For the most part of my life I lived under the assumption that life was essentially fair. I think the majority of us operate under this same principal, whether we know it or not. It’s engrained in our minds from a young age that if we work hard, get good grades, that we will attain our dreams. If we have children, they will out live us and grow up to be upstanding adults. That we will be grandparents and spoil our grandchildren rotten and then send them back with their parents with smile on our face.
Then something happens. A husband betrays us. A wife walks out the door and doesn’t come back. A child gets strung out on drugs. We get fired from our dream job. A best friend turns their back on us. These moments we come face to face with the reality that life is not fair, period.
Up until Myesha’s death I was living under the assumption that my children would always be protected. That nothing bad would ever happen to them. I would do whatever it took to be that “great mom”, who did homework with them, made them dinner, read them bedtime stories, that Girl Scout leader, that “soccer mom”, all so my children would have a better life and more opportunities than I did. It’s as if I was trying to strike a deal with life, and life be essentially fair, would honor that deal. On July 17th, 2015, I learned that there are no deals.
It’s those chapter’s of our lives when we will find one of those tiny little asterisk’s. Those tiny, little disclosures no one can ever squint hard enough to actually be able to read and so we choose not to. Assuming it’s probably not really that important or that whatever it says probably doesn’t apply to us anyway. But when we get to the finale, we realize that it did matter and then we are left feeling pissed off and deceived. My daughter’s sudden, painful death, like many things, was unknowable. It was that asterisk that I didn’t realize would ever have this type of impact. Damn that fine print!
It’s our choice to believe what we wish and render our best guesses about why bad things happen, but every explanation of why this happened was completely unhelpful and unsatisfying to me at this point. The mystery of death was revealed to me that night in that hospital bed when I held her lifeless body in my arms. Finding the strength to let go of her hand and move to the head of the bed to take out her braids. Braids that probably needed to be taken out several days prior but that was just not a priority. Unknowing. Blinded at the thought that MY DAUGHTER was really going to die!!
Feeling her oil softened, curly strands of hair between my fingers for the very last time and I brushed her hair. The silence of that process was deafening. No bickering and complaining like she always did when her braids where taken out. To not have to stop a few times so she could scratch a scalp that would begin to itch from securely holding those braids for weeks at a time. Nothing. Silence. Taking my time with each braid. Being as careful as I could, like she could even feel anything anymore. I’m sure I was in shock. My daughter, my first born was really gone….Forever.
I still don’t read the asterisk’s.