hearing that laugh ever again hurts me so, so deeply. My mother was in an unbelievable amount of pain, so I don’t want her here on Earth with us, suffering so I can see her face. I am at peace with her having to go, because honestly, things were dire. But I miss her, and not in the overt ways. The silliest shit will happen to me, and I’ll think “I gotta tell mom.” And I still can, but it’s not the same. Those few days after my mother’s death, I felt like I got so many random breaks, and got nudged out of so many poor decisions, that it had to be my mom’s doing. Whether it’s because she pulled strings in a metaphysical sense, or because her guidance still rang true in my spirit, my momma got me. She is still maneuvering things for me, I feel it every day.

When my mother died, I felt freed, which made me feel weird. I felt my desire to die, or totally give up on my life, lifted off of me when my mom left the earthly plane. These last 2 years were extremely difficult for me, between my mom’s health. my break up and my carer woes. When the sun hit me when I stepped outside, all of that was gone. I was good now. I had hope. My mom gave me a lot of things, but her death bought me back to myself. She outright told me that it wasn’t fair that I had to take care of her, that I should be enjoying my life and not spending my time worrying and making sure she was ok. I understood her passing as a chance to live for myself, because that’s what she wanted me to do. My mom handed me something that I could not give myself, as she always has. Selfless still, even in the afterlife.

As difficult as the last few months of my mom’s life were, we had a lot of good times. The smile on her face when we ate together, especially her favorite at the time, Japanese food. The way she used to laugh at my ridiculous observations, the way her laughter filled the floor anytime my sister came over. Me and my mom used to discuss politics, social issues, nutrition, you name it. I loved watching her random YouTube finds with her, whether it be women camping in far off lands or cruise ship reviews, or laughing at the insanity of Disney adults. I was happy to spend time with her, I took taking care of her as an honor, as a deeply held responsibility. My mom sometimes felt like she was a burden, but she was not. I’ve never missed a burden in my life.

I have handled her death pretty well emotionally, but seeing her casket get lowered in the ground was when I felt forced to accept everything. Since her death, I couldn’t remember her voice; it was like my brain was blocking how she sounded to shield me from the pain. But as she was lowered into her resting place, I could hear her saying “Best Son Ever!” which she called me all the time, and I only started to accept in her later days. As soon as I heard her voice in my mind, my eyes filled with tears. I will never be the same, but I’m not supposed to be. I died with my momma too, but I get to take steps to becoming whole with each passing day, and she made sure that I’d be able to do so.

Aug 13 2024

within the trench.

My mother has been asking me for years, when will I write on here again. That time is now.

My feelings on what’s considered a “normal” online presence have evolved; I don’t owe anyone anything regarding my life. I barely post on Instagram because I need some parts of my life, for myself. My distaste for Twitter worsens by the month. The way social media has wound itself into everything leads to a feeling of always having to be “present” and posting, and I just don’t find that interesting anymore.

As time went on, I felt less-inclined to talk about my life, because really fucked up things were happening to me. I had to go through the (still-active) pandemic in 2020 like everyone else, but I also had a house fire to contend with, where I narrowly got my parents out of the house. I found out King Von had been killed, who I had a growing relationship and who successfully launched my XXL IG Live show less than a week before. I was alone in my girlfriend’s apartment, tears streaming down my face. Things would become more difficult for me, going forward.

In the summer of 2022, both of my parents got COVID at the same time; I took care of the both of them for a little over 2 weeks without getting it myself, afraid they were going to die for pretty much that first week. When my mom recovered, she felt good enough to return my Auntie Leslie’s call, as she didn’t really have the energy for phone calls. My family’s relationship with my aunt has been up and down, due to her mental health struggles and what comes with that, but her and my mother had recently fices their relationship. My aunt didn’t answer my mom’s multiple calls. My sister went to go check on my aunt and all she found was her apartment window open, lights on, the horrifying smell of death wafting out. I was with my mom, who was now hysterical but hoping for the best. I was too, but it was too late. My aunt was dead, and she wasn’t even in the apartment; her body had been taken out of it days before, courtesy of the police and her landlord never notified anyone. My aunt passed in her sleep from COVID complications, right as my parents recovered from the same virus. We never saw it coming.

I loved my aunt and I wish I spoke to her more, and I should have pushed harder to make things right when things were rough between her and my family. But she knows how I felt. And she really helped me build my self-esteem, as I was a very shy, often-teased kid growing up. She told me she was proud of me all the time, and that shit really kept me going more times than she will ever know.

I didn’t know what to do when she died, honestly. I sent her a long series of texts soon after, and I realized we didn’t have a lot left unsaid. I wish we got to hang out as two adults, because I’ve really come into my own, and because I knew I could always be honest with her about what was going on with me. She is KEY in my love for Janet Jackson and dance music, and more importantly, for wanting to extract joy out of life.

I spoke at her funeral and all I remember is bringing up when she turned on Janet Jackson’s “Go Deep” video on every TV in my childhood apartment and singing and dancing as loud as she could, when I wanted to go to sleep. I was sobbing, because that ridiculous memory that scared the hell out of me back then was now something I really cherished. I need to be more like my auntie, I always wished I was; I’ve always been very guarded until my mid-to-late 20s. I feel I’ve fallen short of her example, and it eats at me from time to time, just like when I passed on hanging out with her at NBA All Star Weekend, because I was running around with my then-girlfriend. Those chances don’t come back and I have to live with that. I will miss my aunt forever, but I live in honor of her, because I know I couldn’t become the person I am, without her in my corner.

Jun 28 2020

“It’s a big difference.”

I heard an oddly familiar, but very loud beep. I assumed it was an alarm at a nearby house and brushed it off. Then I heard another, similar sound, followed by my mother yelling that there was a fire in the basement.

My mother is strong as fuck. I hate referring to black women as “strong” because it robs them of the room to be delicate, to feel pain, to be vulnerable. On the same token, I’ve watched my mother not flinch during shit that would’ve killed me, seen her stand up for people whose voice wouldn’t have been heard otherwise. She is a wonderful woman with a gigantic heart who ALWAYS sees the bigger picture. And that is strength, to me.

But she was concerned. I could tell from her voice. It’s the same way she sounded as she saw me spiral through a depressive episode for years. Just like back then, she saved my ass, yet again.

I ran down the steps, leaving everything behind. I was in disbelief, almost if my mom was mistaken. But nope, it was real, the dryer that I put my clothes in just ten minutes ago went up in flames, quickly overwhelming the basement, if the smoke that was seeping upstairs was real. My mom tried to go back downstairs to the fire, and I yelled (without cursing, because yes, I wanted to) for her to not do that and just leave the house. I told my dad the same; I also told him to just close the basement door instead of running down there. That move was done to save my mother’s cat Cathy from accidentally running downstairs and dying.

I get my parents outside of the house. I’m standing outside, hoping the fire doesn’t reach the boiler and blow the house up, and that the cat doesn’t die. I’m also extremely concerned about me or my family contracting Coronavirus outside, as the entire neighborhood is outside now, talking to us. My parents, thankfully, were masked up. I wasn’t, but kept my distance when I remembered. Long story short, FDNY put the fire out, the cat was fine (but scared, hiding in an upstairs closet), and the house is intact. We can’t stay there for some months, but we’re in a nice rental crib, my family is good, shoutout to the insurance my parent’s busted their asses for over the years.

My mother said I saved her and my dad (and by proxy, the cat’s) life. I decided to just be modest and not think about it. I talked to my girlfriend about it and admitted that I agreed with my mom’s sentiment, but it was a lot to stomach. The entire time I was trying to get my parent’s out of that house, I was thinking that the house was gonna blow up and they were going to die. That’s all that was on my mind. But I got them out, got outside and called 911. I was semi-hysterical but I was much more composed than I expected. But my mom thinks I saved them. And that conflicts with my idea of heroism.

My father is a hero. He saved my neighbor’s life when I was a kid, when she fell taking garbage to the incinerator on our floor and cut herself on the glass in the bag, leaving blood all over the hallway. I don’t know how he realized what was happening from inside our apartment, but he got to her and called 911, and saved her from bleeding out, and got his kids, who didn’t have local friends, a close friend down the hall and a family that embraced us. And he saved my friends lives too, with the way he has always been welcoming; they love him and admire him the same way I do. Because he’s a hero. And he’ll never admit that shit, because that’s not his style.

My mother is a heroine. She spent a lot of years in the New York Board of Education. She was a teacher, administrator, assistant principal and principal. I’ve seen the kids and adults that spent time in her schools, the lives she’s touched. They have an unending respect for her, as does everyone who has ever worked with or known her. She’s saved a lot of lives, directly and indirectly. She’s won awards for her work in schools, she has had students that would and have put their safety on the line for her. But she also would never admit any of this, because she is modest, and humble.

I have done a lot in my life. I am not modest or humble or anything of the sort. But I try to be my best self each day, and all I really want to do is help and do what’s right. With all of that said, I am (still) taken aback by the idea that I saved my family, because I just did what was correct to me, while being terrified. I understood that my fear could cost me the lives of my loved ones, so I acted as if I felt nothing, besides urgency. I do truly believe that I am a star that hasn’t evolved yet, but I’m no hero. I’m just someone who is trying to do his best, who experiences ups and downs like anyone else. And perhaps that’s enough. But, maybe, just maybe, I need to accept the love when I get it.

Dec 22 2012

Royalty.

Halloween weekend.

I’m back in Queens. Walking an assload of blocks home on a frigid night. The bus at that hour (its about 3 am) stops NOWHERE near where I need to be. So I hopped off in LI….and voyaged my drunk ass back into Queens.

Now mind you. I’m FINISHED. I barely had the presence of mind to stop at the local 7-11 and get a huge bottle of water for my now drunk and defeated body (it was a great night though). So I’m stumbling in the dark…by myself…down Merrick in the relatively unsafe manner in which is how I usually live life.

Somewhere along the way I have a bright idea.

“I’m hungry. Let me eat some bum ass Crown Fried chicken.”

I never eat Crown. Ever. Had it once in my entire life….thanks to a woman named Lorna who I just affectionately called “gramma Lorna” in a more innocent , younger , and totally sober time.

Grandma was tough as nails. Rude , even. But she loved me in such a pure way. She had this way of telling you things you needed to hear in the most disrespectful way she could. Wasn’t that she didnt love you ; she just knew this was the only way she’d get through to you immediately. It always worked. I always listened , even when I didnt understand.

If I may be transparent , let me tell you about my upbringing. I am a silver spoon kid. Middle class black parents. Got everything I needed and 95 percent of what I wanted. That other 5% was shit I got myself eventually. Family life was spotless.

My grandma?? Flew here from Trinidad. Lived in Brooklyn. Worked at the post office. Raised my mom and my aunt by herself (split with my also dearly missed grandfather , Papa). She’s done it all. She struggled at some point. Her role in my mind was to help keep me grounded and remind me that everyone didn’t have it like me.

So yes , one day she took me and my sister to Crown Fried. In Flatbush. My fake uppity ass saw that chicken and fries and cringed. I was dreading having to eat this “hood” shit. I ate it. Thought it was average at best. Didn’t matter : any food Grandma put in front of me…I’m at least gonna give it a shot out of love and respect alone.

Now here I am , 24 years old. 15 years later or so. Tears welling up in my eyes at almost 330 am as I pull open a Crown Fried door and order through that familiar bulletproof glass. Waited for my food. Got it relatively quickly. Got the hell outta there and noticed I was sobering up quickly. The cold and memories of a loved one will do that to ya.

I’d like to say I was moved by something so random and almost “silly” because of the alcohol. Probably not. I won’t make the tired cliche “I just hope she’s proud of me” because thats not really how I think. She was proud of me when she passed and I wasnt even out of HS by then. My main concern that night was , I hope she knows I owe her so much. On top of that , I was happy she came to mind.

My grandma embodies my current demeanor. I’m friendlier than she ever was. She was only nice to family….no one else. But she was laid back. Say something crazy , prove her point , then sip her grapefruit juice and keep watching Montell. She was always the definition of cool to me. My grandma was beautiful. She knew it…she believed it…she wore that proudly. I always admired how she didn’t care what anyone thought; as long as her family was straight she was satisfied. I reach more every day to live life in such a minimalist way. I want to keep improving on my happiness and make sure my family and friends are in that same space. Everything else will fill in as it should.

That night , I got into my bedroom , bodied that greasy ass chicken , drank that Pepsi thats eventually gonna kill me if I don’t stop (but it hasnt ruined my skin….I’m still looking and feeling like this guy) and slept soundly. Knowing that……I ate that damn chicken and stopped complaining. Just like she would’ve liked.