Memorial Day, Part II
A little(okay, maybe not just a little...) more on Memorial Day...
Here are some other people that came to mind when I was thinking about Memorial Day:
- Muriel's classmate (not sure if the family would want me to post her name -so I won't) who died unexpectedly after complications with the flu. The same week she is in the hospital with rare complications from the flu. My girls are home sick, with the flu, everyday that week. Her classmate (8th grade) died on Friday that week. I was out of town on Friday (had been home with the girls Mon-Thurs) when they got this devastating news. An awful time to be away from your girls. I wanted like mad to be with them and hug them and just be... I arrive back in town Sunday night, and as I'm making my mental to do list for Monday while driving from home from the airport, it hits me harder than it had all weekend. A sick note. I have to write a sick note for the girls because they were out sick all last week from school. But wait,... I still have my girls. I GET to write a sick note because my girls are going back to school. They had the flu (and not to freak anybody out about the flu- it was very rare circumstances/complications that occurred - way out of the norm), just like "S". She died. They didn't. I get to to write a sick note. "S"'s parents will never get to write a sick note for their girl ever - EVER - again. And S will not be there when my daughter goes back to school. Muriel will go to her first period Spanish class, and S - who was in that class - will not be there on Monday. And she never will be there - NEVER. Memorial Day. I'm going to shed some tears for S and her family. For her parents. For her sister that doesn't have a sister anymore. Her sister in an instant has NO siblings. NONE. Just like that. It's Memorial Day, and I've got some tears to shed. I have two girls- that's it - if the same thing happened to me, I'd have ONE girl, but that ONE girl would now have NO sister. Tears fall. They pour. Its Memorial Day.

Zaki- I think of Zaki on Memorial Day- especially because I'm in Florida right now. Zaki was a sweet, crazy-funny boy who also had a deep appreciation for some good food or even a snack. Zaki was in a Bible study that I helped with when he was about 8 or 9 years old. Loved that boy. Zaki lived on what many would call, "the wrong side of the tracks" or the "bad" side of town (And okay, honestly- there was a lot of crime in Zaki's neighborhood, I probably wasn't going to be doing house hunting for my family in that neighborhood - but at the same time,  in the midst of the more-common-than-there-should-be gunshots and other crime in that community, there was still community- and love- and some very, very beautiful people - some of my favorite people in the world, Diann Richardson, Teidra Richardson McBride, Alany, and James Porter (another WWII vet- who up until the time that I left Ocala 2 years ago was still living in the house he built with his own hands after WWII - He was 106 or 107 when I moved away- and one of the best, most precious gifts I ever received came from him, James Porter - at age 106 or 107, he went to the trouble of catching me some fish - an 100+ year old African American man who lives in a neighborhood, "that" neighborhood- the one that sometimes feels like a war zone on many levels - "that" man gave "this" white 40-something female who lived in a much different neighborhood and had a lot more material resources --- He - though he did not have much at all in respect to material things, He gave big. He loved big. That's something. That is a gift to be treasured from a man who has a heart - A man who loves well) live in "that" neighborhood. 

And while, "that" neighborhood may be poor in material resources- they've got some good love stuff going on there. If you doubt that- message me, call me- I've got more stories ... I've been a recipient of it on multiple occasions. I could share more about the kindness and love towards me from Diann and Teidra and... but i know i've already been going on for awhile now. I just wanted to let you know that, while there may be some awful things that happen in "that" neighborhood - and that happen more often there/ disproportionate levels of crime...there are also some beautiful stories of love and hope and perseverance through some crazy storms -storms that only people in "that" neighborhood have experienced- and that some can come out of those storms and still love is no small thing. I've got something to learn about that kind of love. We've got some things to learn from people in "that" neighborhood. People that can love and keep on in the midst of such hard circumstances. At least, I know I have some things to learn. How do I learn? I spend time with the people in "that" neighborhood. And then the more I listen, the more I can understand why some things are as they are over there- a place different from my here...

I don't think I finished the story that I wanted to share about Zaki. Within a year I think, for reasons I can't remember, the Bible study that Zaki and I were in, ended. And I didn't see Zaki much after that. I would see him every long once in awhile as I was taking my girls to school because Diann's house (Diann is Zakis Aunt)- was right on the path of the daily carline I would sit in waiting to pick my girls up from school- sometimes parked right next to Diann's yard. Also drove by it every morning taking the girls to school. 

So.... Zaki.... fast forward to late September 2016. I'm at home, pick up the newspaper. That's normal so far... then my normal was forever rocked/scarred/wounded/injured/torn/broken.... I see a headline about a boy that took a bullet to the head in a drive-by shooting. Then I see a face. I think I know that face. Zaki. No, come on God - not Zaki, please not Zaki. Please not Zaki. I start to read the article- the name doesn't exactly match up and the street address/the map shown in the article doesn't match. The name said Ri'Zaki Johnson. And the article says that he was shot at the home where he was staying- and that address wasn't the same as Diann's. I never knew his given name was Ri'Zaki. Everyone always just called him Zaki. Well, I guess I was still just trying to hold on to some hope that it wasn't him- even though i recognized the face. I called someone in Zaki's neighborhood- they confirmed what I hoped to God was not true. It was Zaki that got shot in the head. It was Zaki that was in critical condition at a local hospital. His cousin, Alany, was also shot. But they were really more like brother and sister, Zaki and Alany. Real close. Alany was shot in the stomach- she had a short stay in the hospital - no major physical damage. But Zaki was in critical condition. I wanted to go there - to be there - closer to Zaki - in the hospital. To pray. To be.

I know not everyone would have that reaction. I don't expect it - and I don't think anyone is better or worse based on whether they would want to go see Zaki or not. But I'm wired a certain way - sometimes it paralyzes me - and other times it gets me to move like never before. When I read about Zaki's shot to the head, it was like a knife to my heart. deep wound. deep cut. blood spilled. I wasn't expecting that I would actually see Zaki when I went to the hospital to pray. I just wanted to be there- to pray- and also if family came- I wanted them to know- that even though it had been a long time since I'd had close ties with Zaki- I was crazy sad about that boy being shot in the head. Crazy sad. So, yeah, I didn't expect to see him. But the family invited me in -to pray with them. And we held hands around him, and we prayed for him to be healed... and I kissed that boy on the forehead and told him i loved him. 5 days later he would die- and I guess he got healed in a different way - not in the way we were asking for - we weren't ready to let that 17 year old boy go. I know I wasn't. Now was Diann or his Mom, or his Aunt Teidra or Aunt Kiki or Aunt Jazz or his cousin Alany who was there, too, when he got shot. And she got shot, too. But now he was gone, and she was still here.

Memorial Day. Maybe you're wondering why i'm writing all of this- am i trying to make you sad? angry?....

I'm getting to my point. Memorial Day. A lot of people die young in Zaki's neighborhood. As awful and painful as it is, its almost normal there in "that" neighborhood. Not normal as in people aren't hurt and pained by it- not that some don't also feel the knife to their heart each time it happens - but normal as in expected/ like those things happen here. Like it might be normal in some neighborhoods to hear the ice cream truck go round two times a week - still love that ice cream- but not surprised that the truck is there. we're used to the truck. 

Emily, you may be saying, I still don't get where you're going with this..... Welllll- I'm not done yet.

(and this is where things might get a little uncomfortable in a different way and you may think i'm trying to make a political statement- I'll try to tell you now that i'm not- that this is personal, not political - whether or not you believe me, I cannot control)

In these days, past 4 or so years in our country, America, I believe things are at an unusually high point of tension. Tension between political parties and tension between Black and White. There is a lot of "us" and "them" or "those people" language being thrown around - and its a two way street. White folk do it. Black folk do it. Conservatives do it. Liberals do it. And lets not get all caught up in who is doing it more- its not contest. If we are doing it at all - whomever we are, it is wrong. We are putting people into boxes, including ourselves - and making whomever "those people" are "those Democrats" "those republicans" "those blacks", "those whites", "those..." fill in the blank. We've created so many groups of enemies that many people don't even want to speak for fear that they'll lose their friend because their friend has already made one if not more public statements about one of "those people"- and they are them- and so if he or she says "Oh, this is who I voted for, or this is the party I identify most with" - by the way many of us talk, some feel immediately condemned and hated for their political choices or ideas. People are feeling more and more isolated from people whom they would call a friend because - oh- well I guess my friend doesn't like any of "those people", so if I told my friend, MY FRIEND, whom i voted for or what my political leanings are - they might not be my friend anymore. So, I better just keep quiet about that, and this, and that, and this--- I guess i better just not talk at all. About anything - because maybe i'll lose my friend (because they already told me or all of facebook or instagram how they feel about "those people".... but I'm one of "those people" - so I guess we can't be friends - or at least I can't talk to my friend. so - who could i talk to --- because over here- well, this other friend doesn't like these other people, and that's well I think that's me too - on that. So we can't be friends either.... What's happening in America? aren't we all individual people. Do we really all fit in these boxes of "these people" and "those people" so neatly. I don't think so , but my friends do. So, maybe i don't have any friends anymore . Cause it seems like I'm always gonna be in somebody's hate box. If I say i like this, then this friends hates "this", but if i say i'm that, then my other friend - well he believes that all of the people that believe in "that" are wrong and dumb and cruel- maybe even evil. Does he think I'm evil? ...... I'm feeling pretty alone right now. And no box is safe. Maybe I'll just choose a whole new box...thats just for me. Cause it doesn't seem like i really fit well in any of these other boxes. 

And well, its Memorial Day, and I couldn't find a box with anyone else in it that really fit- or where I wouldn't lose another friend. I couldn't choose between my friends. Its Memorial Day. I made my own box. I wonder if anyone will leave flowers for me next year, by my box.

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Friends - this is me, Emily, out of my storytelling hat now. Just me. what i wrote above is how i see (not for all people) happening today in America. No one party or color or political leaning or ideology or culture has the perfect answer to the hurts or challenges of our country or our world. We all mess up- I love my daughters like crazy, but as a mom I don't ALWAYS make the best decisions for them or say the right words. The best thing I can do for my daughters and for anyone else is to communicate love to them. I think (and maybe its not how you feel) that i can tolerate any bad, poor or flawed policy or mistake or.... if I still deep down believe that no matter what, the person across the table will still love me. 

So, while even still there will, this side of heaven, be no perfect (in my opinion) political party or perfect person to run our country (and I do realize that voting still needs to take place and people will be asked to vote for someone)- I think I could tolerate or survive and maybe even thrive if I knew I was loved by someone - no matter how different we are in perhaps so many other ways. I can survive, and yes- thrive- on love alone. and i don't think i'm alone in that sentiment. Others may feel differently - but I'm telling you where I'm coming from.

And so on that note, could be maybe tear down the boxes -or at least the assumptions we make about the people in the "other" box. because i think its killing us- i know its near killed me. i stayed in a box above ground for way too many months- and then was tempted all too much to get the underground box so i could be done with all of the boxes forever- it was almost too much to bear- i couldn't bear it without love
we are not operating as "one nation under God" -
Could we try it out?
that doesn't have to mean that we agree on everything.
that's not going to happen... but
when there is a confrontation and a young black boy gets shot, before we go to our boxes where the first thing we try to do is figure out whose fault it is- why the cop shot or why the black boy shot....
Could we please - for God's sake, for love's sake - first think about Memorial Day- because no matter whose "fault" it was (and I'm not against justice- please don't misunderstand).... no matter whose fault it is,
Come Memorial Day, somebody is going to a box that wasn't there before-
whether its the mother whose going to her young black son's box
or the wife of a cop going to her husband's box
Its still a box, with a person
And its Memorial Day
And I'm pretty done with all of these boxes, aren't you?
It's Memorial Day, and one day we all will end up in a box
So let's cry for ALL of the boxes. For God's sake. For love's sake.
Its Memorial Day.
God help us ALL