2.6.20
I walked through the door and was finally allowed to let go. Cry. Scream. Feel. I found out through a private message, in a gym full of kids playing basketball. It didn’t feel real. I told myself it couldn’t be.
“Dale died in a car accident tonight.”
This couldn’t be our, Dale.
Nothing or no one to blame. It was just an accident.
He was always there. Always around. Smiling. He was just. Dale.
This is how every message I was sent that night and next morning went. “Dude we were just together!” Or “remember when we used to sing so loud to make you laugh?” Yeah. I remember. I remember a young teenage boy, everyone’s friend, no one's enemy. I wish I had some amazing story to tell you about Dale. One that would make you understand why he was so loved… but there isn’t one that’s flashy or loud. Why? Because he was the foundation of who we were then. The glue even. He wasn’t the first one picked for 5 on 5 but he was no ones 6th man. The girls thought he was just their goof ball brother from another mother and he would be there if another boy got too close. Even the little ones looked up to him. His quiet peace and big smile could light up any room. And it always did. His picture still hangs in the community center I once spent every day in. Watching over all the new babies that come in. They won’t know who it is personally, but they will feel welcomed each time they see his face.
My heart knows he’s with Jesus. I’ve never been more sure of something before. Jesus would be silly not to let him in. Telling jokes, spitting beats, and smiling all the time. Everyone needs a friend like Dale. I know I did, even if I didn’t know it then, I am thankful and honored to have watched him grow into a you f man, for the time I did.
So much of this world is dark, cold, evil, and unfair. But Dale was our little corner of home away from home while he was here on earth. I didn’t get to know him like I wish I did, partially cause so many of his “siblings” were much louder, much more present in the chaos of our family dynamics. Part of me wants to regret that, the other part of me is thankful he was able to be the stable glue for them, while I helped others remove the weight on their shoulders in the forefront. It takes a village and tonight, our village feels both far away, and so very close.
I always worry if I ruined those beautiful kids. If I set them up to fail. But on nights like tonight, when we all come back together, in person or on the phone, I remember why it was a good thing. It still is a good thing we are a family. I’m thankful for an opportunity to be a small part of the story. To cheer them on. To cry with them. To hold them accountable. To be silly. To be their sister. I didn’t know how to be one before them. In fact, I’m still learning. But they gave me the gift of practice, and I’ll never take that for granted.
I won’t forget the moments when my phone rings and it’s my mini me and he asks if I can show up, tonight, in his city. That he’s a senior now and without saying it, he tells me that I am part of this story. With basketball. With graduation and growing up. With suffering. With victory. I know how hard it is to pick up a phone and tell someone you want or need… insert whatever. And to be so young. I couldn’t have moved quicker out the door.
My heart couldn’t have been more full watching him do his thing. To be surrounded by people that chose me. That keep choosing me. People that trusted me when I was so young, to help their child do well. I’ll never understand it. Looking back now, I had no idea what the hell was gonna happen beyond those first days together. Day in and day out. We fought. We disagreed. We doubted. But for some reason we kept showing up. And kept encouraging. Kept praying. Kept hugging. Till now. Where time and space feel like forever and far. But somehow the love never left.
So we honor, Dale. With our smiles. And our jokes. And our willingness to be part of the team. No matter if we’re chosen first, last or in between. And as a family.
R.I.P Dale.
2.16.20
I searched for a newly dug grave today. Wandering among spirits that had been there long before his. I even saw someone being lowered into the ground and I wondered how they had died. The emotions didn’t hit me till the man digging the grave drove up and said, “was he around 20 something? Buried yesterday?” And then nodded in the direction of raised sod and quickly moved away to give me my space. Almost immediately my eyes watered, because the suddenness of this loss was heavy, and knowing what my own city and ministry family has gone through this past week... losing Antwan to a bullet that wasn’t even meant for him. I let go of the tears I had kept inside longer than they are meant to. I spoke out loud to a young man I knew as my kids best friend... I told him they missed him, that I missed him. I asked him to hug Zae for everyone... and that he was loved. I touched the muddy grass that still has no marker for identification. Grief is a weird thing. I think it’s especially hard when its for someone young, something unexpected, an act of violence or an accident... I’ve tried to suppress the anger or fear or sadness... overcompensating for everyone else’s sake. Peoples “hugs or prayers” feel like a pile of mail that goes unattended at an abandoned house. I can’t imagine what the mommas feel. The sun came out for a few seconds and it meant everything to me. No life passes through this earth without purpose. I think the young men that just left this earth have a much greater purpose than they ever knew while alive. It was their light. Their smiles. Their willingness to be a little silly. Those moments provided us with a gift of joy. Seeing the very place where I grew to love young people, in a new capacity, today was what my soul needed to keep going. A reminder that the hard days will be many, but so worth it, because the sun will come out again.
