Dear Romeo,

Since you’ve been gone, all I can think about is what you taught me. I am so
grateful to have learned so many life lessons from you. You were my best
friend and almost my lover too. Here is some of your best advice:
● Don’t dress like an elf (even though I still have my elf shoes, I
coordinate them now . . . most days anyway).
● Don’t hang up the phone without saying a proper goodbye and giving
the other person a chance to do the same.
● Don’t dance to music ridiculously; appreciate it.
● Appreciate items genuinely when someone lets you borrow them and
make sure to give them back.
● Be extra patient with the people you love.
● Be thankful and grateful for the little things and smallest of gifts.
● Learn by doing.
● Get sincerely excited when something awesome is happening (like
being at a Flogging Molly concert)
● Love the planet, protect it, and stand up for it, even if you fail.
● Go to the places you have always dreamed of going, and do the things
you have always dreamed of doing.
● Appreciate great music (metal bands like Of Mice and Men, Attila,
beautiful bands like Pretty Lights, and some goofy 80’s and 90’s bands
like New Kids on the Block)
● Always make time for the people you love.
● Be yourself and don’t worry about impressing people.
● Love the quiet spots of home (Beans Bottom, the pump house, etc.)
● Never feel like you have to deal with anything alone. Those who love
you the most will never let that happen.
Your Best Friend,

Dad,

It’s been six years. Six years of living with a pain I knew was inevitable. With the inevitability of it, one could hope to prepare but the magnitude of your presence made that impossible and I knew that too.

For twenty-three years, you were the best dad. As cliché as it may sound, you were. A single parent to a strong willed, sharp tongued little girl, or as most would say, just plain mean, you ensured I had everything I needed, patience, love, and understanding…along with the material things. Looking back, your resourcefulness is astounding. I remember you calling into radio stations, winning tickets to see ballet troupes such as, Les Ballet Africains or concert tickets for groups like the Wailers. You wanted to expose me to as much as possible. I had the privilege of going everywhere with you, including your job. Every day. By the time, I was fourteen, I had traveled to over fifteen states, and none of your colleagues would be surprised to see me at your annual conferences. You put me in tennis and dance classes, and would stay up all night helping me with homework and consistently gave me satirical approaches to biased essay assignments.

While everything you did for me was remarkable, your exceptional character left the indelible mark. Being an educator and organizer, I observed you at many podiums. The well being of people was your priority. It was exhibited in you letting your students borrow your personal laptop so they could complete assignments and in your organization of events attended by thousands fighting against injustices. You were known for closing out conversations, meetings, and speeches by saying ‘Forward!’ The full version being, ‘Forward Forever! Backward Never!’

Growing up, I had an acute awareness that you likely would not live an extensive life due to the work you did and the society we live in. I constantly stressed about how I would live in a world without you. I would remind myself that wasn’t my reality, ‘cross that bridge once we arrive’ and I hoped to never get there, but then you were diagnosed with cancer at stage 4 and after fighting several years, we arrived at that bridge.

I’ll never forget being the one to tell you and I apologize for not delivering the news with the tenderness I know you would’ve if the roles were reversed. Three weeks. That was the prognosis. In the proceeding days, I grabbed a pen and yellow pad, but that wasn’t enough. I opened the voice notes app on my phone and pressed record, prepared to soak up as much knowledge as I could. Most of my questions were met with an “I don’t know.” I was frustrated but I recognized that while you were dying you didn’t have the ability to write the story of how I would live. You never did. You always told me my life was mine. At the end of the day, I had to be happy. “I don’t know” wasn’t the only answer I got that day to my endless list of questions. You also told me to maintain my principles and when asked what I should keep in mind at all times when life got hard and I needed you, you said remember all the happy moments. I didn’t know what to do with that or so I thought.

About a month after you passed, I reached out to the advisor of the academic journal for my graduate program about returning to the editorial board for which I had served as an editor the year prior. I was simply asking if I needed to apply to the position again. It was fun and I was no longer a caregiver so I figured I didn’t have a reason not to. I received an unexpected response; she emailed back letting me know that she would like to discuss me becoming the next co-editor-in-chief. Given my social anxiety, I thought the logical response would be to respectfully decline like I did the undergraduate valedictorian speech where you were quietly disappointed. There was no way I could oversee a board of my peers and be a primary voice in publishing a publication that reflected them along with an academic institution, but I knew to identify the voice that was saying I couldn’t, fear. You always repeated the quote “There’s nothing to fear but fear itself. ” So, despite my fears, I took the position. I asked us to define our objective because everything should be done with a purpose. Most importantly, it should be done together. You taught me that the world should be left a better place than we found it. We should leave something for the next generation to build off. The only way we leave something substantial is by working together so I blurred the lines of editors, managing editors, and co-editors-in-chief ensuring that all decisions were made collectively and objectively. You encouraged and nurtured critical thought. “You need to think at all times.” I remember that coming to me the night before our most important meeting where our shortlist would be finalized and I jokingly thought ‘what interesting ideas would be mentioned to increase readership that weren’t in line with our objective’ so I could prepare. However, I ended up coming up with an idea that did align with our objective, to have a panel at the annual research symposium, which the board was excited to create. A month before we published, I received another unexpected email, I was the co-recipient of one of the department’s annual awards, for making the greatest contribution to the student association and publication. They went on to detail what I mentioned above. My goal in defining our objective, fostering a democratic environment, and developing ideas for growth wasn’t to win an award but lead the creation of a body of work people could be proud of. Not just those actively working on it but those who entered the program after us. That was you.

Three years later, I was seeking a job opportunity where I could grow and develop my skills. I came across a position at a prestigious university. For once in my life, I didn’t overthink it. I applied. During my third interview, walking around the campus, the interviewer asked if I thought I could oversee a student staff of seventy people. Without hesitation, I said “yes.” So much so, he responded, “yes?” and I reaffirmed. In that moment, I honestly shocked myself. Before eventually accepting the position, the largest staff I oversaw was that of about twenty people. I didn’t know how I would do it successfully. How I would make sure they not only succeeded in their responsibilities of the position but I nurtured their talents and skills in preparation of them entering the real world, how I would lead meetings, present to large audiences and stakeholders on their behalf. Nine months into the position, on my birthday, I got a text message, a two-minute video of more than twenty students sending well wishes and saying thank you. Two months later when our seniors graduated, I received messages and cards expressing similar gratitude.

I thought I didn’t know how to live in a world without you, but in continuing to just move forward, one step at a time, I think I do. Thank you.

Love,

Dear Family Friend,

It’s been a while since I last wrote you a thank you note or any letter.

It’s not even ten years since you went to the After Life.

In the beginning, I would never have considered you and your sister becoming our friends of the family since we had nothing in common. But life is full of great surprises.

My brother and I still remember when I put my big life-size plush dog in the coat closet to jump at you when you opened the door. And then you did the payback of putting him in the bathtub behind the shower curtain for me to jump back. Good one!

It was lovely of you to cut your long auburn hair and donate it to make wigs for kids with cancer. I never realized how thick it was. I still treasure my long hair, but intend to donate it one day in your honor.

When having your first grandson, you kept saying “I’m too young to be a grandma!”, as one in her forties. Soon enough, you would not stop talking about him and showing many baby pictures. I almost wanted to poke fun at the fact that you weren’t ready to be a grandma beforehand. I’m so glad now I kept quiet——it was one of your most joyous times, a month before the diagnosis.

I know everyone has habits, and sometimes can’t help it. Yet, this was one of those times that I hated smoking.

Because you loved my handmade items, you asked that I knit you a purple hat with the light yellow cancer ribbon attached. I always knew that I would knit hats for cancer patients. But never thought the first was to be for a friend.

When you had the strength to visit, you proudly displayed the hat I made. Then, you took it off to show your bald head that once held the short thick auburn hair. I knew that the hair was gone. I only stood there, emotionless, mind blank. With your hand on my shoulder, from hazel eyes to brown eyes, you said “It’s going to be alright. I’m fine.”

You needed to say that for yourself than for me at the time. You wanted courage. You never want us to worry or fret.

For months, it looked like you would beat it. In the end, cancer beat the chemo. Only months left. There was nothing to do.

You and your family got to watch over my cat, for the last time, She sure liked you since she was a kitten. I believe she knew you were going away, because she wasn’t energetic, and didn’t want to play for six weeks… as if she were in her way of mourning.

It was a stormy, summer Sunday when you left.

Your memorial service was very colorful. Your “Wizard of Oz” collection is on display, some items for auction (so to take your ashes to New York since you wanted to go there), with cookies and donuts, and many of the firefighters there as friends of yours. And it’s like you are playing the last prank by being late to your funeral! (They forgot to take your ashes to the altar!)

You always admired anything made by me and my brother. You said that if any of us became famous, you would love a personal autograph. Your sister and you were among the few who believed in us. Sometimes, I feel survivor’s guilt since you aren’t here to see our success or published work based on your encouragement and support. It will even be harder in the years to come.

Yet, you never would want me to live a life that isn’t mine. You wouldn’t want me to pity or be easily discouraged, not even let me live the simple life, knowing I wouldn’t be happy to live that way. You would want me to unlock all the creativity from my mind to change the world!

So far, your sister stopped working in the cleaning business and now works alongside children with special needs.

My brother is still in love with filming and has worked on a few fun projects.

You would have loved to meet my husband. He’s very sweet, supportive, and has some jokes and pranks up his sleeve from time to time like the rest of us.

As for me, I’ve been working on my handmade items for a future business, but have my hands full in writing projects. Each one step closer to something more to fulfill the long-time dream.

We all miss, and think of you, often. I know that whatever my life will be, you will shout and cheer me on. I will see you again one day, friend.

Plenty of days
In plenty of ways
I never thought
I had to live without
The woman who birth me
Continuously struggling
With her absence
Trying to put the pieces back together
Rebuilding my life
Without my mom
To witness my success
And the failures
I had to overcome
Without her keen talks
To cheer me up
Makes me feel sad and blue
I yearn for her voice
Her smile
Her laugh
Her presence
That’s why I always tell people
Cherish your mom
‘Cause losing her
You can never get another
Just memories to last forever
Besides my Bae, family and close friends
Being a source of inspiration
My mom is honestly the driving force
Behind my tenacity
She taught me the importance of
Hard work and dedication
She was amazing at everything she did
She got opportunities to live her life
As she saw fit
Much of her is in me
I’m her twin
Many can tell by just looking at me
In life and in death
My mom continues to show me
I can do all that I set out to do
No matter what I’m doing
Or what I’m going through
I take a moment or two
To reflect:
What will mommy do?
What will mommy say?
All the while reminding myself
That she is 1 of the reasons
That I am who I am
I’m forever grateful
For my Granny and Grandpa
God rest their souls
‘Cause without them
There will be no Margot
So I’m forever thankful
For her legacy
Now it’s time to create mines
Mama, I will make you proud‼️