Leaving

It was February 24^th, 1984 when Grandma passed away, it was my baby sister’s first birthday. I was 10 years old.

I was told Grandma passed on, was told she had transitioned. Many of my Grandma’s sisters and other relatives were around. 

My mother told me Grandma didn't want me to see her in the hospital sick like she was. I was told by so many that she loved me more than I could ever know. I was told that I was very special to Grandma. I already knew how special she was to me. Grandma took me to the World’s Fair in Tennessee. Grandma nursed me when I was sick with food poisoning from overindulgence at the Fair. Grandma talked to me with so much love. She would hold me and hum gospel songs to me whenever I climbed into her bed at night. She would make me my favorite breakfasts, lunches, or dinners. Grandma was a stellar cook. She would even whip up a peach cobbler, my favorite dessert, whenever I desired. Grandma told me that I was brighter than most of the students she taught at Malcolm X Shabazz high school even though they were twice my age. I was an early reader and Grandma was an English teacher. Proper speech was very important. Grandma showed me off and bragged on me. I loved it. Grandma took me to church and told me of God’s love. She watched as I got baptized. Mother was not there. Grandma cried when I sang my first church solo, ‘Jesus loves me.’ Grandma reprimanded my mother for being hard on me. 

When I was 8 years old Grandma was the first call I made when I burned my stomach while ironing my clothes for school. Mother had moved us from Jersey to Wisconsin, far away from Grandma. Mother was at work and I was a latch-key kid. I called Grandma scared and crying and Grandma with calmness and kindness told me, “It’ll be alright baby, where’s your mother?” When I told her she was at work Grandma said, “Lord have mercy! Baby, go unplug the iron.” I obeyed. “Now go get a wash cloth.” I dropped the phone and ran to get the wash cloth. When I returned Grandma said, “Now precious, go to the freezer and get some ice.” Again I dropped the phone and dutifully complied. Grandma stayed on the phone with me for hours while the ice melted and pain subsided. Finally she had me apply butter to the burn and take a nap. I awoke to my mother rushing home and panicked. She had come home early from work because Grandma had called her worried, berating her for leaving me home alone, rebuking her with what had happened. Mother was concerned and pissed. All I knew was that Grandma was magic and could care for me better than Mother ever could even from hundreds of miles away.

It has been 29 years since Grandma left. I still miss her so much. I looked at her picture and cried so hard today. I cried because for the first time, 29 years later I realized that Grandma didn't leave me. Grandma died. At 10 years old I didn't understand why she would leave me. How could Grandma leave me if she loved me so much? If I was truly so special how could she abandon me? My mother’s and everyone else’s explanations of death never dealt with the feeling that I had. I felt left. My 10 year old self, told my 15 year old self that I was left, that the person who loved me the most left me. My pubescent 15 year old self bought into the misunderstandings of the 10 year old and began to face the world on terms that then seemed to make sense. 15 year old Erica reasoned that even people who say they love you and you love will leave, you so either don’t love or leave first. Erica at 21 years old bought into the idea and decided that a life without love sucked and was impossible. So she decided to love hard, fully, and completely so that she would have at least that when the object of that love left. Deeply and passionately Erica would fall in love and when something occurred unfamiliar or unsettling, Erica would decide that the person was going to leave her. Sensing the leave, whether it was truly a leave or not, she would leave…first. Of course sooner than later everything began to look like a leave. When someone was disappointed or angry, sad, needing space, or even disgruntled with something that had nothing to do with Erica, she would begin to sabotage the relationship, while accusing the person of leaving, abandoning and deserting her. Erica would flee. From 21 years old to 39 years old Erica ran. She ran from friends, family, and lovers whenever she was scared that they may leave. Ultimately Erica didn’t believe she was special and worthy of having someone truly stay.

The comedy of this tragedy is that while running away from the love she so desired Erica would cry, yell, and scream that it was really everyone else leaving, not realizing it was her leaving all along.

It was August 25, 2013 when Erica understood that her beloved Grandma didn’t leave or abandon her, just a few months shy of thirty years since Doris Amaza Bradshaw’s actual date of death. It was a sunny Sunday, around noon when Erica accepted that her Grandma died. She didn’t leave. She just died.

Upon fully comprehending that Grandma just died and that I had been living my life based on the misunderstandings of my 10 year old self, I simply sat and cried and cried and cried.

This journey to becoming is difficult in ways I could have never imagined.

That is all for today.

Now, I gotta go make some good-n-happy now!

Much Love,

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