Reflecting and the Week Ain’t Over Yet

Today is my mother’s birthday. Yesterday was my best friend’s birthday. D’Angelo died on my best friend’s birthday. I’ve known my best friend since the fourth grade. We’re now in our fourth decade. You do the math. We were in the seventh grade when our friendship was solidified—like BFF4eva type shit. That’s also the year D’Angelo’s first album came out and was on repeat in my Disc-man.
Diane Keaton died on October 11th, three days before D’Angelo. I loved me some Diane Keaton. She was a funny, and dressing-ass white lady. Like I said, I’m in my fourth decade, and I’ve been thinking a lot about the kind of grown lady I want to be. I have an aunt who dresses like Diane Keaton, and I’ve been working on mimicking their style with my own twist. See, I thought I was Left Eye from TLC from about fourth grade until eighth grade. So I was into the big jeans, large graphic t-shirts, and showing my once-flat tummy. I’m working on the grown lady version of that.
Angie Stone passed in March of this year. She sang one of the hardest heartbreak songs I’ve ever heard--Wish I Didn’t Miss You. I’ve had my heart broken twice, and that song surely aided in my grieving process.
 
She literally sings what my soul was crying:
 
One of these days, it’s gonna happen to you
Missing a love like I’m missing you
 
One of these days, when your dreams come true
That’s the one that’s gonna do it to you
 
I can’t eat, I can’t sleep anymore
Waiting for love to walk through the door
I wish I didn’t miss you anymore
 
Angie Stone is around my mother’s age. (Is, because her spirit lives on.) I was raised by my mother, grandmother, and aunt. Nobody talked about their heartbreaks. Lovers came and went. Some passed away. Some left babies. Nobody said, “My heart is broken. I feel like I can’t eat or sleep.” It was very much, “life goes on,” in my house. So for Angie to sing those words the way she did, they were what I needed to hear and from whom I needed to hear them.
D'Angelo’s rendition of Smokey Robinson’s Crusin’ was my young idea of romance. It’s supposed to be soulful. When he croons “I love it, I love it,” it’s like my heart pauses because whatever that moment was for him, whatever he was feeling, I wanna bottle it up and get inside the bottle with it. I wanna live in that too.
When I got a text message that D’Angelo had passed, I immediately said, “broken heart.” Turns out he had pancreatic cancer. But one of his greatest loves died suddenly and tragically earlier this year. Pancreatic cancer will take someone out quick, and a broken heart will exacerbate any illness.
So, today, a Wednesday, halfway through the week, my mother’s birthday, I am flooded with thoughts of the grown lady I’m working on, and how iconic Black creators that impacted my life and growth, my outlook on love, are now no longer here creating in the flesh. It’s a sadness I acknowledge, but can’t give in to. Thank God my father gave me a Discman, and my aunt and uncle let me borrow CDs for months at a time. Thank God for my family’s love of music, movies, and literature. Thank God for allowing me to be born in the 80s. I still got to experience raw talent.
 
I don’t know if I wanna say rest or sleep in peace. No matter how hard we try, creatives don’t sleep. So, it’s Create In Peace now I guess. Create without pressure. Create without slander. Create without criticism. Create without deadlines. Create in Peace.