Thunder Storms in Spring

-A Journey Of Forgiveness

The stupid neither forgive nor forget; the naïve forgive and forget; the wise forgives but do not forget-Thomas Szasz
 

Sore ass and hurt feelings. I just couldn’t believe she hit me and with a belt at that! I got my first real whooping and I was devastated. The worst part is, I didn’t even know what I did wrong.

Like I mentioned before, as a young girl I was a lover of anything “girly”. My sister Amber always wore these pretty ribbons and bows in her hair but, I was not allowed to touch or wear them.  Well, I wanted to wear bows in my hair this particular day and I was going to wear some bows. I didn’t want to break the rules so, before I left for school that morning, I stuffed my pockets with toilet paper. On my way to school, I carefully tied the toilet paper around my braids to appear as hair bows. My big sister, Margaret, found this to be utterly embarrassing. 

“Take that crap out of your hair! It looks stupid,”

“No, it don’t! It’s cute.”

“Everybody is going to know it’s toilet paper Manosha.”

“Nu-un! Watch, nobody will know!”

“Take it out or I’m telling!”

“So, what! It’s just toilet paper, I didn’t take the real bows so tell then!”

Nope, I wasn’t backing down so, I wore my “handmade” hair bows all day. Margaret wasn’t backing down either. She did just as she promised and told on me as soon as we got home from school.  Brat! By this time my “handmade” bows had crumbled up and fallen out. Spring didn’t seem phased. She just said ok and went to the bathroom.  No problem….

Moments later, “Manosha come here”, Spring called. No anger in her voice so I’m not in trouble, I thought. I stepped into the bathroom and she calmly closed the door behind me. Still, with calm composure, stand in front of me with her hands behind her back she asked, “What did you take to school today?”.  “Nothing”, I replied.  “Manosha, what did you take to put in your hair?”  she asked a little sterner now.  “Oh, toilet paper”, I said laughing. However, Spring was not even smiling. In fact, she didn’t smile, flinch or blink. Instead, she had this oddly peaceful yet disturbing stare. 

“Where are the hair bows you took to school?” she asked. “I didn’t take any. I made them with toilet paper.” I whined back. 

“Why did you think it was ok to waste the toilet paper?”

“I wanted bows”

“Turn around, pull your pants and underwear down and put your hands on the toilet” she instructed. Now I was all kinds of confused. While I never got a whooping myself, I did see my cousins and Margaret get a whooping and it did not involve them taking off underwear. So, I just stood there looking as confused as I felt. Then she slowly brought her hands from behind her back to reveal a thick, leather, black belt. 

Now, I understood and knew what time it was and burst out into tears. Meanwhile, Spring just stood there, still looking calm, and patiently watched me remove my pants and underwear. “The more you cry, the louder your cry the longer the whooping. If you move your hands or turn around we start over”, she calmly explained. 

First whooping EVER, despite the warnings, I cried and screamed for what felt like an hour. I didn’t dare turn around or move my hands but, I could not stop the tears, cries, and screams. I had to stand there with my hands on the toilet seat, her hand on my shoulder as she counted off each smack of the belt. Often times she would start the count over because of a loud scream or two from me. I can’t tell you the actual number of whacks but, to my 8-year-old mind, it was about 1002.  

Sore ass and hurt feelings were what I was left with but, that was not the last time that I was struck by Spring lighting. This was just the calm before the actual storm. What I knew to be my first whooping was something that I was about to become really familiar with. So familiar, that I would learn how to take those whooping with no screams, no cries, no tears and be happy to get praise about how well I took my whooping. I learned to weather the storm….

In The Spring Time

-Journey of forgiveness

It is rain that grows flowers, not thunder -Rumi

While I don’t remember everything from my youth, I certainly couldn’t forget living in Hawaii. Even at a young age, I could still appreciate the beauty of the island. We were fortunate enough to have the beach as our backyard. Banana and Pineapple trees, beautiful blue skies, crystal clear ocean water and gorgeous sunsets surrounded us. Geckos, exotic frogs, huge toads and giant flying cock roaches were our rodents. 

To a child coming from Indiana, Hawaii was a strange land. Paradise but, strange land none the less. So, living in paradise was definitely something to get used to. Living with Spring was something to get used to as well. Going from Grandma Phy’s home in Indiana to living with Spring in Hawaii was moving to strange land within a strange land. The environment was totally different. 

I can’t remember a time when less than 5 people stayed at Grandma Phy’s 3-bedroom home. It was always full of life as she has 9 children and all but, 2 had at least 2 children each. At some point in time, Grandma Phy had a hand in raising the majority of her grandchildren. Either they lived with her or spent several days at a time at her home as she was the designated babysitter. 

 If you can’t tell by now, Grandma Phy is well…. a little “hood” if you catch my drift. The flow of her home had a relaxed flow where she used curse words and ass whoopin to get results (except for me that is, NO ONE was allowed to whoop me according to BOTH of my Grandmothers).  All grand kids were out the house after morning cartoons and the street lights was the curfew. The only real rule I can remember was to stay in a child’s place. Oh, and “ Don’t slam that got-damn door!”.

Grandma Phy never assigned any chorus or pressured any of the grandchildren to work while in school. She is a true believer in allowing a child to be a child. Education has always been important to her as she was one of the first African Americans to integrated schools in her State. She then had to had to quit school due to pregnancy. While in her 20’s she became a single mother of 7. Determined to make a better life for her children, she went back and got her G.E.D in one day. Now in those days, completing the test in one day was almost impossible. She went on to become a Nurse and encouraged us to finish High School no matter what. 

Spring ran her home like a well-oiled, culture exploration, non-stop learning, strict etiquette school. Now, I’m not saying that these things were bad. As a matter of fact, I do credit a small bit of my fabulous writing skills (if I do say so myself) to much of her direction. This structured cultured environment that Spring created helped me to thrive academically. She is very big on education as well and has several college degrees in the Arts and Teaching. 

Nothing though, could compare to the art, culture and land the she introduced us too. Often, she would take us exploring on the island and surrounding ones as well. She liked to take us to the beach and tell us about the different ocean and plant life. She was always sprinkling us with juicy droplets of knowledge.  I remember looking up to her and just wanting to be as intelligent and knowledgeable as she was. 

Spring assigned us chorus, nothing more than keeping the room clean, picking up after ourselves, and making sure your clothes and backpack were neatly set out for school the next day. House rules were, no TV on the week days but, at night we could listen to classical music while we sleep. Every day,  we were to read a book of our choice for 1 hour. 

As always, we were expected to use your normal manners such as; Please, Thank you, You’re Welcome and Excuse me. However, we were taught new etiquette that we never used at Grandma Phy’s. Now we had to ask to be excused from the table and then wait to be excused before getting up. If you had something to say and others are talking, you simply say excuse me then wait to be addressed. Cross someone’s path, say excuse me etc.

Nothing too bad right? The biggest rule was to not play with any of my little sister’s things including her colorful ribbons that she got to wear in her hair.  To a 7 or 8-year-old  girly girl, this was very hard to learn and remember. Spring had no problem helping you remember. Punishment would start off as standing in the corner, writing sentences, losing weekend TV and classical radio week days.  Then one day it happened….Spring went from a gentle breeze to a whirlwind thunder storm. And my butt was struck by lightning….

Now Entering the Twilight Zone

-Journey of Forgiveness

Mistakes are always forgivable, if one has the courage to admit to them-Bruce Lee

I’ve never really liked Spring. As a matter of fact, the feeling is pretty damn close to hate. It’s too unpredictable for me. Instead of Spring, it should be called the Twilight Zone. One minute, it’s all sunny and pretty. The next minute, there’s a monsoon, tornado or hurricane and oh, the enormous amount of gray rainy days.

 All that crazy weather is supposed to be good for the earth and everything on it right? Winter has washed away. The flowers start to bloom, dried up trees are rejuvenated, and new life begins to spring forth. Well for some of us, those freshly bloomed plants cause hay fever, allergy attacks, sinus issues, and asthma attacks. Oh, and that pile of new insect life, yeah, I could do without all that. So, nope don’t like Spring…. the season that is.

My Step Mother Spring, that’s a whole other story. My relationship with her is much like the season. She came right after the dark hours of my life, brought new life and from that point on I was sent through the “twilight zone” of emotion. She had so many mood swings I didn’t know who or what I was about to get. So, for the longest time, I secretly hated her, that is until I learned how to forgive.  

Trust me when I tell you there was plenty to forgive so, this was not an easy journey. This started back when I was between 3 to 5. After my mother died, my Dad went back on duty with the Marines and was stationed out of State so, we did not see much of him. My sister and I stayed behind and lived with Grandma Phy. We lived there until I reached 1stgrade. Now somewhere along the lines, I met Spring I don’t’ remember this day but, I do remember when my Dad told us that they were getting married. 

It was so sunny outside that day when my Dad walked into the house with Spring. My sister and I were bouncing all around happy to see my Dad and his friend.  “Girls come to have a seat on the steps, so I can talk to you,” he said. With goofy smiles on our faces, we sat on the stairs anticipating whatever news he had for us. “Do you girls like hanging with Spring?” he asked. “Yes!” we sang in unison. “If I marry her she will be your new mother, do you want her to be your new mother?” “Yes!” we sang once again. 

As I said, I don’t remember the first day I met Spring but, I do remember spending some time with her before that day. I remember she seemed nice and had a rabbit. As a kid that was pretty cool and to have a mother was even better. So, yeah, we said yes but, hell we didn’t know what we were saying yes too. Now what comes next is kind of a blur for me.

They got married (we didn’t go, and I can’t even tell you what day they got married) and my sister and I continued to live with Grandma Phy. What seemed like a short while later, Spring was pregnant with my little sister Amber. She was such a cute baby and I was so happy to be a big sister. I did not get to spend much time with her because after that, we didn’t see her again until she was a toddler. 

So, about a year after Amber was born, My Dad appeared at Grandma Phy’s again. This time he told us we were moving to Hawaii. Back then I didn’t know how cool that was as being a military brat, I was pretty used to traveling so this did not excite me. The fact that I was moving to a home with both my sisters, my Father, and a new Mommy is what got me hype. What I didn’t know is that the real reason my Dad was there to get us was that when Spring and Amber went to join my father in Hawaii some months back, she conveniently forgot two very important passengers…. That day I left Grandma Phy’s home and entered the “twilight zone”. 

Looking Like An Enemy

Life becomes easier when you learn to accept an apology you never got-Robert Brault

I never understood the necessity to use the word “half” when describing my connection to my siblings. The fact that we have different mothers means what? That we have different DNA? No two people have the same DNA unless they are identical twins. Or is it the fact that we only have 1 parent in common? Even your own child doesn’t have 100% your DNA. When establishing paternity, the results never go higher than 99.9 % yet you never hear anyone saying this is my “half” child. You only need a drop of blood to make you related. Just one. 

As long as I can remember, this has always been my view on so called “half” siblings. I have never referred to any of my siblings in this manner because I don’t have “half” siblings. I simply have sisters and a brother. With this long-standing belief, this journey of acceptance was not about accepting my brother. It was about accepting the difference of opinion regarding our parent’s dark past. 

I can honestly say that I never blamed Eric for anything that had to do with my mother’s death. He never asked to be born or to be put in that situation. None of us did. No child should be punished for the sins of their parent.  Accepting a sibling from a different parent into your life does not mean that you accept the actions of the adults.  You are accepting a different part of you that you did not know before. Yes, a part of YOU. That same DNA flowing through your veins is the same DNA flowing through their veins. Now you can deny that all you want but, the truth is the truth, 1 drop. 

Lies, cheating and suicide was the bases for my brother and my connection. I resented the fact that my Dad and Glenn were able to tell their version of the truth. What bothered me most is that I knew one day Glenn would tell her “truth” to my brother and he would believe her. Why not? She is his mother.  The fact that he still had his mother to tell him her version of the events made me feel like he had an unfair advantage. I had to dig, investigate and connect the dots to get my mother’s side. 

So, the day I decided to get to know my brother better was the day I decided that I would never listen to his mother’s version of the events. I also decided that If necessary, I would defend my mother against ANYBODY, even though at that time I was still mad at my mother. I was not sure how my brother felt or when that impending conversation would happen. In a sense I was ready for war if I had to be.

By God’s grace, I was given time. Time for us to get to know each other outside of our parent’s past.  Time for the sibling bonds to strengthen.  Time for both of us to grow and mature before we actually had the conversation.  All of this is what helped me and my brother to be able to put that dark past aside and continue on with our relationship. 

This was the first conversation but, it was not our last. As, we grew, matured and experienced more of life, the conversation got less intense and more open on both parts. He was always willing to listen to me express my mother’s side, but I believe with age and maturity, he was able to understand my pain. I finally listened to him tell me his mother’s story. While I do not believe everything she said, I can say that I do believe that she did not know that my Dad was married. According to my brother, she found out from one of my Dad’s sisters. I also believe that my Dad was wish-washy with both women and did not know what he truly wanted. Unfortunately, our mothers ended up paying the ultimate price for it.  

I have fully accepted what happened and the role that all 3 played. I have seen Glenn in my adult life, and she has met my children. We are not “buddy, buddy” but, we are civil, respectful and able to exchange pleasantries without snide remarks. At this point in my life, I am open to having a frank woman to woman discussion with Glenn about what happened. This would not change anything but, there is nothing better hearing it firsthand.  I do not believe we would ever be considered friends but, Glenn is not my enemy. 

Your Turn to Reflect

  1. Have you ever considered someone your enemy not because of what they did to you but, because of what they did to your loved one?
  2. If so, how were you able to get past it (if you did) or What would  you need to help you move past it. 
  3. Have you personally ever been considered the “enemy” or “bad guy”? If so, how did you deal with that? 

What Siblings Do

-A Journey Of Acceptance

We were born and joined by blood, but we chose to be joined by love-unknown

Over the next few years my brother and I continued to grow closer. We talked more, and he visited more often. I even got to attend his High School graduation in his hometown. Although we stayed in constant contact, he still felt really far away. So, after discussing it with Mr. Ex, I invited Eric to come live with us. Now at this time, I was 25 and my boys were 5 and 3. We had a 2-bedroom section-eight apartment, Mr. Ex was the only one working, I was attending school fulltime for my A.A.S and we were receiving food stamps. Nope, none of that stopped me from opening my doors. Prior to that, Mr. Ex and I had opened our doors 8 times before that to various family members on both sides of our family. We were able to pull together for them so of course we could pull together for him. 

My boys were super excited to have him there. To them, it was like having a 23-year-old kid to play with. He would pick my oldest up from kindergarten and on the way home while showing him cool tricks and flips that he could do. Eventually he had the boys thinking he was Spiderman because he could flip off a tree. Eric is also a really great dancer so, he would have the boys bobbing around the living room thinking they could dance like him. 

Eric got along beautifully with Mr. Ex. Since they both are pretty laid back and easy-going guys, I never worried about them fighting. Eric also got a chance to meet my closest friends (at that time) and build relationships with his cousins on our Dad’s side. Most importantly, Eric and I got closer than ever before. We spent so many days having long conversations and nights staying up late just talking you know, just doing what siblings do. We talked about everything. With all that talking you know it was bound to come up. The unspoken words about our mothers. 

At 25 years of age, yes, I still considered his mother Glenn, the enemy (I hadn’t reached the point of full understanding just yet). Since Eric moved in, it was kind of hard to ignore her. She would tell Eric to tell us hello (still my enemy), send gifts for Christmas (still my enemy) and even asked to come visit Eric; To which I replied, “Sure, when I’m not home.” (STILL MY ENEMY!). It was pretty obvious that I didn’t care for Glenn and I never tried to hide it. However, out of love for my brother, I was never disrespectful or rude (at least not to his face, okay except for that one time when I was 15). So, during one of our longs talks it finally came up. I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner but, when it did happen, I thought I could handle it. 

I don’t quite remember how it came up but, once the conversation started, I just assumed that Eric would concede to the fact that his mother was wrong. Nope, that was not how he felt or what he said. Different households, different mothers, different stories. According to him, his mother was the innocent party and she had to move out of town due to harassment. The icing on the cake was when he said our father loved his mother more than my mother and Spring. Instant attack mode was triggered.  So, imagine for a moment, if you will, me turning into a red version of the Incredible Hulk. Yeah, it was something like that when I exploded. I was enraged and all I could see was red.

 “Lies! All Lies! Nope that’s not what happened at all!” I argued. How dare he sit in my face and slander my mother. My mother was the WIFE and she lost her LIFE behind my Dad and Glenn’s foolery.   It was obvious to me that my mother and what she went through was left out of Glenn’s story so, I felt the need to enlighten him. I told her story and all that I knew about Glenn’s role in it including the harassing phone calls. I even told him about the day she committed suicide. Then I went in for the kill, I told Eric that Dad never loved his mother that is why she was the only one he never married. 

Yep that was cold and mean just like I meant for it to be but, instantly I regretted what I said. He was not my enemy. I didn’t want to hurt him but, I also didn’t want to hear Glenn’s side. I didn’t want to acknowledge, accept or understand. In that moment, I felt that whatever negative impact that this situation had on his mother’s life was well deserved. After all, it was nothing compared to what my sister and I had endured. Praying for a mother to come save me that could never come. Images of what it would be like to have her in my life keeping me up at night. Waking up every day to the reality that she was no more. So what Glenn had to move out of town and raise her first child all alone! So what Eric didn’t have his Dad around, hell, join the club, all of his kids felt that way! At least she got to raise her child and he was only down 1 parent while I was down 2. It wasn’t fair!

Now instead of just me being hurt, he was too but, that was not what I wanted. I just wanted to protect and defend my mother’s honor as she was the only one that could not tell her side. So, as her daughter, I felt as though I had to. I had to fight those battles on her behalf. I had to give her a voice. In that moment we had to make a choice. To agree to disagree and remain respectful of each other or defend our parent and deny our sibling bond.

Years later Eric still comes to town and show the boys some dance moves. He was there for me through my divorce. From time to time, we even still have those long conversations.  See because no one left with hurt feelings that day. We said what we said and left it right there in that moment. After all, that’s what siblings do.

My Brother’s Keeper

-A Journey Of Acceptance 

Silence does not always mean acceptance-Life Diariz

Spending time with Eric was everything to me. When I say everything, I mean everything. Getting to know another sibling was exciting. Especially since that sibling was a boy. I grew up most of my childhood living with my sisters but, I never lived in a household with my brother. It was so interesting to me that he grew up in a totally different household but, he was still so much like us. He had many of the same mannerisms and was just as goofy and sensitive as his sisters. But, there was one sister that he had a little more in common with than the others. Me.

After spending several hours talking about our lives and how we grew up, we quickly realized that we both shared a dark past full of physical, verbal and mental abuse courtesy of a Step Parent. The only difference was that I was able to escape whereas this was still his reality. I listened as he told me horrible stories of beat downs passed out by his Step-Dad. No, not the normal ass whooping you get for misbehaving. I’m talking about, beat you down for breathing too loud type of abuse. He also expressed the verbal put-downs and mental games that he Step-Dad would use to make him believe that his father didn’t want or love him. Eric said this all with a straight face, no tears and bravery in his eyes. 

I knew his pain all too well. I had experienced almost the exact same thing with Spring. There is something about this kind of pain that when it becomes a norm for you, it dries up your tears. So, when I told my story to him I also did so with a straight face, no tears, and sadness in my eyes. No sadness for me but, an overwhelming sadness for him. He seemed relieved to tell someone. It seemed like it lifted a weight from his little 13-year-old mind. We continued our evening with laughs, taking and taking pictures. I continued to smile, laugh and enjoy his company but, all along I had started plotting on a way to save my brother. I just had to help him, after all, that’s what big sisters were for right? I am my brother’s keeper.

When it was time for him to leave, I was so scared for him. They weren’t even all the way in the car before I cried out for Grandma Phy. She knew of all the things I had gone through with my Step Mother and she rescued me. Surely, she could do the same for Eric. I told her everything he told me and this time I had plenty of tears to flow. 

 “Grandma we got to help him! Can’t you just make him come live with us?”, I asked. 

 “You can’t just go around taking folks kids. But, I tell you what, that M-F’er won’t get away with this shit!” she exclaimed. 

I was hype! Grandma was going to get that M-Fer! Grandma Phy went straight to the phone and called our Dad. I personally didn’t think that would do any good. For one, he was all the way in California and we were in Indiana. Second, from what I could tell from what my brother said, Dad didn’t really check up on Eric like that or else he would’ve known what was going on. This was not the reaction from Grandma Phy that I was hoping for, so I was completely disappointed.  That was until I spoke to Eric again. It had been maybe a few weeks later.  Eric told me that things were actually getting better for him at home. Neither one of us knew why though.

It wasn’t until years later that we found out that after Grandma Phy called our Dad, he and my uncles made an unannounced trip to my brother’s city that lasted one day. What happened? I don’t know but, whatever happened rescued my brother from the abuse. For that, I am grateful. 

My Brother From Another Mother

-A Journey of Acceptance 

What you deny or ignore you delay. What you accept and face you conquer-unknown

“It’s all hot and sticky out tonight,” I said as I sat on the porch with my Grandma Phy. “Um-hum, and theses got damn mosquitos keep fucking biting at me!” she snapped.
“Grandma I don’t know why I’m so nervous”
“I don’t know either, it ain’t like you never met the boy before. He’s your damn brother plain and simple okay! I can’t stand this M-F’ing biting shit. I’m going inside. Come get me when they come”.


She was right. It wasn’t like it was the first time we had ever met I just didn’t remember. So, to me, it felt like our first-time meeting and I was nervous. Not about seeing him, but about my reaction to the entire situation.
After Grandma Phy took me to my mother’s grave site, it totally altered my reality. Moving forward I had a hard time accepting things in my life. I felt like I had to check and then check again as I felt the need to account for everyone in my life. This left me feeling like an angry, hurt and confused teenager. However, I wanted as much clarity as possible and I wanted to know how my siblings felt about all of this.
Now my older sister and I have always been close. However, in our youth, we never really discussed our mother and our feelings towards her death. It was kind of like having an unspoken rule to never bring her up. My younger sister Amber was way too young to even begin to understand. Besides that, her mother Spring was wife #2 and Amber was born five years later.
Then there was him. My little brother Eric, just 2 years younger than I. I barely knew him, and his existence was hardly mentioned so I knew of him but did not know him. But, as Grandma Phy said, he’s my damn brother plain and simple okay! I wanted to know him not just know about him so, when I was ready, I asked my Grandma Phy about him. She told me what city he lived in and contacted his mother for me.
The first conversation was a bit awkward. I was talking to my blood but, it felt like I was talking to a stranger. To my surprise, he was just as interested in getting to know me as well. Grandma Phy and his mother Glenn arranged for us to meet up and hang out at Grandma Phy’s house. I was full of mixed emotions. On one hand, I was excited to hang out with my brother but, on the other I was I perplexed about coming face to face with the “enemy” Glenn.
Then they pulled up. Now I can’t remember what kind of car they were in but, I remember my first sight of my brother like it was yesterday. Walking up the walkway was this skinny little 13-year-old boy wearing a windbreaker tracksuit (don’t laugh Y’all, it was popular in the ’90s). My eyes were locked on him and I felt lost in a trance. He looked like a male version of me! I immediately felt the sibling connection.
I was snapped out of the trance by Grandma Phy coming out of the house to greet them. Glenn greeted Grandma Phy then, she did it. She turned to greet me, “Oh my gosh you are so pretty!”, I don’t know if she said anything else to me but, that was all I heard. So, what did my 15-year-old smart mouth, angry little self do? I looked her dead in her eyes with my nose turned up and replied, “thanks I look just like my mother.” Yeah, I’ll admit that was petty and I meant for it to sting. However, I never got to gauge how effective my remark was because immediately after all my attention went right back to Eric. I was ready to spend some time with him and get to know who he really was. The part I wasn’t ready for, was all the sad, upsetting stories

Through Their Eyes I See

There is power in understanding the journey of others to help create your own-unknownn

The journey of understanding can be a long intense journey. The main reason it is a lengthy journey is because of the lack of being able to relate to someone else’s situation. It’s hard to understand something that you are not standing in. For this reason, more often than not, you must have some level of empathy and sympathy to reach understanding.

Now, the old saying goes, walk a mile in my shoes. This is sympathy at its finest but, this is not an action that I would suggest. As life is all about balance, you need some level of empathy to go along with that sympathy. It’s one thing to experience something similar on your own journey but, purposefully putting yourself in someone’s situation is not always the answer. Putting on someone else’s shoes may be easy but, walking their journey can be dangerous especially if that journey leads to self-destructive behavior such as suicide.  The act of suicide is very hard to understand but, with patience, understanding and/or empathy with sympathy, you can find understanding. 

Lack of empathy and sympathy for my mother caused my journey to understanding to be one long journey. Initially, I was too young to have the mental capacity to evoke the necessary empathy to understand her mindset or the act of suicide. It wasn’t until I became an adult and heard her story, that I was able to feel some empathy for her. Then, I found myself staring down the same gloomy tunnel of heartbreak, disappointment, and despair. It was then that I was able to feel sympathy along with that empathy to gain my understanding. 

With suicide, each person has different reasons for wanting to or going through with that act of suicide. According to Clinical Psychologist Edwin Sheridman (the leading authority on suicide), there are 10 basic reasons why someone may seek suicide: 

  1. Solution: answer to an insoluble or unbearable dilemma that they fear more than death
  2. Cessation of consciousness: to end the conscious experience
  3. Intolerable psychological pain: excruciating negative emotions that serve as a foundation for self-destructive behavior. 
  4. Frustrated psychological needs: attribute failure or disappointment to their own shortcomings
  5. Feelings of hopelessness/helplessness: pessimistic expectations about the future
  6. Ambivalence: sincere in their desire to die but, simultaneously wish they could find another way out. 
  7. The cognitive state is construction: tunnel vision unable or willing to engage in effective problem-solving behaviors
  8. Escape: a definitive way to escape
  9. Communication on intention: 80% who completed the act of suicide provide verbal or behavioral clues that clearly indicate their lethal intentions. 
  10. Life-long coping patterns: people who refuse to ask for help in the past are likely to increase their sense of isolation.

In reflecting on my mother’s journey, I definitely see Dr. Shredman’s described reasonings in my mother’s actions. I also saw some of them in myself. What made a difference and how I was able to overcome is being able to know her journey and how it left those around her feeling. Also, that fact that what she did had no real effect on the situation. My brother was still born, and My Dad, Glenn, and Jim continued to live their lives. As a matter of fact, they all went on to marry new partners and have more children.  It is my understanding that helps me to know that what she did was not to affect their lives but, to stop the excruciating pain inside her life. 

I have to be honest with you, although I now have the understanding I so desperately needed, this has and will be the hardest journey I will ever share with you. Understanding does not take away the hurt of loss nor does it mean you accept it. I cried all the way through this but, I feel that it is important for me to share because somewhere there is someone out there contemplating suicide. There is also someone out there trying to understand a loved one’s decision or situation. And then, there is someone out there trying to understand themselves. 

-Unless you really understand others, you can hardly attain your own self-understanding-Miyamoto Musashi 

Your Turn To Reflect 

  1. Have you ever experienced a difficult relationship due to a lack of understanding
  2. Have you or someone you know ever contemplated suicide? If so, do you understand how you/they reached that point? 
  3. Have you ever had a hard time understanding your own decisions?

Source: Thomas F. Oltmanns, Robert E. Emery University Of Virginia, and Survivors Of Suicide 

Finding Understanding

-A journey of Understanding

 

To Love from your soul is to give too much-Manosha Gray

 

On my 23rd birthday, I felt as though I had already walked a mile in my mother’s shoes. Guess what? Her shoes didn’t fit me. I kicked them thangs off honey! Instead, I laced up my own boots. When I left the bathroom that day, I was seriously determined to walk my own path. That’s just what I did. In a family full of medical-related careers, I choose to continue in the legal field. I continued this path sometimes skipping, running and even crawling at times (especially with math).

Over the next 10 years, things at home continued to be a hit and miss. Mr. Ex confessed that he didn’t want to work at all (he was serious too). Luckily, that feeling was short lived. He eventually got over that and got a really good job. That lasted about 3 years and then it was back to job shuffling and late night hanging out with friends.

I proudly walked across the stage and received my A.A.S in Paralegal Studies. While looking for a job in my field, I went back for my B.S. in Legal Studies. I got a government job working as a Litigation Paralegal making a decent living. Child, you just don’t know how happy I was to get off government assistance and Section 8. Don’t tell nobody but, I actually cried. Then I made that faithful walk back across the stage for my B.S in Legal Studies.

My roaster was becoming full of accomplishments but, my spirit kept getting lower and lower. Constant ups and downs with Mr. Ex felt like war instead of love. I was so deeply in love with him. Where he ended, I began. I found myself looking to only please him. I secretly felt ashamed of my accomplishments because I did not want to do better than him. He enrolled in some courses but, never had the necessary passion and commitment to make it past the first semester.

 Every time I got a degree, he would tell me that he knows I am going to leave him. He even left my graduation for my B.S early and I never got a chance to celebrate. I truly felt alone and lonely that day.  I didn’t know how to make him feel secure besides to try to help him with his dreams. So, even though I started my business first, when he wanted to start a business, I set mines to the side to help him.

I walked him and his partner through everything to get started. Their business was a floor and janitorial service. Mr. Ex was excellent at getting clients. So, before long he had a roster of clients. However, he didn’t have any employees and for some reason, his partner could not work with him. I stepped up and worked for free. I worked scrubbing floors and carpets on my hands and knees, cleaning bathroom stalls and emptying trash cans at the local jail and daycares.  Meanwhile, my business still had clients calling and many I had to turn away due to working for Mr. Ex’s business.

Then after a few months of being in business, Mr. Ex just stopped working. He just stopped trying period. No working, no bill paying, no nothing. I was left being the only one working. I wanted so desperately for my business to work but, we also needed a steady income so, I got a part-time minimum -wage job. At this point, my self-esteem, self-worth and general outlook on life was very bleak. I felt like a total failure.

One day while organizing my storage closet, I came across my mother’s photo albums. I sat in the hallway looking through her albums. As I opened the last album, which was her scrapbook,  and her letter fell out. I sat the letter  to the side and began to read all the loving remarks she wrote about my Dad. It expressed a deep love that was so pure. Then I read her letter. It expressed a Love twisted into sadness and resentment.

As I let out a long sigh, my eyes unleashed a river of tears. I finally understood. I understood the difference between loving from your heart and loving from your soul. I understood how you could lose yourself in someone else. I understood how your life could feel so worthless in someone else’s hands.  And finally, I understood why she committed suicide as I was sitting there contemplating that very thing. 

As I sat there feeling defeated and emotionally drained, I just began to pray. I asked God to help me let go. To help me find the worth in me again and to help me break the chains that bind my soul to Mr. Ex.’s. After I poured out my heart to God, I wrote this letter to my mother:

 

Dear Mother of Mine,

I may not look like you but, I am definitely your child. We have so many things in common; especially our compacity to love so deep that we get lost in it. You once wrote that you hoped one day I would understand. Mommy trust me I do. You also asked for our forgiveness and I want to let you know that there is nothing to forgive. Instead, I ask that you forgive me for my lack of understanding. I now know that it was not your lack of love for us that allowed you to do what you did but, instead of your lack of love for yourself. I know how it feels to run on E because I’ve been doing it too long. You were drained and had nothing left to give anyone including yourself. Know your death was not in vain. I learned so much from your journey. I am able to understand where I am now and know to fight my way out. I can’t do this alone, so I am going to lean on God for this healing. Stay close by so I can continue to feel your motherly touch.  I love you to the moon and back and now I must learn to love me that way too.

 Love your youngest daughter,

Manosha Gray

I placed that letter in an envelop along with my mother’s letter and I packed it way and I began my journey to heal from the inside out.

 

The Day I turned 23

– A Journey of  Understanding

The only person you are destined to become is the person you decide to be- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Just look at me, 23, knee deep in a marriage with depression trying to set in. “Fight Manosha. Don’t let her story be yours. That’s not what she wanted”, I told myself as I stood staring into the mirror. It was my 23rdbirthday but, I was in no mood to celebrate. Instead, my eyes were red and puffy from crying way too many tears. I was scared too. Crazy huh? Who gets scared of their birthday?! Me that’s who. My life was looking too much like my mother’s life at 22 and it scared the shit out of me.

2 young kids

Husband never around

Rocky relationship

Overwhelming feelings of sadness and loneliness

To top things off, our finances had been in dire striates for quite some time. At one point we were both working and happy. Somewhere in there, me and Mr. Ex had a fallout and he decided to move out. That lasted about a week. We got past it and were back together like nothing ever happened. Looking back now, I’m not even sure what happened to make he want to leave. Once back together we planned our second and final child. At the start of my pregnancy, I was deemed high risk and had to quit my job. After he was born we couldn’t afford a daycare for the boys. It was mutually decided that I would stay home and rear the children, run the house and Mr. Ex would work. Sounds like a good plan, right? It worked for a while.

I stayed home cooking, cleaning, singing ABC’s and 123’s. I made sure to make Mr. Ex’s lunch and literally run his bath water. He would go to work every day and on payday give me money for household supplies and things for the kids. He would even buy me my favorite flowers (circus roses) and random gifts just because. When he got overtime checks, we would go out to eat as a family.

But, somewhere in between the kids and work, we both started to drift off. Mr. Ex started to get burnt out with the repetitive cycle of work, work, pay. He was spending money on the house, kids and me but not much on himself. In turn, he started to hang out more and more with his unmarried, street hustling friends. He started drinking way more than usual. Then the problems started at work. He would be late and call in. He was getting fired left and right to the point where he was constantly changing jobs.

I, on the other hand, started to feel stuck. I had my first job at 13 so sitting still and not having my own money was very hard for me. Especially when Mr. Ex’s birthday and our anniversary would roll around. I would have to get money from him to buy him a gift. Not being able to financially contribute made me feel worthless. Then watching Mr. Ex’s downward spiral made me feel even worst. To compensate, I signed up for food stamps and section eight. No matter how low the workers made me feel, I couldn’t turn down the help because it kept our family afloat.  I carried the stress of my family on my back, so they wouldn’t feel it. I felt like I was to blame, and I felt worthless. I was once told that the man’s job was to lead his family and the woman’s job was to hold up her man. So, I asked, who holds up the woman? The answer, God.  Something had to change and since Mr. Ex seemed to be unmotivated to facilitate that change, it was up to me. I had to hold him up and let God hold me.

Luckily for me, my sister and cousin had decided to go to college. They invited me to join them and I accepted. I had started my Associate’s degree right out of High School but, quit. I was sure this would give me the fulfillment I longed for and my family the stability we needed.

“Okay, Manosha. You got this. Things may be similar but, there’s one huge difference, I  made it to 23 I can pick up where she left off and write a different ending”. I told myself as I wiped my eyes. “Never let them see you sweat”. Then I opened the door and walked out of the bathroom to embrace my 23’s.