My Inbox Runneth Over

When life gets crazy there are a number of things that are left by the wayside. For me, it’s my 600+ emails in my personal email box. Sure, I’ll take a look at the ones that seem to be immediately important, thanks to my iPhone and Postbox notifications, but outside of that, they pile up. My moods have dictated the state of my inbox. However, you can look at the state of my inbox as that of the current state of my life. I immediately do the things that absolutely have to be completed, and then I put off whatever it is that I can.

I wasn’t always such a lazy person. But I have become this way as life has begun to really wear on me. I think that as the pounds have also creeped up on me more and more that hasn’t helped either. I’m not so vain that I’m not willing to share my weight. As of today I topple the scale at 248 pounds! Yes, you read correctly. I may not be too vain to reveal my astonishing weight but I do tend to stay out of the mirror as much as possible. My face, to me, looks like it’s been made swollen by bee stings and why is it that I have to pluck facial hair that now mysteriously sprout on my chin?! Much of my weight is attributed to the long list on medications that I’m required to take. Yes, required. Without them I’d be far more suicidal than most, my headaches would return and I would need both sinus and brain surgery again. But it certainly doesn’t help that all the foods that I’m supposed to avoid are the only ones that I eat. Dairy. Pasta. I love you. Continue reading

Navigating Through the Fog

Tomorrow will be one month since my grandmother passed away. I last wrote about the profoundness of grief, all the while not really knowing that it’s tentacles could be so far-reaching. I have struggled, really struggled to keep my sanity. I have longstanding issues with depression and I was naive in thinking that I could somehow compartmentalized the effects of losing my grandmother. It’s been a trying year. One that any counselor or psychologist will tell you is hard for most. For someone with my history of depression it has been among the worst. If it weren’t for my husband and my brother, I’m honestly not sure what I would have done.

Some days are better than others. That’s what I just told my grandfather after calling him to check in on him. It was the first time I’d called since I last saw him at the funeral over two weeks ago. It was difficult and I’d been putting it off. Normally when I’d call on a Sunday they’d both be there sitting on the veranda. This time, it was just him, reading the newspaper with the radio or television playing in the background. I told him that it was an adjustment going from me not calling but knowing that she was there to now, calling and knowing that she’s not there. Just the mention of my grandmother had me tearing up. I know that my pain is nothing like his and I truly hurt for him. Continue reading

Uncomfortably Numb: The Loss of My Grandma

I’d stayed up late again. I even documented it. I was happy that I had managed to write two days in a row. I’d honestly thought that the next time I wrote it would be much of the same. What a difference just a few hours make. It wasn’t until 4:30am that I again went to sleep. I was busy being busy. This morning I was awoken by a phone call from my mom. At first I didn’t think much of it. For all I knew it was already mid-afternoon and I had slept the morning away. The phone rang with the distinctive ringtone I have for her, Luther Vandross’s, Here and Now. In typical fashion I answered with my ear plugs in. The sound that came from the phone made no sense at all. I immediately knew something was wrong. My mother sounded labored, delirious, upset. I knew that sound, I remembered it from almost 8 years prior when my Aunt Gloria and my Papa died. I sat up in bed and Kenrick jumped from the bed ready to go and find my mother wherever she was. She sounded frantic. She kept repeating that she couldn’t find her car. It was somewhat nonsensical. My brain couldn’t understand why my mother sounded so bereaved because she couldn’t find her car. But then the words came that I never wanted to hear, the words that pierced like a knife through the confusion, “Mommy is gone!”

I was still coming to, my brain trying to keep up with the conversation, the sounds, the feelings. Nothing made sense, nothing felt real. There was a delay in my tears but they assuredly came as we neared the end of our conversation. My husband rushed back into bed and held me close. He hushed me in a manner similar to how my grandmother, the very one who’d just passed, would when I’d skinned my knee or was upset about something that had hurt me. I immediately wanted to call my grandfather to see how he was doing. I knew the answer but as their only granddaughter and oldest grandchild my thoughts gravitated back to my youth. The image of every night grandma and grandpa going off to bed together played back in my mind. They have shared the same room for the entirety of my life. And here I was, in that moment, thinking of what he would certainly feel when this dreadful day was done. I’d seen them together just two months ago as we all celebrated the wedding of their middle grandchild. There were even plans for her to come and visit this year. It was to have been a truly wonderful Thanksgiving with a big part of my Jamaican family here with us during the holiday. But that, as my mother said, wasn’t meant to be. Continue reading