It’s crazy how much grief can be so persistent. I remember reading someone that the amount of grief is a testament to the depth of love one has for someone. But in 2022, I realized it is more than that. It is also the pain of knowing you can no longer interact with them. That their living impact on your life ceases. That you are no longer able to hear their voice, or see their face without unlocking your heart.
It’s watching the world go on and seeing reminders of things they are not able to experience in this plane with us. And this world often makes grief seem so finite and so small. Yet it fuels so much of who I am. I don’t know a life without grief. And the more joy and love I receive, the greater the grief grows because the one person I want to share my joy with, I can only speak with in my heart and in my mind. I have to rely on the spirits and hope that she can hear me.
My aunt Harriet was such an inspiration to me. She was such a bold woman and I spent so much of my time with her; she referred to me as a daughter she never had. She was so dynamic and truly an alternative Black woman I aspired to be. She had so much fun and joy about her and whimsy. She was steadfast in her advocacy for herself and unapologetic with her expression. And I understood and saw her vulnerability and her struggles. I was too young to fully understand the depth of her experiences, but I still aspired to be like her. I knew after seeing her Rolling Stones tattoo that I wanted tattoos. She was the first person to introduce me to alternative forms of music outside of hip-hop and rap. She even watched anime and would talk about Dragon Ball Z with me.
And I remember when she passed, I didn’t necessarily grieve her. I fell into action as a way to cope, working to get the family together and support everyone. But inside I was broken. I remember dashing over to her home, negotiating with God to not take her away. Because we were supposed to hang out that day for my birthday and I was working up the courage to talk to her about some things that I was holding close to my chest. To feel more seen.
But there was no negotiation, as she was gone well before I petitioned God.
I already wasn’t a good processor of my emotions. I would hide my pain in prose and poetry, take on numerous activities, or consume myself with others’ problems. Anything to stay away from the darkness that was growing in my heart.
But now, as I am older, I’ve been healing. I have named these last ten years the chapter of my story as “the return to my humanity,” as I explore and feel my feelings, live more authentically and in my truth. And my, has life been beautiful. The people I love and adore, and the communities I reside in, hold space for me with open arms. They see me in ways I wanted to be seen, in ways I wanted her to see me.
And with all that I do, and have done. And in all the ways everyone rallies in to celebrate me, the only thing I want for my birthday is just to talk to my aunt and see her reactions to who I am and all I do. For her to see how much the world has changed for fat Black alternative women. For her to also experience the joys I have had.
But alas, I have to concede that it is not meant to be. And though I know I can say those things in my heart, I am still honoring my sadness, grief, and rage that I can’t do it in person, over the phone, or on social media. I can’t even take a selfie with her.
So this is all over the place, and that’s because that’s where my emotions are. Because I am also so grateful to her for the impact she had in inspiring me and the imprint she left. And that folks understand the echoes she left as they reverberate from my heart outwardly in my self-expression.
I’m insanely grateful to have a mom, grandmas, and aunts who may not always understand me, but love and cherish me all the same. To the friends who have held space for me through the versions of myself, when they could see me, when I couldn’t even see myself, and loved me in every evolution. To the community spaces I have held and cultivated over my life, who continue to pour into me as I pour into them.
Times are hard, but I am prepared to continue to fight back harder. Not just for us, but for myself and for those before me. And for those after me. Thank you, Aunt Harriett. I’m not trying to rush through this life. I want to live a rich, long life, so when we are reunited I can tell you the odyssey of this journey on this physical plane. And we can swap stories.
I'm Sparkie 