How can an old me exist in the past?
Or does this prompt require me to fast
Forward
A message in a bottle from my sequel
Versions of “I” and “me” deemed unequal
Jagged glass, tossed about the sea, deemed polished
An unavoidable trajectory praised or admonished
Am I ever new, if perpetually used?
If the old us is younger, are we not confused?
Bemused
The past and future writing in the present tense.
Therefore I choose, to write from the end. Stanzas stacked, likely not to comprehend
(Lest you choose to read from the end to here. Or both, for you have free will, my dear)

Your dear friend
The older, new me, most sincere
I’m typing it early, for this hemisphere
I hope this doesn’t reach you too late
The last we spoke, “is not” wasn’t “ain’t”
Do you still like to paint?
An emotional state of inclusivity
Your interpersonal, personality
An ephemeral state of relativity
Will be
The small that you were, and you are, and
Or plummeting down hill
From slowly ascending
Glad to see you still find a thrill
Lie
Yet the imagery of a heart, is a symmetrical
The muscular breakdown of a thigh
Similarly, the tension of a bicep
Our chest
Inside
How strange to know what a heart looks like
Stare
You’ve observed, despite being told not to tear
You’ve stretched knowing that you could
Omnipotence
Accepting a life in pursuit of infinite
Ignorance
My how you’ve found bliss, devoid of
Good evening, self

-Load the car and write the note-

Moving out was terrifying. I enjoyed the first few weeks in my apartment alone.
I was rarely alone when I was with my ex. I depended on him. To get to school, to get to work, to get to rehearsal, to eat, to have a place to sleep, etc, etc. I had to pay a price for all of that. Nothing comes for free.

-Grab your bag and grab your coat-

I remember leaving his house for the last time. I packed that morning as fast as humanly possible. I forgot a lot of things. He kept begging me not to leave, I kept begging to go. I got dressed in my own clothes for the first time in a hot minute. Normally I just grabbed his because mine were always trapped behind the headboard.
I didn’t know it was the last. His hand curved into my inner thigh, the country road we had driven on for nearly two years rolled by until it disappeared into the highway. He dropped me off and my parents greeted him warmly, and hugged him and I think I realized then I hated him.

-Tell the ones that need to know-

My best friend and I got together a little after I got home so I could tell them everything about my ex and I.
And this guy I just met.

Their mouth was agape the whole conversation. I told them I didn’t think my ex was a bad guy, Cole said that was because I haven’t experienced a good one yet.I told them about this guy I met and there was hope in their eyes.

What if this guy was lulling me in with false promises like everyone else before?

-We are headed north.-

We broke up. He left me. I finally reached out to this guy and… the rest is just confetti.

-One foot in and one foot back-

I open up a little just to resend everything I just said. I’ve been told before that I’m “too much” and yet somehow, “not good enough,” at the same time.

I had two people I adored when I was growing up. They were my best friends. They weren’t the best of friends.

One of them called my self harm scars “stupid people scars.” Said I was only doing it for attention, though I never intended for anyone to see them. If I wanted to be effective I should just full-send it and make the little white lines vertical. I opened up to him only for him to say I was too much and that I was crazy and occasionally throw it back in my face.

-But it don’t pay to live like that-

When we were in high school, he caught my ex hitting me, he stepped in and tried to get me out.
When I was going through the worst of my disordered eating habits, he bought me food and sat with me.
He confused me. I believed in my heart he loved me. I still do. I think he just didn’t know how to love right. When he met his boyfriend and they fell in love, I think the two of them learned from one another. They’re still very happy together in their own place. We don’t talk, but, the last time we did, he said that he hopes I get everything I want out of life. And that he’ll be there. His boyfriend and him are planning to get engaged.
I think my boyfriend and I could be like that.

-So I cut ties and I jumped the track-

When we stopped talking, my best friend and I got closer and I got happier. Stress about extracurriculars and homework was all I had to worry about. Life was good. My senior year of highschool was one of my favorite periods of my life.
The other is right now.

-Never to return-

-Oh, Brooklyn, Brooklyn, take me in-

I met my boyfriend at a summer camp. We were both counselors. The counselors were all talking about this, that and the other. I initially wanted to get out of there, but this guy I had just met started talking about video games designed to be difficult.
I was on a Fear and Hunger kick, I hoped he would know the game. He didn’t. He said it reminded him of another game, I said that it reminds of a book, and so on and so on.
Suddenly thirty minutes pass and I’m sitting on the table in the makeup room talking candidly about life, books, video games and art with someone who might as well have been a stranger. But I was hooked.

He looked at me with a kind of recognition that you don’t see terribly often. Like he already knew me. The strange thing was, I felt like I knew him too.

-Are you aware of the shape I’m in?-

When I started having panic attacks at camp, I was fucking embarrassed. I had kept my composure in front of strangers all my life, until right then.

He came in— and I guess he wasn’t really a stranger. He coaxed me through it, though anxiously because he was paranoid about how people would take it. Us— in a room— completely alone.
I could not help that I was drawn to him. I let him see that I was not infallible. I felt closer to him every second we spent together.

Is that wrong of me?

-My hands, they shake, my head, it spins-

We were watching the play at Pocket Sandwich Theater and I knew I needed to make that leap. Just to take his hand.
My brain kept screaming this could just be another game. He could be saying all these sweet words and writing all these beautiful poems just to lure me in.

It wouldn’t be the first time. My first boyfriend told me his dream was to be a teacher with me, and that students would think we were adorable.
He told me after we had been dating for nearly a year that his dream was to take my virginity.

My most recent ex told me his dream was to go to Chicago and be a famous actor, and to have me waiting at the stage door for him.
But what about my stage door? Would he have ever shown up?

But my heart was so sure with this guy what I wasn’t sure with the others.
I could actually see a couple years ahead. It was messy and a little undefined, but the vision was there.

I took his hand. The momentary shock as my fingers laced around his, those beautiful grey and blue eyes widened like I had done something unfathomable.
The smile he gave me, as he wrapped his other hand around ours.

-Oh, Brooklyn, Brooklyn, take me in-

-When at first I learned to speak-

My mother said I learned to talk before I walked. My first word— well to be more accurate it was a sentence.
“Where is it?”
Ironic with my ADHD.

-I used all my words to fight-

I was a terrible person as a middle schooler. I was filled with rage and hormones and everything that I once knew changed.
I was filled with depression that I didn’t understand was depression.

I pushed my friends as far as they would go. I felt so guilty every time that I’d grovel and apologize. Rinse. Repeat. Suddenly not a little girl anymore. I hated myself. My friends didn’t understand. I hated them too.

I bullied, and I seethed, and I said things that I should have never thought, much less said. Much less believed to be true.

-Ah, but it’s just a waste of time-

My best friend and I went to a cabin out in the country for their birthday.
One night, we sat in the bed, and we cried. I apologized for everything I had done when I was a middle schooler. They did too.
We hugged.

-Yeah, it’s such a waste of time-

-Three words that became hard to say-

Fear is a nasty thing. Anxiety and depression too. It’s unfair that your own mind can want to not be alone, yet force you to be lonely. Then yell at you for it.

“I need help.”

Those became so hard.

“I miss you.”

I say those often to a lot of different people. My friends back home, my kids, my boyfriend. I miss them all, truly.

-I and Love and You-

I struggled to say it to my boyfriend when I knew I should’ve. It happened at the right moment that’s true and I’m very grateful for how perfect that first moment was. But—

There was a night where we were playing Minecraft together and I almost said it.

He was so excited about the house. He noticed all the little red details I put everywhere for him. He said no one had ever put such thought into surprising him with something.
I almost said, “it’s because I love you, duh.”
But I didn’t.

-I and Love and You-

I wanna be able to look in the mirror and not examine it. I want to see my features and smile.
I want to enjoy my face reflecting back at me.
I want to like it, to the point that I don’t even acknowledge it.

This morning I got up to take a shower before class. I peeled off my boyfriend’s shirt, and neatly folded it next to the sink. I looked up to grab a hair tie and—

I liked the way my body looked. I like the curvature of my waist, the shape of my breasts, the way my hair fell behind my shoulders even though it was a bit unkempt.

I liked my face. That’s the hard thing to like about myself. As an actor you spend so much of your time examining and painting your face. As an autistic person, I used to practice making facial expressions in the mirror to look more natural. I am so used to my face. Normally, I try to avoid staring at it.
But I looked at the color of my eyes, their asymmetrical shape, the fullness of my lashes—
I looked at my lips, redder and a bit drier than normal, they’re always a little more red after my boyfriend leaves cause his scruff scratches me—
I looked at my nose, I usually hate it. But today I thought, “I look nice.”

I think— I think everyday I get closer to it. Not by much, and it’s never consistent but it has happened more and more as the years go by.

I’m so close to looking in the mirror and saying it.

-I and Love and You-

My baby girl
With bouncing curls
You are the light of my life
Day and night
You bring sunshine and smiles everywhere you go
My heart aches with how much I love you so
I don’t know where I’d be
If there were no you and me
I can’t imagine a life without you
I honestly don’t know what I do
I’m so lucky to watch you grow
I love you more than you’ll ever know

In 2013, something horrid happened to me. It didn’t happen to just me, or affect me the most. It was a betrayal that left me and my children unsafe.

For years, I disregarded how this affected me as I focused on how it affected others I love. How it affected me became a small side story. So, for years, I didn’t bother acknowledging my personal hurt. I had huge obligations to assist others through their journey toward ok-ness. Those others are my children.

What happens then, if there is no ok-ness for me? I’m about to tell you.

The first thing was tears. It was about ten months of tears every night. By myself, alone. For all of us. In waves. During the day, I was raising kids. At night, I was grieving my wounds and losses.

Next came denial. Maybe we can live with this? After all, we aren’t dead and it’s surely been misery, but what’s the way out of misery? Others I loved chose denial, and it seemed to work for them. Some who got hurt are still using denial to cope.

One day, like a lifting fog, I realized denial costs too much. Almost immediately, intense anger replaced my denial.

It’s exhausting to be perpetually angry. Being the body of all-consuming anger is only useful if it leads to justice, and, sadly, it didn’t.

Numbness replaced the anger. God faded into meaninglessness. Emotions faded from red to pastel pink. The duty to continue to exist remained, and that was all I could manage.

For years.

For a decade.

I became a pale version of myself. I could function, raise kids, held down a complicated job. I paid my mortgage and took showers and cooked meals and taught my kids skills to live. Kind of.

If I could have been a better version of myself, I could have taught them more than the bits I managed. I guess I taught them to persevere. The struggle became normal. I thought I had pulled it off, this existing after horror gig. I believed I had healed. What I had actually done was to mute emotions and function in logic as a self protective mechanism. It was very effective; I felt functional. I had emotions, I just vetted them. Numbness was surviving. I felt safe enough to go on.

It took 11 1/2 years for me to fully face my healing. Finally, I could leave safe logic and dulled existence on the table to pursue a little authentic joy.

At first it was scary to feel emotions with some intensity. Emotions can lie! Slowly I let them lead me to some old loves: baking, drawing, building, painting, sewing, exploring, dancing, writing. Can I do it? For myself? And can I survive feeling it? Can I forge trusting relationships with others? Can I trust myself? The world is again wild with color, after so many years of color washed out by pain. Will I choose healing or familiar pain?

Not every day goes too well. Some days I retreat. This healing journey will take more time. But now, instead of hiding behind logic, I use creativity to process life, to feel myself heal, to be alive.

This is like waking from a trance. It is stepping back into my authentic self after an absence.

It is nice to recognize the person inside; although I am much older and much more worn, I have a hard fought value. I am here.

Style score 100%

I don’t really have to think what is blossoming in my life, 2025 is a growing year, You have a Drive that while you have BAD DAYS, yet You push on, You are working on Starting Your tire shop after hours and it’s GOING TO BE AMAZING, you DON’T QUIT, This year is Your year and GREATLY things are happening from a Dodge charger ( hemi motor) to your business will be running within a few months) The clowns are taking off , Who knows what else is going to happen, NOW is my time.

I have thought and thought about the old me , and honestly no matter how long I think or think of the old version, there’s no old version.I have watched myself and the younger me, and through it all, I have always faced obstacles and have always had to overcome from graduating early in school to your mechanic career, the younger me would say YEP you just got older but your drive GOT STRONGER, you never quit and at times Maybe you should have.You helped your family and Never backed down.GREAT JOB,IM PROUD of you.So in finishing, DON’T CHANGE, IM PROUD OF YOU

Do you remember me?
The girl you used to be, before, well… Everything I guess. I know you have blocked me out, and in a way I guess I don’t blame you, but from time to time I wish you would think about me.
Do you remember me?
I am quiet, kind, and spend a lot of time on my own. I wish you remembered that it’s not a bad thing to be alone. Not all company is good company, and if you aren’t content in your own presence, then why would you expect anyone else to be? I understand that your mind is a frightening place these days, but maybe running from the memories is part of what is making you hold onto them.
Do you remember me?
I am the girl that used to cry when I got in trouble, and I have an obsession with Barbie dolls. I wish you remembered how much I love to take care of them. You did the same thing with your daughters when you had them, and it would be better for them and you if you hadn’t worried so much about throwing your middle finger in the air at everyone for what they said about you as a mom as soon as you got a taste of rebellion and a bad attitude, and instead focused more on how you actually were as one. You really only proved them right in the end. For a while anyway.
Do you remember me?
I am dorky I guess. I go to plays with my Grandma, and play dress up with my cousins. Girls night with my friends are what I look forward to often. You wouldn’t know what that’s like anymore. You avoid Grandma because her dementia is getting worse and you know it’ll hurt less if you don’t see her much before she goes. Plus you couldn’t bear to see Papa like that. Nevermind the fact that family is probably the only thing holding him together. And girl friends? What the hell are those? You’ve given those up and replaced them with men. I wish you could spend a night with your best friend, sipping “happy tea,” and watching Anchorman, laughing so hard you cried. You might recall what it feels like to have a real kinship with someone that you don’t share a bed with.
Do you remember me?
I harbor innocence and imagination. The thought of even kissing the person that I like is enough to send shivers up my spine. I wish you would have slowed down in that area. I get it that things happened to you that made you bitter, scared, and angry. You didn’t have to be so easy though. No one will respect you if you don’t respect yourself. You aren’t a sex icon. You’re horny because you do drugs, and you became a hooker because you were poor and sick of living on the street. Just because you made a lot of money, it doesn’t restore your dignity.
Do you remember me?
I’m gentle and forgiving. Which is why even though I don’t understand what you’ve done, I still will forgive you. Someday. You’ve come this far, and you haven’t given up, so you should be proud of that. The world has become an ugly and evil place I guess, especially in the life you got wrapped up in.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I rushed you, and I’m sorry that I didn’t teach you to love yourself better. You may not have ended up in such a predicament. What do I know, though? I’m just a kid, and I’m only going off of the examples that have been set for me. It’s really crazy how we adopt the same behaviors that make us cringe when we are young. Anyway, I’m sorry that I didn’t give you the confidence in yourself to combat what was said about you with the girls, and I’m sorry that the me inside of you made you cower down when it came time to fight for them. It’s not over yet, and you have made a ton of strides in the right direction, but please, please remember. That everything you have worked so hard to build can be ripped away from you just as fast, if not faster. Don’t lose focus. And one last thing…. Don’t forget where you came from. Every now and again, if you could, just please try and think of me.

Style Score: 91%

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‼️

I really miss you.

It didn’t hit me until this year.
Almost 11 years later, just to remind me of how the 11’s, 13th’s and 21’s loved to dance in my head.
Having their own ballet of unfortunate events in my memory bank.
While your memory plays on a loop.
Yet that value always outweighs the sadness.
Holding on to your memories like toes on a tight rope. And as I still walk around cautiously keeping my head on a swivel because you always told me how to aim high.

And here I am…. still looking up hoping that one day you’d say something. Tell me that everything that I have been through is bringing me to this point. That all my worries are just stepping stones. That you are proud.

We don’t get that luxury down here but to know is all we need.
Great is thy faithfulness and to be absent is to be present above. How the way love always carried a tune with you.
You always taught me so much.
Leaving your mark.
I just wish your fragrance lasted longer.

Out of all the things you’ve taught me the urge to not question God never faded. I’ll never know what could come from this grief. While still being curious.
Why did you have to be on the starting pick for the 2013 Draft? Out of all the strongest players but this must be the best seat.
Seeing my accomplishments and growth.
Acknowledging that you are proud in my baby girls smile.
Without creating the space within me I really wouldn’t be in the place I am in.
Walked in rooms that I could only imagine the smell of the paint.
As your memory remains on going. Know that everything is still in remembrance of you.
And I may didn’t live up to my end because life just has its own way.

I miss you. Sorry that it took me so long to add ink to it.

Lourdes Islas Martinez, I didn’t know you.
I never thought I looked like you.
But I think of you almost every day.

When I was little, I thought of you when I looked down at my thumbs.
“Those skip a generation,” Mom said. “My mother had thumbs like that!”

Is it weird to say I feel connected to you by toe thumbs?

As I approached forty (and Mom had made it to sixty-seven) I wondered if what had taken you early from your family would take me early from mine. Does cancer skip a generation too?

When I lost my pregnancy and someone said something ugly, I cried and cried and cried.
I stopped taking your great-grandbabies on field trips.
On Sundays, I hid between the pews.

Do you remember how your memory snapped me out of my misery when I had a panic attack too?

It was Mom’s memory of you and Aunt Lizzy and the watermelon seeds.
It made me think of something else.
It was another weird connection (kind of like toe thumbs).

‘Cucaracha! Cucaracha!!! CUCARACHA!!!!’
Mom ran into the kitchen screaming while you were on the phone!

You ran into the bathroom, screaming at those little black ovals.
They were floating, creeping, SNEAKING toward Lizzy’s chubby legs.
Mom laughed and teased, “Those are just my watermelon seeds!”

You were too kind to punish her.
You just said, “Wait until your father gets home.”

Do you know Mom ends every story of you the same way?

My mother was the kindest person.
I wish you could have known her.
You are just like her.
You would have loved her.
She was very social.

That day I cried until my heart was in my throat,
I was thinking of you, Mom, and Aunt Lizzy and the watermelon seeds.
I was picturing you in heaven pain free.
Were you whispering to me?
Or was it God with a divine Dad joke?
I don’t know, but this was the thought that came:

Dead people don’t gossip—they have better things to do.
Don’t you?

That snapped me up and made me laugh.
It was true.

I couldn’t picture you fretting over church gossip.
In the presence of God and everything holy and good.

Though I hadn’t been the one spreading it,
I’d been repeating it.
I’d been saying it in my mind and thinking things no one should.

That answer gave me peace that day, but it didn’t stop compulsive thoughts I tried not to think or “bad” feelings I tried not to feel.

If someone at church was unkind.
Or angry.
Or disappointed.
Or they gossiped about me.
It got me every time.

When that happened, I didn’t think of things said and done when I was young to try and make me conform or “believe.”
I just physically felt the same things as if I was again fifteen.

It would be years before other answers came.
Such as not allowing others to mistreat me or my family (even at church).

But that answer that day, thinking of you, turned my thoughts toward God.
It put me in His (and your) light.

The anticipation of a conversation
a moment’s pause, a heart’s sensation
An expectation of words unsaid
A binding connection, a delicate thread

The fabric was woven, the story was told
a legacy kept, forever to hold
A journey of words, a longing to know became a tapestry rich, a narrative to grow

The art of conversation, a gentle guide
leading me through the labyrinth of time
To listen to memories, a heart’s treasure a mind’s archive, a soul’s measure

All that you were and the joy you spread became part of me, of who I am
Reflections of my younger days your voice, your presence, your beautiful face

Our memories, an album of distant times
keeps the joy of better days alive
Reluctant to embark on unknown paths
comfort comes from waves of our past

Your existence upon which I became
was a guide, a light, so much more than name
The courage you showed throughout your life
echoes deep within the depths of my mind

In that stillness, I found my voice
A sense of clarity, a heartfelt choice
The silence beckoned, I found my way
to a place of peace, where love will stay

“Go Ahead!” “Take Your Time.” Life Is An Ongoing Process”,
From One’s Life To One’s Deaths, We All Struggle For Existence,
It’s The Time Between The Two That One’s Great Wisdom Is Missed,
Now Where do I Even Start From this long, successful list?

A Rising Student at Cathedrals,
A Regentonian with Great Grammar,
A Traveler Past Lagos Canals,
To A Bay Fourah away-planner,
A man that favors morals, ethics and logistics,
And motion, momentum, Work done in Applied Physics.

A Father To Many And Grandfather To Many More,
Some Of Us May Openly Grieve While Others Have In Store,
The Sight From The Juba House Window Darkens As Far As Can See,
Will Miss The Stories At The Table Of Brer Fox And Anansi.
The Balls Played In The Compound Near The Toyota and Mercedes,
Will Miss Your Baritone Laugh Accompanied With Star or Baileys.

I Recall Your Tuning To The Radio,
BBC Or 98.6 Ratio,
To Pick Out Rhetoric In The Daily News,
Is a Skill I Wish To Master In The Views,
“If You Can’t Make A Friend, Do Not Make An Enemy,”
Your Words I Find Difficult To Follow Mentally,
Perhaps It Is The Plight Of The Young Man Within Me,
The Angst, The Confusion And All Things Lemony,
Your Last Advice Was That My Chance Would Come Soon,
And When It Comes, I Must Rise Up And Not Gloom,
I Know That I Can’t List All Of Your Success And The Steps,
But Like You Used To Say “Life Is An Ongoing Process.”

Dear God,

It’s internally overwhelming dealing with death. It’s like going out to dinner with 7 people at a table. You’re all aughing, smiling, enjoying that meal because it’s filled with love and it’s seasoned well. Your meal is over and it’s time to go back home, but then one of you don’t get back in the car. Your family is in the car and you watch the other family member stand outside the car. You wave to them and you become sad. It’s now 6 of you in the car driving back home in silence and confusion. You have to put that key in the door, open it and go up to that room where that person is no longer coming home to get in that bed. “Is this real?”

Reality hits and now you are sad. You’re crying, hyperventilating, and your brain is racing. You ask yourself “What just happened?” “Wait, wait, did I just leave my loved one at the restaurant and watch them walk off into the fog? “Maybe, I was dreaming?” You realized that you’re not. “Are they ever coming back?” “Who told tthem to go off into the fog like that?” You grab your phone to call them and hope they will pick up. RING…. RING….RING.. RING…

You hear something, as if someone picked up… “You have reached the voicemail of Pablo Joshua, please leave a message after the tone” “Dad, dad, are you there?” …BEEEEP…….. “Dad, please pick up, it’s me, Janet”. “Dad, can you hear me?” Then……Cancer, he answers. “No, your father is not here anymore, but you can speak to him at anytime”……silence…… more silence… more hyperventilating…..more heartache.. tears fall profusively…

“Hello, cancer, you really took him? Cancer, you son of a bitch! “

You really took him away from me, away from all of us??”…Who invited you into our lives?”.

You grab your chest because you can’t breathe. You even think, “maybe I should go back to that restaurant and join him in the fog”.

No, you can’t do that!

Its’s morning. I hear calypso music playing. The sun is up. I just don’t smell Johnny Cakes. I wish I did.

My dad is in my house and I see him everyday. I hear his voice, his fingers snapping, and his feet tapping to Hall & Oates.

(Music playing…lyrics are in tune)….
“You’re a rich girl, and you’ve gone too far
cause you know it don’t matter anyway…
You can rely on the old man’s money..
You can rely on the old man’s money..”

I walk down my steps and I see him. I smile. “Look at him, having a ball”, feeling the music in his soul. His eyes are closed and he is smiling. I see it. Look, at him. It’s my youngest son. His face is just like his. His soul is just like his. It’s beautiful to see. He’s my fathers twin.

I go down another flight of stairs and look at my dad, laughing and talking on the phone. Its my dads laugh so distinctively. It’s my oldest son. He’s my dads other twin.

I’m out at a restaurant and it’s music playing. I hear my dad speaking and playing his favorite tunes. I stop short, look up and smile. It’s him. There he is, being an amazing DJ that he loves to be. The voice on the mic and that’s Pablo’s voice. It’s, my brothers voice. He is such a great DJ, just like my dad. He makes his sets and send them out to people so they can enjoy and feel the love for music just like he taught us.

Wait! Just wait a minute, look at my dad out there on the dance floor. He loves two stepping to the music. I hear Anita Baker, Kenny G, and calypso king, Arrow. You can tell he feels the music with every step he takes. It’s My little brother and he is out dancing and smiling on the dance floor, just like my dad.

I hear sports playing, it’s loud. I use to wish he would turn that down. I hear the commentary. He’s watching sports. and now he’s broadcasting live from the station. Who would have thought that Dad? I know you are so proud of your baby boy. My youngest brother is the sportscaster. He is my dads other twin.

I see and hear my dad all the time. I’m blessed. I’m grateful. He lives in me everyday, he lives in my sons and my brothers.

God, my father taught me all about music.
He lived and breathed music. All genres!

What more could I ask for? God, his spirit is never leaving my house. You were right. I want to thank you God. I want to thank you for taking my dad and putting his soul at peace. As much as I said, I wish he was here for this or that… he is., and he multiplied.

Thank you!
Love Tiny!

P.S., please let my dad know, that I miss him and his legacy of music and sports will live on forever.

Wait, I can just tell him myself.
Good night!

Rest in peace to my dad, Pablo E Joshua 1/25/48 to 4/16/18