I have always accused the people who were supposed to love me of not letting me in. Not loving me fully or outside their comfort zone. Well, faithful readers, I have just been smacked upside the head with the truth that it was me all along. I have been the one who has never loved fully. I have been the one who did not allow herself to love outside her comfort zone.
Until now.
And this shit is scary. (Sorry)
Allowing yourself to be vulnerable is frightening enough on its own. Vulnerability in love? That’s a whole other animal. I have no reason to be afraid to love Robert or to allow him to love me. Except that love and trust are two things that have betrayed me in the past. Robert loves me. Wholly and completely. For the most part, (when fear is not in charge), I have no problem believing this.
It’s when the past betrayals rear their ugly heads in the form of fear and mistrust, that my knees get a little wobbly on this cliff I refer to as love.
So while it takes two to make a relationship work, it also takes two to make a relationship fail. I publicly apologize for my part in the failure of both my marriages.
I have no regrets, though, because of all the good that came from both in the form of growth and my beautiful babies.
And because of the broken road that led me straight to Robert. The one with whom I will be vulnerable. The one with whom I will trust with my heart and broken pieces. The one for whom I will spill out love until our hearts overflow with the giving and receiving of love.
While making my matcha latte this morning, these thoughts rattled around inside my brain, so I thought I would share them. I have never been asked these questions, but I figured they would make for a lighthearted read. Here goes:
No one: I see you with this white man. So do you hate black men?
Me: No, I do not hate black men. I was married to two different black men for a total of 20 years. I also have 2 beautiful black kings, 1 beautiful black prince, a gorgeous queen and 3 incredibly beautiful black-ish grand babies. They really are something to look at, and proud of the skin in which they reside.
No one: Why do you call your grand babies black-ish?
Me: Well, I got the expression from the widely popular television show of the same name. My grand babies are biracial…just watch the show and it will make sense. It is streaming right now on Hulu.
No one: With all the racial tension in our country right now, do you find it difficult to be in a relationship with a white man?
Me: Nope. This particular white man does not agree with what the ‘others’ (meaning the hateful white folk) are doing. He listens (and agrees) when I share my frustrations without offering to fix it. Ooohh! Speaking of fixing things, stop right now and listen to Sam Smith sing Fix You in his most angelic voice.
Also me: Our relationship is not about the glaring obviousness of our racial differences. We are two people who fell in love who just happen to be black and white (I’m pretty sure you are now singing, Ebony and Ivory by Michael Jackson and Paul McCartney). Oh, and I’m sure if he (Robert, not Michael) were here right now, he would want me to share that according to his DNA test, he is 2% Sub-Saharan African. Which actually makes sense given his full lips and whatnot.
Robert doing his happy dance
Me again: I am tired of explaining to people about the all lives matter, black lives matter issue. Just love each other. How difficult is it? And, speaking of love, go ahead and listen to an oldie but goodie by Black eyed Peas, Where is the Love?
(Still me): I mean seriously, for the white people who hate black people, it can’t be the color of our skin, because, well, spray tans and whatnot. It’s not our hair, because we would catch a case if we smacked the hands of every white person that wanted to touch it. For real. What is it? Do you even know? Probably not, so since it is easier to love, try that. You’ll like it. Like Mikey. And Life cereal.
I have so many words in my head today, so this may be a long one. First, Kelly Clarkson is amazing and if you haven’t listened to Broken and Beautiful recently, do it now. I’ll wait. Okay, back to what I was saying. The words in my head…oh yes. There are so many things I need to say. I have to constantly take notes in my phone because, alas, Frankie (my MS) has stolen my brain power.
I place my fingers to the keyboard, but I am so full, I don’t know where to start. I’ll just start with the title. I am broken. My sisterfriend, Nyree always says, “No you’re not!” But I am. We all are to some extent. Broken, then mended. Broken, then mended. I shared this with my perpetual fiancé, Robert. And by perpetual, I mean, we’re never getting married. Just forever engaged. Anyway, so my brokenness is not an altogether bad thing. Unless you are extremely close to me and I trust you enough to show you, the brokenness is nearly unnoticeable.
I have been hurt a lot in my lifetime. A lot. Rejection sucks and I have experienced it more than any one person should. Yet, I see where it has formed me and made me who I am. I like me. I actually love me. Finally. It took a while, though. See? So many words and they’re fighting my brain space for a chance to be written. Hold on patient readers, while I get them in order. chill out words, you’ll all get your chance.
Okay, I’m back. Now, what was I saying…yes, I love me. And brokenness. Being broken is not the end of all things. I am talking to my warriors with chronic illness and pain. When I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, it happened so quickly, my world changed in the blink of an eye. I went from superwoman to what-in-the-whole-hell-is-happening-woman. I was depressed from being bedridden, unable to work and having to drop out of college (again?!) I was beside myself.
But wait, is that the sound of the mender coming to heal some of my brokenness? Yes! As the glue was being applied, I began to see some beauty in the break. I have loved to write for as long as I can remember. This season of nothingness gave me what I needed to start writing. Time! That elusive thing of which we never seem to have enough. So began this here blog. The place where I write. Everything. Go back to the beginning. You’ll see.
I’m gonna wrap this up and save the rest for another day. Find your beauty. It may be in the cracks of your brokenness, but it is there.
Oh and matcha!! If you have not discovered this tea of champions, go. Go forth and find this treasure. Until next time (which will probably be tomorrow because, again, the words and whatnot).
I have to believe that you made the best choice you could make at that time. When I found out about my sister, I was elated. At the same time, I wondered how you could take a secret of this magnitude to your graves. I am not angry at you, Daddy. I know how you felt about family. You, the one who had everyone’s birthdays written on a calendar so that you would remember to call or send a card. She was born on your birthday, Daddy. I feel so close to her already. I was told that you gave her her middle name. How cool. But why didn’t you tell us about her? I have a memory of playing with a little girl who called me America. We were in Mount Vernon. Because of who you were, I know you took me there to play with my sister. To forge some kind of bond, so that when I found her later in my life, the seed of love would have already been planted.
Did you have to choose? Mom, did you make him choose us and leave our sister behind? How could you do that? That little girl missed out on the best man. Not that he was perfect, but he was the best. I always wondered why you didn’t like me, Mom. Now I know that when you looked at me, you saw her. I was a constant reminder of the other woman that he loved before you, and the child they created.
I feel joy and loss constantly. Joy of finding my sister and the loss of not having her my whole life. Joy of having the greatest man I have ever known as my daddy, and the loss of not being able to share him with my sister.
What did you guys think when I would say that I felt like I had a sister or a twin somewhere? Did you freak out? Did your stomachs bottom out with thoughts of whether or not to tell me about her? Did I say that because I had met and played with her and felt the connection—not even knowing there was one?
I place no blame. The choices you both made are really none of my business. It doesn’t matter who knew about her, because it wasn’t theirs to share. I am only thankful for my sister. That although I have a brother, in my sister, I have filled that empty space that longed to be filled for my whole life. That sister-shaped hole that only Shelley could fill.
Ahh, Wednesday. The day I get to feel what I hide on every other day. Every other day, I wake with a smile while the beast runs wild in my body. I cannot let on to the activities that take place on the inside. Mainly because I don’t want the beast to think she is winning, but also because I don’t want people to feel sorry for me.
Every other day, I apply my happy face, pull up my big girl pants and skip my way through my very full day of teaching my Pre-K class. A room full of 4-and 5-year-olds has a way of infusing life into this weary soul! We skip, hop, jump, paint, write and learn until we drop. Rejuvenation for my babies, as I call them, at the sight of mommy and daddy. Near collapse for me, but I smile on my way out the door, ready for my half-hour drive home, where I barely make it out of my car and up the stairs to my refuge.
My loving perpetual fiance, Robert, usually has coffee ready, and a warm hug to make it all better.
Those days are Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday. Oh, but Wednesday. Wednesday I get to lie in bed and rest. I give in to my fatigue. I allow the beast to wreak its havoc because on Wednesday, I don’t have to fight. On Wednesday, I rest. I write. I binge Netflix. I win.
This was years in the making. A sublime plan at work to eventually bring together two souls at the perfect time. We each had to experience love, loss, pain and joy while apart so we could appreciate everything we will experience together.
I had always felt like I had to earn love. I would give freely, but felt like I had to meet expectations in order to receive love in return. Because of this, I always wondered what was the big deal about love. People would talk about how much they loved each other. I would see marriages last while mine failed. I wondered, what is wrong with me?
After spending time alone and getting to know myself, I realized my worth, but still didn’t believe the kind of love people talked about existed for me. I figured I would never be in a ‘real’ relationship and I was okay with that.
Then the plan that had always been in motion, took a turn that would change my outlook on love forever. Seeing the love my parents had for each other when they couldn’t be together (more on that in my book), changed everything for me. Losing them 2 months apart, realizing they literally could not live without each other, made me see that true love was real. So, thanks to my Aunt Mari, I put into the universe what I truly wanted. I wanted the kind of love that is all-consuming, heart-breaking, breathless. I wanted someone I could grow old with. Someone with whom I shared history.
After 13 years, the universe brought Robert back to me. At the perfect time when both of us were free to love. And he loves me like no other. He respects me, he receives my love in return, but then showers it back onto me. Enveloping me in blankets of love, kindness, support and caring. This is love without walls. And I am eternally grateful.
Why do we put God in a box? Why do we try to limit One who is limitless? Until today, I referred to God as Him. I was driving (where I do most of my thinking) and I thought, Hmm, God is neither male nor female. Or is God both? I came to the conclusion that God just IS. If we were created in the image of God, then God is male and female. God is every color. Why? Because God is a spirit. No form. God is so big. God defies definition. God is you. God is me.
So many people want to use God as a weapon, killing people with judgement in the name of the Most High. If we serve a God of love, then how can this behavior be justified? Whatever stand you take on abortion or homosexuality, infidelity or divorce, is yours and yours alone. No one is qualified to stand in judgement of any other person. No one.
I cannot understand why people who believe in God would rather hate and judge than share and love. God is such a force that we could never begin to understand it. God’s very existence produces life. How can we try to contain that force? Imagine the most powerful force on Earth. Now multiply that by infinity. Our finite minds truly cannot even imagine infinity. Not while we reside in these very limited, though perfect (because we are created by God) bodies.
That is why I cannot picture heaven as angels, wings, halos and pearly gates. God is so much bigger than that. I said in an earlier blog that if God created Earth with all it’s magnificence and placed us here to live, why would heaven (or eternity, as I like to refer to it) be different. I would love to spend eternity in a place like Earth, but perfect. Honestly, I cannot fathom eternity. I believe that each one of us is so unique that our eternity matches who we are. Who God created us to be.
I have an idea. Let’s each ask God how we should be living our lives. Our life plans truly don’t matter if we leave God out of the equation. God sees the entire picture, beginning to end. We have the awesome gift of free will, but if we don’t know what to do with it, what is the point? We raise our children to be good people, to contribute positively to society, but we also give them the freedom to make the choices that will lead to what we hope will be successful lives. So if we, as finite creatures can love and lead and guide our children, how much more can an infinite Being do the same and more for us?
I always say you don’t know until you know. When I had my first child, the first thing I heard was, “Cherish them, because they grow up so fast.” As my first baby grew, and we added more babies to our family, I found out how true that statement was. I blinked and now have grown children (one not so grown), and grandchildren. It was no longer theory, I knew.
Throughout my life, I have had friends whose parents had passed away. They would say, “The grief hits you in waves”, or “The most random things will make you miss them even more.” Both of my parents just passed away this summer. The grief is unbelievable. I lost my daddy first, unexpectedly, as we were preparing for my very ill mother to leave us. He just couldn’t bear the weight of losing his forever love. His body literally shut down and another theory became experience. He died of a broken heart. Two months later, nearly to the day, she joined him in eternity. Grief was no longer theory, I knew.
To say the grief hits you in waves is the understatement of the year. But you don’t know until you know. And yes, the most random things hit you like a massive storm, wiping out all your power and everything that keeps you standing. Torrential tears that fall without warning, leaving you wondering, “What the hell?” No one can prepare you for the onslaught.
I talk to them. Regularly. I consult them on nearly everything. I am remodeling their home with the help of my sister. When I buy paint, I consult them. Before I paint a room, I consult them. I ask them because sometimes, I am just not ready to accept the fact that they are no longer here. It is my way of processing, piece by piece. Moment by moment.
Not long after my daddy passed, he visited with me in a dream. It was the best Father’s day ever. He hugged me like he couldn’t in the hospital and we hung out, talked, and even went to a park. The closure I needed to a most unhappy ending.
I don’t like knowing. Another saying I found to be true? Ignorance is bliss. Knowing is a necessary part of life, but in this case, extremely unpleasant. I like to stay positive as often as possible, so in knowing death, I have learned to appreciate life. I have learned to appreciate the little things even more. I have learned the importance of preparing for the end of life, so that when my children have to eventually learn what I now know, they will be okay. You just don’t know…until you know.
That One Day When... 