Play-by-Play Grief

One of my pastors told me to do this to help me process the sudden loss of my cousin. 

Sunday morning, 7:55 a.m.: Call from my mother, telling me to come downstairs.  She wants me fully awake, has to talk to me.

 "The police came to Tia's house today and told them that... 

Eddie... He died."

Heart dropped. Breath taken from my chest. Eyes wide open. 

Eddie? He's... dead? My cousin? Brother? Dead? 

Tears ran down my face. I made that noise that sounds like someone punched my stomach, ya know? 

I couldn't believe it. I always knew it would happen like this, but like my Tia said during the funeral,  

"You're never prepared to hear it." 

     "Are you still going to church?" my mom asked. I had to, I was the one teaching that Sunday at Bible Study.  I couldn't drive though. It was going to be way to much on my mind. My mom ended up driving me.  I played pretty chill if I do say so myself. We stopped at Starbucks on the way, I was laughing making jokes. It was fine. 

     Once I get to church, I see one of my girls. It was her homecoming the night before, so we talked. No one knew anything. It's crazy how our world can be falling apart, and we can hide it so well. So I'm talking with her and her family, making jokes. Everything was fine. 

 Now it's time for me to teach though. 

    My students know, I am an open book when it comes to sharing my struggles (anxiety, depression, panic attacks, etc.).  That Sunday it was part 1 of 2 of my "ramping up" to my new role as Youth Director talks.  All that to say, that lesson was from the heart, and it had emotions of it's own. Add onto that, my cousin-brother just died... ha. Nonetheless, I told the youth to bare with me. I told them what happened. I needed too, or... maybe I didn't.. But, I wanted them to. If we are gonna be a family, we share each other's burdens.  

     So I got through the lesson. Cue the Doxology, am I right? I go to service, and people from my old church are texting me, "Vanessa, I am so sorry." "I just heard... I love you, I'm here if you need anything." So now it's getting harder to not think about it, harder to be fine. My mentor's sitting next to me, asks me if I'm okay. Everything was(n't) fine. I nodded. "You sure?" I nodded, not making eye contact.  Less than a minute later, tears are forming. I'm about to make that "punched stomach"noise again, so I walk out. 

Now, I'm bawling. I'm crying out loud. 

I hear the door open, I'm thinking it's my mentor. Nope. It's a lady from the congregation. She prays with me. "Ya know, I've been asking God to give me an opportunity to talk and pray with you. I'm glad He finally did, but I'm sorry it had to be like this." After the service was over, my Pastor and his wife (my mentor) took me to my Tia's house where my whole family was. 

The lights were off. There wasn't much audible crying going on. 

"There's my Tia," I thought.

"He's gone mama, that's it. He's gone."

My other Tia had cooked. Man, can she cook. Food for the soul type of cooking. We ate. We laughed. We cried. We were a family, minus one. 

Monday. 11:45 a.m.:  Pretend like everything is fine. Everything is fine. He's not really gone. He can't be. He can't be. I'm at work trying to figure out funeral times and dates to let work know when I'll be gone. Everything is fine.   
    Tuesday, 6:30 a.m. :  Another 8 hour shift. Great, right? Most of the day, everything was fine. But then it wasn't.  Every break, during lunch, even a customer named Eddie came.  During breaks and lunch, going on Facebook would remind me that he was gone. Everything wasn't fine. Towards the end of my shift, I couldn't hide it anymore.  Everything was not fine. Jokes weren't coming as easily. My smile was gone.. because my cousin is gone. How? How is my cousin gone? I didn't see him that often. But how is he gone, forever?
   After work, I take a shower then head over to church to work on my next lesson that I'm teaching this coming Sunday.  I stare at the computer screen, watching videos to numb my mind.  Messaging people about random things.  I feel numb.  I feel numb, but very aware of what I'm numbing myself of (if that makes sense).  In comes one of my pastors..

"Como estas? How are you feeling?"

In a sense, I was dreading seeing him or my other pastor because I know that they care, and they were going to ask me. Tears start falling down my face. 

"I don't want to go home because I know that when I go home, I have to wake up to tomorrow. I just want to skip tomorrow and Thursday. I don't want to go. I'm not ready."

"I don't believe it. It's not true, but I don't want to face it."

"What about it makes you not want to go?" Dang, that was a good question.  Tears are pouring down my face.  I can't hide it anymore. 

"I'm not ready.  I know that tomorrow and Thursday will be the last times that I see him.  But it won't be the same. I'm not going to be able to talk to him.  I'm not going to be able to hug him.  I'm not going to be able to make fun of him. I can't make another memory with him. He can't make fun of me. We can't laugh together any more. I don't want that. I want to be collected so that I can be there spiritually for my family."

 "You know, you don't always have to be there for people. It's okay to let people be there for you."

LOL, WUT. Let people be there for me? What is that? Right now, when other people need someone there for them? 

But of course, he was right.  This was a time where I could let the body of Christ be there for me. I wanted to be the light. But my flame wasn't as strong.  It needed some.. rekindling. That's when my church community would come through, spur me on.  Love me through their mere presence that night to come.  

Wednesday, 11 a.m.: I'm having breakfast with my mentor. I needed to talk to someone outside of the family today. I needed to spend time with someone outside the family. 

   Afterwords, I went home. I chilled for a little bit. When I walked in, I saw my dad dressed in all black. He was going to attend the funeral of a young man who was like his son. He was going to attend the funeral of his son. You all don't understand. He was our brother.  When his dad left, my dad came in and helped my Tia.  When my grandpa died, my dad made sure he was always okay. My mom too. So seeing my dad dressed in all black, that stopped me in my tracks. 

Around 2:45 p.m., I begin my way to go pick up my niece, my second cousin, Eddie's "baby" and her mom. The crazy thing is that she is literally him.  She looks like Eddie with a pony tail.  While looking through pictures, picking the ones for the funeral home, all his baby pictures... You see her, I even see a little pony tail on his head. It looks like pictures of her when she was younger.  So I drive, so exited to see this beautiful little girl. This little girl that when she smiles, she lights up the room. Her hair so beatiful and brown. Her skin so dark, just like her dad.  Just like her dad. 

4 p.m.: We arrive at the funeral home. I walk into my dad's teary eyes, which is rare, extremely rare to see. My grandma is crying. My Tia is crying (not his mom, another Tia, ha..). In walks in his brother, his "little" brother, my "baby"cousin.  He's the youngest cousin. I used to change his diapers. He walks in, looking drained, eyes tired of the tears. 

"Are you ready, Nessa?"

No! No, I wasn't.  But how is he strong enough to ask me?  "Uh.. no." He offers to walk me to the.. the casket. "No. Not right now. I wanna wait a little bit."

   4 p.m. turns into 5 p.m. People start showing up. People start hugging me, asking me how 
holding up.  Meanwhile, I'm smiling, laughing. "I'm okay for now. I haven't seen him yet, but you're more than welcome to go in." T.J. keeps asking me if I want to walk up with him, and I keep procrastinating, the thing I'm best at ;).   
     People from my current church start showing up. "Hey how are you?" "I'm good. I haven't seen him yet though, so that's probably why." My response caught them off guard. "You want us to go with you?" No, I didn't need anyone to go with me, I just wasn't ready. But I knew I had to go soon, I figured the more people showed up, the more weird it would look that I haven't seen him yet. My grandma was almost getting mad at me, haha. 
     All of a sudden, I got the strength (supernatural strength) to go. So I throw my bag down, grab T.J. by the arm and say, "It's now or never." I take a few steps down the aisle, and half way, I start crying.  The closer I get, the louder I cry.  
   I'm at the casket now, I can't believe it's him. How did this happen? I start crying out loud. I want to touch his arm, but I can't.  "Touch him, Nena. Touch him." I hear from my mom. But I can't, I don't want to. I don't want to touch my dead cousin's body.  

Nothing is fine now. Nothing. 

   I stay there for 5 minutes, just crying out loud. C.R.Y.I.N.G. I close my eyes, then look at him. Close my eyes, then look at him.  Repeat, repeat.  Each time, it seems as if I had just missed him looking at me. As if this was one of the many times where he was playing a trick on me.  His eyes... it looked as if he was going to scare me. I was waiting for him to open them and be like, "Why you crying, Nessa?" while laughing.  But he didn't.  

Why didn't he wake up? 

Why wouldn't he ask me why I was crying?

So, I go back. I go back to my seat. Now to get through the night. I'm not gonna talk about the entire night, and how much I cried.  But the one thing that I do want others to hear about is the part of the funeral that the family lines up and everyone gives hugs and condolences.  I noticed that there were three different feelings when the people that gave hugs, and said that they were sorry for our loss. 

   1) Family: Obviously the family that wasn't up there with me. They would give quick, light hugs, and just say sorry.  Sure they were crying too, and maybe that was their defense mechanism, but.. yeah. It was super light hugs and a quick "I'm sorry."

  2) People that went to church, but maybe weren't believers: these were the people that knew him, his friends that were my friends too from church, whether it be through the sports teams that he was apart of, or things like that.  They're hugs were tighter, longer, and they cried with me.  We shared quick conversations about how Eddie's death was a loss for us both.  

   3) Christians:  "Oh Vanessa, I'm so sorry." crying with me, even if they didn't know him that well. Others pouring out their own tears.  Others letting me cry onto their shoulders.  They stood there a little longer.  Their hugs were a lot tighter.  There was a genuine "mourn with those who mourn".  Their presence in those exact moments meant more than any words they could say.  It was in those moments, like many others that I've had recently, that I became much more appreciative of the body of Christ.  It does go deeper than blood.


Thursday, 9 a.m.: Wake up, talk to my dad like everything is fine. Like we're not about to bury my cousin-brother, his nephew-son.  I'm not ready. Not ready to let go. I know how this works. Of course we've all had people pass away. But, this is the worst part for me.. maybe for you too. So you know what I do? I go to Starbucks and get coffee with and for my family.  Coffee should help, right? 
    We get to the funeral home, I'm all smiles.. while the rest of my family looks... heart broken, destroyed, tired.  I'm trying to keep my composure like everything's fine. I remember how this feels. I remember how it felt to see the casket close. I remember how it feels to see the body being lowered. I remember how it feels to throw the flower onto the casket.  I don't know if this is just me, but I always felt like that was disrespectful. Don't throw that dirt on him like that.  
   So we walk into the service room, where the casket is. "Where's Tia?" I ask my cousin. "She's talking to Eddie." My heart breaks. What. Why. Stop. That's only going to make it harder to bury him. 

  Service is done now, no one in the room but my family and I. Time passes, now its just my Tia, my cousin and me.  I'm sitting 5 rows away from the casket.  Looking at him, sobbing, just sobbing.  Don't close the casket.  

Closing the casket means I can't open it anymore. 

Can't talk to him anymore. 

Can't laugh with him/at him anymore. 

He's not here anymore. 

 On the way to the burial, it was again just laughing. Getting out of my car, I said out loud, "Well, not ready." But I had no choice, haha.  I had no choice. 

Why were we here? I instantly started crying, INSTANTLY.  My dad remembered how I am at burials, so him and my mom knew to be by me. My grandma started crying. I was crying the kind of cry that sounds like I'm fighting to breathe.  I was looking at the casket, then down at the hole.  Back at the casket, back down at the hole.  My cousin is going to spend the rest of my life there.  

They're getting ready to lower him.  Again, I cry, "No. Don't lower him.  Please, don't do it."  We each receive a flower to toss onto the casket. 

No, don't give me one. I can't do it. 

My old pastor signals everyone to come and pay their last respects. I walk like a newborn calf learning to walk.  My legs are shaking, I'm trembling. My dad is holding me up.  It's time for me to toss my flower. 

I 

cannot

do 

this. 

I hold my arm out. Hands are shaking. Legs are trembling. I look at the flower, hoping that my tears could some how... some how do something.  It's been a legit minute or two. I'm standing here crying.  Dad is trying to get me to just toss it, mom's grabbing my arm. I know everyone is waiting for me. I honestly, don't care.

   I finally toss it. 

I finally did it. 

It was the hardest thing. 

It felt disrespectful. 

It felt like I gave up on him. 

The end. 

One of the things that has given me a peace about this, is seeing how my old church was there for my family. The night of the funeral, seeing all of my pastors in the same room.  One of them there with his family, standing and sitting with me, comforting me when they saw my tears... it's been the church. The body of Christ, mourning with those who mourn, the love.. It got me through. It's getting me through.  

If you don't have one, if you don't know what it's like to experience that kind of love and community, I encourage you and pray that you find one.  It's supernatural, unreal, and beautiful.  

 

 

 

 

"Vanessa, get your child!"

Ishynae: "Vanessa, get your child!"

Me: "STOP! COME ON, LET'S GO!"

Tomorrow marks 4 years that I've been with ICI.  Four years. FOUR YEARS. That means that I've officially seen my first "class" graduate.  Of course, throughout the years, I've met kids in between grades.  But let me tell you a little bit about my journey.

Me with my two kids. <3

Ramon and I (he's off in college now. brb, crying)

My junior year at Moody (now 2 years ago), I was put in charge of the sophomore class.  The sophomores that year consisted of 20 boys and 3 girls, then changed to just boys.  So there I was.. another Moody student and I who tried to keep 20 sophomore boys calm, and at the very least attentive to a bible lesson. That entire school year was THE. HARDEST. YEAR. OF. MY. LIFE.  Every Friday I would come back to Moody crying because of sadness, anger, just frustrated, or exhausted.. many times probably all of the above.  I didn't like them. I definitely didn't love them. It took a huge toll on me, physically even.  The kids that were in other groups weren't getting kicked out, but my boys were.  Every week, the same kids getting kicked out. Every week, the same battle. 

But then conviction got me. 

How are these kids going to listen if you have no relationship with them? 

Liz: the one who trusts me with these students. Thanks for everything. AND FOR DRESSING UP FOR MY PARTY.

All they know about me is that I'm some lady whom they tower over, that I expect them to listen to "some bible story", that I tell them "Be quiet.. put your phone away.. Stop that. Don't say that!" Why would they listen to me? 

I need a relationship with them. 

This kid calls me "grandma".

  So I tried. I took them to play basketball. I took them out to eat.  It took a LONG time to get somewhere.  Even still to this day, I already know that these boys won't pour out their hearts.  

So what have I learned in the 4 years that I've been there? 

It's not that they don't like me, it's that they're posing.. I think..

I need the Gospel: During that junior year, I kept thinking, "WHY AREN'T THESE KIDS LISTENING TO THIS?!" I would get upset.  Then at some point, I kind of pulled a Jonah was like, "God, these kids don't care about you.. why even keep going?"  LOL I THOUGHT.  This "3 strikes, you're out" discipline reminded me.. God doesn't do that with us. If that were the case, I wouldn't be here 4 years into the hardest ministry writing this. I was reminded of God's grace and forgiveness.  If God doesn't cast us away after the third strike, and continues to love us, then I can do the same (ICI kids, if you're reading this, don't get it twisted, I'll still kick you out.. luv u tho).  When the kids would blatently disrespect me or another leader, it pushed me to prayer to love them.  Forgiveness, boy. Wow. Not only that, but I need to be in the Word to do anything.  "Apart from me you can do nothing". Boy have I seen that.  

My daughter.

This world is so cruel: Of course, we can read headlines about our city and how many people get shot every weekend.  But sit and listen to the life of a teen.  Many students would be in danger getting out of school.  One family even moved because the family was sick of the danger.  I remember the first time a girl told me her story.  I was instantly filled with such a rage. It burned SO DEEP. "See, I just can't understand how you guys can sit here and say that God is a loving God and that he cares about me when.. (insert details)". Not just the outright horrendous things that happen to the kids, but the mentality that society indoctrinates them with.  I remember having a conversation (while eating tacos of course) with 3 kids about relationships.  "Sex is a competition, Vanessa." "I was going to make her get an abortion."  Turns out, he didn't know what abortion was.  It really is a "I'ma do me and get my own" mentality.

One of my favorite pictures, <3

Genuine love vs. assigned love: This is the part I'm still working on.  I've seen people be fake around my kids.  Don't do that. Don't be fake. They already have lies hitting them from every corner.  It hurts me so much.  Not only because I love my kids, but because I know that the kids can see it. They can sniff it out a mile away.  What kind of picture are you setting for the church?  At times I pleaded to the Lord to send laborers, but then my pride kicked in and I didn't want to entrust my kids to anyone else.  When I say that I'm still working on it,  I mean that I'm still working on expressing it in a positive way, rather than in anger.  But when you see someone who genuinely loves the kids.. oh man. You see the joy in their eyes when that person walks in.  You get to hear the conversations.  They connect in such a beautiful way.

BRB CRYING

Press on: When people ask me about what I do, I think my answer is initially confusing.  "It's the most frustrating, annoying, difficult, most beautiful thing."  That kinda sums it up, right leaders? 😂God has strengthened, chisiled, matured, and broke me these past couple years.  Every Friday night and days in between, He allows me to return to them, them to me, and allows me the prividlege of being used by Him.  Maybe not one kid has gotten saved "with me", but I know that God's Word does not go void.  I know that He has called me to be faithful, and I hope that I have been.  May I continue in this ministry, whether it be at ICI, church, at a school someday, or wherever he has me. 

Idk why I thought I was going to get a nice, put-together-picture.

"Now to Him who is able to do far more abundantly beyond all that we ask or think, according to the power that works within us, to Him be the glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations forever and ever. Amen." -Ephesians 3:20-21

CURRENTLY CRYING.