untitled

There are so many varied thoughts and emotions rising to the top of my mind, breaking at the surface, and then dissipating away unceremoniously, that I can't quite sew together enough of a common thread to aptly title this entry, so I'll try to piece this together so as not to create a murky mishmash of odd thoughts.

STIMULANTS:
1. Reconnected with my great aunt Dr. Edna McKenzie who, surprisingly enough to me, is 82 years old, active, alive, and well, and glory to God, also a cancer survivor. But now that I have her phone number and can talk to her, I can redocument the genealogy on my grandmother's side that I once had and then lost and also connect with all of my Chappelle relatives back east and find out whether Dave is family or not.

2. Found out that my cousin Jerome was killed by a drunk driver last night while on his motorcycle around 12 or 1. Only 3 months older than I, he had just turned 26. The unsettling irony is that my own father was killed in a motorcycle accident at the age of about 26. Unsure of the ramifications of any generational curse, I besought that God have mercy on me should anything so tragic be written for me. Having this happen to him in a way I thought might have been in store for me makes me feel as if a fate intended for my life jumped its tracks and took my cousin away instead. I'm still not quite sure how to feel.

3. I tried to talk to my mother about how I felt about Jerome's death and the candid admission of my feelings of mortality didn't set well with her. She became alarmed (as any mother would), I became dismissive, she became offended, then became defensive, I became offput and wished I hadn't even said anything in the first place.

REACTIONS:
1. I'm so excited to hear from Aunt Edna. She's the nearest piece of my grandmother living and even though she's older, her vitality is impeccable. There's stuff all over the internet about the books and articles she's written. She's got her doctorate and is a professor emeritus at a community college as well as former trustee at a Pennsylvania University. I like old people. I need them around. I wish I could just buy a ticket, hop on a plane and go see her right now and have one of those family reunions like at the end of Antwone Fisher where the farther you walk into the house, the older the generation you meet and they let you sit at the table and everybody's glad to see you, et cetera, et cetera. That's idealized, but I would love to connect with these people. I haven't seen them since I was 4, and I really wish I at least had e-mail addresses for some of them.

2. It's kinda ironic how I heard about Jerome. Because in looking for Great Aunt Edna, I half thought that she would have passed on in the years since I've talked to her, but she is alive and sounds great even though she just had a major surgery to beat cancer. She reminded me I didn't have a current phone number for Uncle Tim, so I called Uncle David, and he told me about the accident with Jerome. So where I was expecting death I found life and only moments later I was expecting life and was shown death. Sorry. No punch line here. It's not the entertaining kind of irony like I prefer.

3. Whenever something like this happens, I start to examine my life. If I were to leave now, would I be ready? Physically? Spiritually? Have I done all I need to do? Am I satisfied with the legacy I've left? Et cetera again. I don't want to die. I'm not seeking an early exit to this life. But I have known for quite some time that I'm not much attached to this world. When my old pastor had an aneurysm and slipped into a coma before dying, it was recounted that he once said if he had a choice between Heaven and Earth, his kids would have to excuse him because he would choose Heaven hands down. I feel like that, and I'm only slightly uncomfortable talking about it, because I'm from a family that (before Christ) was raised to be extremely superstitious. I don't believe in superstition. I believe in Jesus, and I believe that He is in control of myself and my life and not some hapless writer with the title of "Higher Power", and a taste for cruel irony in his pen. If I were ever to die young, I would want my homegoing to actually be a celebration. Just like my wish at my birthday parties, I would want as many of my friends as I could get to be present wishing me well. I would want people to care about how I lived and what I wrote and moderately preserve the tracks I've left while here on Earth. Though I believe that after I die and go on to be with Jesus, nothing else much matters, I would want people who knew me and loved me to remember, but not stop progressing. I would want my mother to be about her life and maybe re-marry and go fulfill her dreams. I would want my sister to start the businesses she's always planned to and get out of Bakersfield and go somewhere where the majority of the men aren't married, triflin', white, jobless, or gay. I would want my nephew to know how much I liked us being alike even though I wouldn't verbalize it too much. There's not many things I don't verbalize. I make it a point to tell people I love that I love them. And I make it a point not to throw the phrase around carelessly if I don't mean it so that when I do say it, the recipient knows it's a valuable thing. I would want to be understood and researched the way I've researched to understand my father posthumously. I would want little artifacts like letters in my own handwriting and songs I've written but never recorded to be valuable to people who knew me. I would like for people to say that I was great and that their lives were better because of something I did or said.

4. Even six years after, I still miss my grandfather intermittently. Not all the time. I've learned how to get along and life is good. But right now is one of those times when things aren't going quite like I'd like them to, and I'm a little pouty and I just wanna be that little cossetted brat that I was for a while and go curl up and sit on his lap and lay my head on his chest and hear his heart beating. He told me I used to go to sleep that way when I was a baby. But I'm not talking about as a baby. I mean, I was a pretty big 12-13-somethin' year old and i would still need to come sit in Papa's lap with my lanky limbs half hangin' off of him and his favorite reclining chair that never moved and always stayed in the same space. The feeling occurs to me again because when I tried to talk to my mother, my mother was steady responding and exhorting me to do this and intimating how she prays about that and loquacious as I can be, it's still a challenge to get a word in edgewise with her. I love that lady, I do. I just wish sometimes I could vent to her about all the pointless crap I think about and feel. The ephemeral stuff that I may not even pursue. Alas, listening is just not my mother's strong suit. It seems to be the same most often that if I have some problem, I may begin explaining it, but before I can get to the period at the end of the sentence, she has already interrupted with what she thinks is the solution. A lot of times it's good advice, worth hearing. But I'm not an individual who is incapable of running my own show. I didn't call her for advice. What I really wanted was somebody to listen to me whine, pat me on the back, say "it's ok, you'll be alright", humor me, and then send me on my way and do the real work in prayer after i get off the phone. I don't have that. And you know who suffers because of it? Not me. It's you. Because you end up having to read these thick-sliced paragraphs with no breaks in-between. I feel sorry for you, but it's okay, and you'll be alright. See? That feels good don't it.

5. At my grandfather's funeral, I remember being pretty calm and settled having done the lionshare of my grieving upon finding out that he wasn't going to fight the cancer he was diagnosed with. Jerome however, was pretty sad and couldn't stop crying. I wasn't sure if he was feeling what I thought he was, but in case I was right, I told him "Jerome, Grandfather's body is in that coffin, but Grandfather is not." Me and Jerome were real close as kids, but when we got older we drifted apart pretty quick. I never saw him much, and so it doesn't rock my world in any direct manner, and I was hoping it would be one of those events that is tragic, but doesn't stir any of my emotions. And it didn't. Until I realized that at that very moment he might have been in Heaven standing before Jesus, with Grandfather... and Grandmother... and Uncle Ralph... and my dad... and everybody else who's passed out of this life into the eternal one... and for a moment, I just really envied him a lot.

SYNOPSIS:
As far as crises go, this isn't much unlike "Peach" moving on and getting a new man. It impacts big at the start, but quickly drops off in urgency. Had none of this happened, I wouldn't have made any big rush to ever find or hang out with Jerome. I would have probably only chanced to see him at a family function cohesive enough to attract all of the members of our family (like say, a funeral sadly and ironically enough). This is sad, disheartening, disappointing. But it doesn't stop my life or change my plans. I almost felt guilty that I wasn't more mournful at his death, but no. I think I have already given this more contemplation than I need to. I will not allow this to be a cheap excuse for me to milk a tragedy to get some attention and sympathy. It wouldn't taste the same anyway.