I Didn't know I was Lost

This magazine cover changed my life. Ok, it didn’t change my life, but it definitely inspired me to make some changes. I was 21 years old and had recently broken off an engagement with my then fiancé and son’s father. Although I knew it was the best decision for me, there was some grieving that had to take place, as with all losses. I had my whole life planned out and it all revolved around my man. I left him, but in my mind he would get himself together and one day we would reconcile. The universe had another plan.

  I remember being home alone, in my bed, bored because my son was at his grandmother’s house. As I flipped through the pages of that magazine and beautiful brown faces looked back at me, my inner voice (which I didn’t even know I had) began to speak to me. She didn’t scold me, but she told me I had lost myself in my relationship, distanced myself from friends and family, and most importantly, forgotten I was once a girl with dreams. I had stopped pursuing them. I was almost done with my bachelor’s degree, but at I was just finishing it to prove those wrong who said I wouldn’t.  I was in robot mode. I hadn’t written poetry in more than 4 years, something I had done regularly since I was 14. My high school friends were living their best lives at HBCUs and I was playing “wifey”, working full time, and caring for my three-year-old. I was existing, but not living. Those beautiful faces showed me this.

 I began to cut out their pictures and quotes and taping them to my bedroom wall.  When I was done, I went through my other magazines and hung up more. When I ran out of space, I started taping to my ceiling…Queen Latifah, Toni  Morrison, Oprah, and on and on. Then powerful phrases came to me organically from words like Beautiful, Strong, Dreams, Joy, Author, Boss etc.  When I was done, I realized I had been at it for more than two hours. I felt like I been born again. With tears of relief in my eyes, I breathed like I had breathed for the first time in forever.

From that day on I slowly began to re-invest in myself, to decide I was going to dream again. I was going to be an author and someone who inspired other people. I didn’t know how I just knew WHAT.  See, what I didn’t know then is that I had actually created my first vision board. Sure it had 4 walls and a ceiling, but it was indeed a vision board. I didn’t even know what it was but just like with any vision board, seeing it every day and every night put me on the path to manifestation. Without even realizing it, I was creating the life I posted on my vision walls. The how didn’t matter, I just swung into action, took the first steps. In return, the universe exposed me to the people and places that instrumental in helping me find the how.

I could go on and on about the lessons one can take from this, but I’d like to hear from you, reader. What are the lessons?

Woman Circle

If you know me, then you know I suffered loss at an early age. In the past I felt deprived times two for losing my mother at 4 and my grandmother at 13. But the older I get, and the more self-reflective I become, I realize that through some sort of divine design, I had the opportunity to be molded by numerous beautiful, powerful, loving Black women, a few who have been completely pivotal.

My Ga-Ga

Who I write about extensively in my memoir, planted the seed of self-esteem in me by making me feel everything I did was wonderful. Her love and nurturing built the foundation for the Queen of Self-esteem.

 My paternal grandmother

When I used to spend the night at her house she was hardly there at night. She was hanging with her friends. She was out doing her thing. You know why, because she had raised her 8 kids. In my grandmother I learned that there is no honor in self-sacrificing and that as a mother who took care of everyone else, there was nothing wrong in taking me time. Yasssss!  

My maternal aunts

My aunt Gloria

  The image that will never leave my head is of playing outside and seeing her come walking down the street in a business suit and sneakers with her shoes in a bag. I thought it was fabulous, she was career woman, a mom and a wife.  That image of her found its way in my subconscious. I could do it all if I wanted.

My aunt Saundra

 She was the original Carrie from Sex in the City. Always dressed up and going out. But she also had a career. What I remember most about my childhood was that she would have relationship, but when she was no longer feeling it, she would bounce, leave, come back home if she needed to. Through her I learned that you don’t have to settle. She never settled, she got just what she wanted in a man, and he supports her career.

My aunt Sharon

 As the youngest, she was the one who had the birds and bees talk with me and my friends. She was young, cool, and smart. Her man was fine, so what she said had to be true. Even more importantly, when I was 12, she took and in my room and taught me about breast self-exams. It was the beginning about me being hyper vigilant about my health.

My aunt Gwen a.k.a Two Cent

 She passed away suddenly at age 36. She taught me about the brevity of life cherishing each moment. As a fellow poet we shared a love of arts and music. To this day when I hear the reggae tune, "Baby Can I hold you” I think of her. She was not afraid of being different. Neither am I.

 Carol (Hoffman) Sullivan

I truly don’t think I would have made it out of high school or adolescence without her.  I was in such a dark, secret place but she brought me out of it with her wit, her intelligence, beauty and empathy. And she looked me. ME who looked like no one with light eyes and light hair. Such an important thing for growing girls to see. ( If you have a picture of her, I'll take it).

Natalie Dorm

As my tutor, she was not for me playing small. I was intelligent, and I needed to embrace it. As an adult and colleague, she taught me that being an educator means speaking up about what matters, how to make English class something students would grow to love if you aren’t afraid to step outside the box. After watching her, I never stayed in the box.

 Dora Robinson 

She  taught me the importance of leadership and empowering other women. She did it by leading by example. She is the one who put me on my path of working with young people, simply because she wanted to help a single mom and college student who worked late nights at a gas station. She showed me how to play the game and  win!

 Marjorie Hurst

She is the one who, after a year of writing for her newspaper asked, “when are you going to make a book?” She planted a seed that sprouted into 11 publications to date. She also taught me the importance of networking. Had her son and I not been close friends, she wouldn’t have gotten my resume put to the top of a pile for what has been my career for 14 years.

Essie Lee

My eldest son’s grandmother taught me about resilience. We both lost our mothers at a young age and were raised by family. She was tough but loving, like me. When her son and I broke up, she gave me the best advice. She told me that even and especially when I’m feeling my worst, dress up. Never let them see you down. Today I still do it. When I’m sad,  or sick, lipstick and heels make it better, if only a little.

 Tammy Marie

My eldest son’s aunt helped me balance the tomboy in me as a young woman. As a woman 7 years older than me,  she taught me that even being a tomboy, I could still smell delectable, and turn on the sexy when needed. To this day, I sleep in nothing, but sexy clothes and I always smell amazing if I don’t say so myself.

 

 Of course, I continue to be shaped by women my age and elders from the present and past (perhaps I’ll share in another post). However, where I am right now, today, is because of the women who led by example. So how can I not? Cheers to #blackgirlmagic.

Going through it to Get to it

I am tremendously elated to be on the other end of a very

difficult transitional season in my life.

In the last two years I have:

• had my ovaries removed =(adjusting to menopause) 

• had a double mastectomy with full reconstruction

      =(multiple surgeries and body image issues to follow)

• ended an 8 year relationship to the man I lived with and thought I would marry =(adjusting to single life physically, emotionally & financially)

• started a 9 month leadership program (more work, meetings and deadlines)

•   finished my doctoral course work (which meant starting a dissertation).

      That’s a lot right? Well, wait…there’s more.

 

The first half of 2017 was all about:

•  waiting for the arrival of my first grandchild (he came April 3rd),

•  finishing the leadership program (I graduate June 14^th.) 

• completing my dissertation (by the end of summer… FINALLY),

•  and most importantly, after a year and a half of living in pain and discomfort. I have my last surgery date scheduled for July 7.

I was in limbo for so long, it feels amazing to finally have

some closure. Although there will still be some challenges,

physically, emotionally and mentally… I see the light at the

end of the tunnel. It’s bright as hell and I am relieved,

delighted and excited. 

Aunty Maya was Right

Whenever I am in need of something nontangible…I give it to someone else. Not with the idea of getting something in return, but I find that it gives me a sense of fulfillment that is equal to or better than what I was craving in the fist place. I’m talking generosity, compassion, affection, patience, joy, peace, and positivity. Like many things, it’s easier said than done, but it truly makes difference. For example, when I’m feeling sad  or hopeless (which is usually after watching the news these days) I try to bring joy and hope to someone else who may need it. So while I’m thinking about the threat of nuclear war or I’m haunted by the death of young person, I start on smaller scale and instill hope for a brighter future for one of the young people I mentor because they aren’t thinking about macro level fear and despair, they are too consumed with it on a personal level. I am considered to be so strong by the people who know me, but I’m human  so sometimes I could use a hug, some affection and compassion. I could reach out an ask for it, and because I know I’ll receive it, I instead apply my energy into being affectionate and compassionate towards those who don’t have the support system I have, who can’t pick up the phone and vent like I can.  On the rare occasion that I feel less than financially

(smirk) that's when I give... clear out my closets and give away clothes, provide transportation for someone who needs it, say yes when asked to donate to St. Jude's at the cash register.  These are acts that you can’t necessarily describe as altruistic because again, I’m totally getting something out of it. But what I think it does remind me to appreciate what I do have in the moment; extend my gratitude to the universe for all that I do have instead of complaining about what I don’t. So next time you're not feeling fly, compliment someone, not feeling confident, give someone  else a pep talk. Try it time and let me know how it works! GIVE

P.S The poem Our Grandmothers by Maya Angelou is where this quote comes from and it is amazing!

Life Cycles

When I look at this picture, I am flooded with thoughts and emotion. It was 20 years ago, on my 19^th birthday, and I was pregnant. I was in love and had illusions of happily ever after; ready to skip through the parties, meeting new people, and all the experiences college life had to offer and leap right into domestic tranquility. While most of my friends were away, fully emerged into their college lives, I was fully emerged in my son’s father and his family, distancing myself from everything and everyone whom I loved. I had plans to finish college, but only to prove that those naysayers who were so disappointed in my pregnancy were wrong.  But I was lost. I even took a hiatus from writing poetry because all that mattered to me was having enough money to get a place for us- him, our baby, and myself. Myself. Myself became last and remained that way for a long time. That’s why I totally get it when I work with young women who follow my path... I had become so absorbed in the idea that at 19 I was with the love of my life and nothing else mattered. Fortunately for me, I grew the hell up and eventually found myself. Unfortunately many like me remain lost, jumping from relationship to relationship, never finding out who they really are. All I can do is drop little gems here and there, and hope it helps them find their way, much like Hansel and Gretel.

Which leads me to my second thought. More than the idea of evolution is how history repeats itself, and things come full circle. 20 years later, my son 19, with a baby on the way, is trying  ( or maybe not trying ) to find himself. How wild is that? And me, being a mother and refusing to be a hypocrite, must let him walk his own path of self-discovery, understanding that every screw up, every heartbreak is a lesson that will make him stronger and wiser. Talk about Life Cycles.

CHECK UP FROM THE NECK UP

How are you? No really, how are you? So often we are asked or ask that question, already anticipating an automatic response of “fine” or “good” because it’s the polite thing to say. After all we can’t just go and spill our guts to everyone. I mean what if I answered, “ Awful. Menopause is killing me. I don’t sleep, I wake up in sweats, I’m showering twice a day, and I can’t wear any of my winter sweaters because I’ll die if I have a hot flash while wearing one!” AWKWARD!! Right?  So, that’s why I chose to share it with a therapist instead. That’s right, a therapist. I went recently for a “CHECK UP FROM THE NECK UP” because just as it's important get a pap smear and a cholesterol check, it’s equally important to get a mental and emotional check. Turns out I’m fine (I’m at a time in my life where I’m in transition in almost every area of my life, and I’m embracing it). 

Unfortunately, as women, as women of color we tend to put this on the bottom of our to-do list, if we put it on there at all. Instead we push our feelings to the side, or drown them in façade, food, drink, work, or worse social media; to the detriment of ourselves. We make sure that even if we shop at the thrift store or color our hair on our own that we look good no matter what, but we don’t do that for our inside. I used to be so guilty of it myself for years, but now I’m all about self-care because I know it makes me a better mother, employee, friend and a warrior. Having friends and family to support you is a wonderful thing, and I’m blessed to have both. However, confiding in them sometimes means you will be judged (verbally or mentally). And once you divulge drama about your significant other, then you can count on them to hold a grudge even if you don’t. A licensed therapist, however doesn’t hold grudges, instead they let you talk and ask you the type of leading questions that compel you to figure out how to handle your situations.  Even if you don’t go regularly (because honestly there may not be need to), go for that checkup. There may be a problem you aren’t aware of lurking in your conscious. And then again, everything might be fine. But you won’t know unless you go!  

Magic

There is something magical about walking in your purpose. Equally it’s disconcerting and chaotic when you are not walking in your purpose. For some reason there is this notion that those who are successful, (happy, doing what they love and getting paid for it ) are lucky or special. Truth is, we are all special. What distinguishes those of us who appear to have these fulfilling lives and those who are miserable and lost is …purpose.
 Since I was little I also wanted to perform and at 8  I  declared that I would be an author. I am an artist in its truest form. But when I was 20 years old  it all clicked for me when I got my first job at a community center. I quickly found what I was meant to do and that is to inspire and motivate others, in particular youth and women. I know this because even when I’m exhausted, put me  in room of teens or women and I come alive. And don’t let me have a stage, because then it’s on! 
Almost 20 years later, I’m at the threshold of 40, and I’ve come to realize that I am supposed use my art and my stage presence as a tool to reach those souls that truly need me. It’s this kind of clarity that guides me daily in my thought and actions. Though this work can be emotionally daunting, I take my responsibility seriously. That’s right, your purpose is your responsibility, it is why you are here. When you don’t understand the why, then it is impossible get to a how, or when or where. I see it all the time, people who bounce from job to job, school to school, certificate to certificate just to be doing something. That’s cool if you are happy, but if you find yourself feeling lost and unsure, it’s time to  make some changes.  Sure, it’s definitely easier said than done; shoot, I stumbled upon my purpose. It found me when I wasn’t even looking. But if you are looking, searching for that one thing, let me assure you won’t find it in a romantic relationship (that’s another post, on another day). But here are a few tips to get you headed in the right direction:

1.       Identify what you are good at doing.

 What ability or talent are you totally confident about? It you’re not sure, ask the people who care about you. Sometimes you are adept at things you may not even be aware of. Make a list.

2.       Identify what gives you pleasure and joy. 

Maybe you enjoy being alone, or in a room full of people. Perhaps you find happiness in what others may see as chores.  What gives you the tingles?

3.       Be open to new experiences.

 Anytime there’s an opportunity presents itself to go some  place you’ve never been or learn a new skill, take it. Even if it doesn’t become your career or you don’t discover your purpose, you may meet someone who will a guide for you on journey to find your purpose.

Number 4 is not a necessity because I believe purpose does not equal day job. But if you can:

 Find a way to generate income from whatever it is you love to do.  In today’s world if the position doesn’t exist, you can create it yourself.

 

What are you waiting for?  Go find your magic!

Hold on

I can officially say that the second week of January 2017 was the most emotionally draining I’ve had in a long time. But if you know me, after I have time to refill my  cup,  I reflect and figure how what's next…. how do I make it better? What can I do differently? How can I help?

Tragedy and Trauma (with capital T's)  were the words of week as I found myself needing to be there for others while internally dealing with my own emotional response. There were very few people who actually checked in to see how I was doing. Then there were people I called and they focused on how they were feelings. I ended most of my days on my couch in a catatonic state, followed b restless sleeping and wearing my mask at work. Now that the week has ended, and I've had time to think, I've learned at least two major lessons this week. The first is I've learned is ...  ask for what you need. There are some of us ( like Me) who are perceived to be these strong people who may bend but never break. And while I do consider myself to be resilient and adept at self-care, this week I really needed a shoulder to cry to on because I spent my days hugging & comforting crying teens and young women during the day, and texting, instant messaging and calling them by night. All of this after news of a successful and then thankfully an unsuccessful suicide attempt, sexual assault on video, hospitalizations and mental breakdowns. All in a matter of days. 
In the mist of it, the innate nurturer in me just wanted to make sure everyone was okay, so I sprang into comforter mode.  But when it was all done, there were about three people who called to check on me. Then I realized it’s not their fault, they assumed that I got this, because most times I do. What I should have done was said was, “Listen I’m emotionally drained and heartbroken, can someone come get my 5 year old so I can have moment to cry."  "Can someone cook me hot food because I just want to lay here."  "Let's a have chocolate or wine and talk it out."  But I didn’t, so I cannot be mad that I didn’t get what I didn’t ask for. My commitment is to make sure from now on that I ask for what I need and I teach my students and mentees to do the same because no one should suffer in silence and so many people do.  As I was there this week  for one of the strongest people, this truth was reiterated.

 This leads me to my second lesson. Early last week I learned that I’m not done with major surgery.Nope. Because of my hernia, I in fact will have to endure another 6 hour surgery, a couple of days in the hospital and 6 weeks of recovery. I was devastated when the surgeon explained why a simple laparoscopic surgery would not be enough. After a small temper tantrum in the car on the way home, I realized. I will get through this as I did all of the others, that that is just the way life works, if you don’t give up. You will get through it and come out on the other side, most times stronger, better, and more beautiful. This is also what I remind myself… and what I will teach my students and mentees as well.  It’s definitely easier said than done, especially when your world is crumbling and you don’t have emotional support or coping skills, like many of the young people in my live. I just hope that by persevering and sharing my story they can see that it is possible. Depression, illness, death, loneliness, etc. It is possible to come out on the other side. This too shall pass.  As I type this I can hear that Wilson Sister’s song in the back of my mind... "Hold on for one day, things will go your way." It’s so true, and until they can hold on to themselves, I’m going to be there to help them hold on. 

At All Costs

My heart breaks every time I hear about a young person committing suicide because they are being bullied. There are so many stances people take on this, from blaming parents, to even saying that children don’t have thick skin anymore, teasing is a part of childhood. This coming from people who didn’t grow up in the world of social media, where remarks and comments aren’t just forever embedded in our memory, but on laptops and cell phones for the whole world to see with just a click; where unauthorized videos become weapons of blackmail, shame and coercion. So was the case with Tovonna Holton, a 15-year-old Florida teen who was filmed secretly in the shower by her  “peers” who then shared it to Snapchat, a popular social platform among teenagers. Now there is much speculation about whether or not Tovonna, who shot herself in the head actually killed herself because of the incident or because she had deeper issues. In the end, it doesn’t matter at all. She is no longer here but those images of her naked body still linger on the web, or in screenshots.  It’s, for this reason, I offer this advice to parents:   Be all up in your child’s business at all costs!

They won’t like it, as a matter of fact, they’ll be pissed off, but it is your right and it is your duty. If your child has an account on any social media platform, then you need one too! I allowed my son at 14 to have a Facebook account on the condition that he friended me.  Then I friended some of his friends. So easily they accepted my requests, and many those that didn't accept my request had accounts which weren’t private so I could snoop as needed. I remember one day, I had to intervene when I saw that one of my son’s white friends referred to him as “nigga” casually.  I checked him quickly with a comment ordering he removes it immediately and then later had a follow discussion about it. 

  If he ever used my computer and didn’t sign out, I would go Facebook through his messages.  When I saw he hadn't posted a while, I check his friend's pages to see if he created a new page, he had.  When Instagram came about, I followed him and his friends.  I needed to be sure he wasn’t posting pictures with someone’s gun, or puffing weed.  I didn’t want him caught up in the glamour of what he saw on videos, or to follow what he saw others doing. Until he turned 18, he also knew that he was would be subject to a “phone check” at any time. I refused to let my son catch a charge for sexting, so even though we had a discussion about, I still checked for it. Now that he approaches 19, I’m not one bit sorry.  I could have potentially prevented my son from incriminating himself. 

We’d all like to think that we raised our kids right, but the reality is it’s easy for young people to get caught up in the crowd, to join in on what they think is just mere teasing. How easy it is for a careless judgment call on their behalf to have life altering consequences.  That is why I am vehemently for protecting our teens from themselves and others. A couple of years ago one father went into his daughter’s messages to find an older man who started out as friends but quickly began soliciting her for sex. The father set this man up to meet his “daughter”only to show up in a place instead. Thanks to his risky move, that man was arrested.  I, too would go as far as create a fake account to monitor or prove to them how quickly things can escalate.  If we are not hyper vigilant, it can cost us our child’s freedom, safety or even worse their lives. 

I could care less about  children's right advocates or whomever else thinks my child has a right to privacy. I will protect my child as long as they are a child, and I suggest you do the same. It is our responsibility to go so far as to check each other's children , family and friends, after all it takes a village. 

Dance with My Mother

I’d be dishonest with the world and myself if I didn’t admit that occasionally I feel a sense of envy and hurt when I see the relationship some of my closest friends have with their mothers. They party together, gamble to together, or live across the street from each other. I can’t help but think that if my mother was alive, she’d dance with me at family parties; I’ve been told all my life that she could cut a mean rug!

Sometimes I wish that I could crawl up in the bed with her like I did when I was three and be vulnerable with her. I’m come along accepting this loss, using my poetry to deal with my emotions, honoring her with my pen name and a tattoo, and having a zest for life so I can live for both of us. Anyone who knows me, knows that I believe in spirit and that much like water, we humans only change form, but our spirits, our energy never really dies. I know her spirit is present, and I get little signs every now and then, but sometimes I just want that physical presence, arms to hold, neck to smell in an embrace. I even get the bigger picture, I wouldn’t be who I am if I hadn’t suffered the loss.  I wouldn’t have ever picked up a pen to process my feelings and written words that I can truly say have inspired others to write, reflect, or do better. I wouldn’t be the type of teacher or mentor who is on call 24/7 for babies. I wouldn’t have this relentless desire to inspire women and teens to take power over their futures instead of being consumed by the past. I know her time was limited, and her purpose was fulfilled in those 23 years (according to two different mediums and my own intuition), but sometimes it doesn’t make it any easier, and sometimes I become overwhelmed with emotions and tears fill up my eyes and I let out a broken cry. This is the reality. I never want to sound ungrateful, I’ve been more than blessed with an enormous family, surrounded by love and mother like figures, something I’m sure other people wish they had.  The older I get the more I come to understand the bigger picture, which is why 90% of the time, I can tell my story to a crowd without even a lump in my throat, but other times, l find myself wondering what would certain moments be like if she was physically there instead of just mentally. 

My mother, looking exhausted after giving me a bath

FREASTS: The last night Part I

Here I am at the 6 week mark for my surgery, and the whole experience has been surreal. Rewind to the last week of August, which was pure chaos for me. It was the first week of professional development for educators and I had to be a presenter. While my summer was great I was feeling extra fat because I needed to put extra meat on my stomach for the surgery and well, I did. Let’s be clear, you cannot spot gain  weight just like you cannot spot lose, so I was feeling plump in all areas. My breasts were the largest they'd
been in a long time and my weight was close to its highest. Therefore I only had like 2 bras I could fit and a few maxi dresses. I was highly emotional all of the time. I was like a pregnant mother nesting, preparing my house for the week would be in the hospital, preparing my toddler for  mommy being "at the doctor’s" for days and him not being able to climb on mommy or mommy not being able to pick him up when I came back. I was decorating a classroom and getting lesson plans ready for my extended absence  (8 to 12 weeks). This meant staying after school for 2 to 3 hours daily while all of the other teachers rushed off to enjoy their last days of summer. I was preparing for a surgery that would not only change my body, but would change my life! The week was flying by as I felt like there wasn't enough time for to complete my to-do list. My surgery was scheduled for August 31, the first day of school for students. I would not be there,  instead I'd be on an operating table being sliced and diced.

  It would be a 10 to 12 hour surgery, I was nervous about not coming out of it alive, I was anxious about how I would react to my “Toya the Remix”. What if I hated my freasts (fake breasts)? What if I looked at this new pair without nipples and with big scars and I panicked?  What if they were lopsided, or my abdominal scar was atrocious? I know supposedly the internet is not your friend when it comes to medicine but I did extensive research, sometimes at 2 and 3am, looking at other people’s scars, finding recovery tips, and while it helped me prepare my home, it definitely put my anxiety at an all-time high. I couldn’t sleep at night. I almost had panic attack thinking about going under and the type of pain I’d have to endure. 

 The only thing that took my attention away was the deadline for my comprehensive exam for my doctoral degree.  I couldn't continue with my dissertation until I passed. It was due September 8, no exceptions, no excuses, even medical (Please believe me, I tried). It was more than 60 pages long. And I would have to complete it a week early if I wanted to succeed.

 Fast forward to the night of Sunday, August 30^th ...the longest night ever. My hospital bag was packed, the house was spotless, everyone was asleep and I had done more research on the procedure than I needed. I had two Reiki sessions and had been put on many prayer lists, so in terms of the actual procedure, I was felt relaxed and prepared. There was only one thing weighing heavily on my mind.I knew I had to finish the exam before I went under because I knew there was no way I’d be able to write coherently once I came out of surgery. As I made edits, my eyes were strained, I wasn't sure if I was thinking clearly. I was hungry as hell, but doing the mandatory fasting, not even water.I had a toddler meltdown at about 1:00am thinking, I should just give up, I should just wait until next semester and retake it, even if it meant more loan money. I wanted my peace of mind; I needed my peace of mind. And then I heard this little voice, scratch that, a big voice tells …  BULL SH*T! You are Brenda’s Child, there’s no giving up! You busted your ass on this for a month and now you wanna quit!?

 The voice sounded a lot like Tom Hanks in a League of Their Own. But instead of yelling “There’s no crying in baseball” he was saying “There’s no giving up. People are counting on you. You aren’t a hypocrite are you? Follow Through.”  

So I did. I finished my paper at 3:34 am. I still didn't hand it in. I closed my laptop, went into the bathroom and looked at my for the last time. I felt my erect nipples for the last time, realizing I'd never know what that would be like again.

 I took a selfie of my extra-large, gravity-stricken breasts and my stomach, that since my first son was born 18 years ago, had looked like two large lips frowning.  I looked at my red sleepy eyes and then I shrugged my shoulders before I took what would be my last shower for 3weeks. Screw it, I’d sleep under anesthesia. I was going to let everything go and clear my mind for the surgery I had to report to at 5:45am.  I was signing off. 

Bittersweet Choices

   

     Even though I’m consumed with
 my dissertation, I am also

 preparing for the biggest, most complex surgery of my life; my mind and spirit are all over the place.  First off, I am beyond grateful that because of technology I am able to take steps to prevent the breast cancer that took my mother away at such a young age. But when I look at my toddler, I’m sad because my sister and I were so close to his age when she passed away. My baby is 3 ½ and he comes looking for me in the middle of the night. I couldn’t imagine not being there for him, and knowing that I was dying and wouldn’t get to see him grow up. My oldest son just graduated high school, and last week I took him to get his college ID. My mom missed that. My grandmother missed that. And so many other things in between. So lately I’m extra attached to both of them (even though the teen is totally not feeling mom). 

    Then I feel blessed again because it was my choice to wear 

my fabulous wigs, and to chop all my hair off, and it wasn’t the case for my grandmother. I remember coming home from school one day and she was sitting on the couch with a pile of hair in her lap. She explained to me that it was an effect of her chemo. Looking back, her wigs were in no way as beautiful as her once long dark hair.  And when it grew back, it looked a lot like mine does now, just gray. I have options, and it’s amazing, and it’s still scary and bittersweet.

      Then there's my mortality, something I struggled with so

much as a young person, so much that I refused to wear bandanna scarves because I remember my mother wearing them while she was in treatment. 

Now that older, and I’ve outlived my mother, it’s coming into a play again.  I’m going under the knife for 10 to 12 hours. YIKES!!! I’ll be in ICU;  in the hospital away from my baby for 5 days. I’ll have to look at my breasts without nipples or areolas for about 6 months. I will have a huge horizontal scar across my abdomen; I’ll try best to look at that with gratitude because I have a choice. That choice doesn’t involve radiation, chemo, or not being here to see my sons grow and evolve. I have a choice, but it doesn't mean I'm still not apprehensive.