Month: July 2022

The Grieving Room

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Jernee Timid after a morning of making me worry myself nearly into a fit. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

Finding inspiration wherever I can

I signed up for overtime this past Thursday for work this morning, and low and behold … Jernee had other plans for me — for us. The Little Monster’s history is riddled with relapses because of GERD and hemorrhagic gastroenteritis. I am no stranger to these abrupt changes in our routines, but it can be frustrating and equally taxing.

About 6 years ago, I would silently blame Jernee for many of the things I missed out on because of those relapses. There have been several concerts (Maze featuring Frankie Beverly, The Isley Brothers, and Mint Condition), trips, and just the ordinary weekend trip away or visit to my best friend’s home I have had to cancel because attending to my dog came first.

A sudden illness sparked by whatever in this sweet baby has always halted any plans I have made. One would think I wouldn’t be as strict on planning as I am, given the fact many of my plans have been shot entirely in the ground, but I do still plan. I am optimistic about what I would like to do and often want to see them through.

I have learned to live with these occurrences. There is no way for me to know whenever she will fall ill, just as there is no way for me to know when I will not be at my best, either. Taking it in stride whenever I am able helps me to deal with her illnesses and now, her age.

I have a voice in the back of my head, though, that sometimes whispers, “Think of all the things you could have done if you weren’t caring for something/someone else.” And on these days, it is harder to get past the reality of it and move forward.

This morning, when I noticed her slow pace and the constant smacking and licking of her nose, I sprung into action. Had we overdone the morning walk? Was there something in her water bowl I overlooked? Did she lick something off the grass I didn’t quite see? What now?! What?! What?! What?!

I picked her up partway home, scaled 3 flights of stairs, and monitored her just as I have done many times before this morning.

Regardless of these things, Jernee inspires me. She has given me several essays, haiku, and other poetic forms, and memoir-like creative nonfiction stories to share. She has been endless amounts of joy for me — knowing when to paw at my face gently or land a wet kiss on my cheek.

She is an overseer of sorts, always geared up for my protection, and she will face any dog or person of any size. She loves me that much. Her health is my concern and if I have to take time away from grinding and enjoying some brief moments in life, I will continue to do it.

If I could be half the person my dog is, I’d be twice the human I am. — Charles Yu

The Good Place and writing through grief

This past Monday, July 11, 2022, I had the day off to recover from the busy weekend we had last weekend. A couple days before my kid sister’s arrival, at the recommendation of a good friend of mine, I began watching The Good Place on Netflix.

I will be honest. I made it to episode 3 of season 1 and had thought I’d had enough. I sent my friend a text message basically telling her I did not want to watch something that spurred a great deal of anger within me. She mentioned how she had a hard time getting through the first few episodes as well, but soldiered on to get to the core of the series.

I laid off watching it for a few days and returned to it after I had time to calm down and work through some of my emotions regarding the first 3 episodes. The satiric connotations and subtle humor did not hit me instantly, but when I allowed myself to engage in episodes 4 through 10, I understood where the series was going.

Now, as I am nearing the last few episodes of the last season, I appreciate this series more. The concept of trying to do all we can to inspire good within ourselves and others while we’re still alive has an undeniable, strong meaning.

We will not get multiple do-overs as the characters in The Good Place. We have this life — this one life — to make a powerful statement. To do good and be as kind, understanding, loving, and charitable as we can.

Of course, while watching this series, I thought about my cousin. I wondered how she would react to this series and if we’d bounce ideas off each other to bring about more creativity and love into this world. And this is where it hit me — where the pain settled in for a while, and I had to write about it.

If you were to tell me
this would be my life
ten years ago, I
would’ve uttered some
common phrases like,
“The Devil is a lie” or
“You can’t predict the
future,” and I would’ve
swiped my tongue gingerly
across my two front teeth.

Nothing can bring hell
like the death of a loved
one — like the sound of
one heart breaking into
a million pieces and scattering
itself throughout your entire
body.

How does it feel to walk
around with your insides
regrouping while you
find your center?

— I Wish You Were Still Here, Tremaine L. Loadholt

Loss will always happen. There will always be people in this world who make us cringe. There will always be moments when we want nothing more than to have as many do-overs in life as we can, but the truth is we have the time we have now to do what we need to in order to be and get better.

How many of us will choose this?

Looking forward to a much-needed release

I have therapy coming up this week. I have questions and if there aren’t answers, I will have to learn to be okay with this. But I will ask those questions. Two of those questions revolve around my job and what I believe is best for me or how much more should I dedicate myself to giving what I have and what I can to patient care and service.

I am also struggling a great deal with wanting to take on writing/editing/content creation full-time, and not landing any job opportunities revolving around the above. I read a quote somewhere by someone I will paraphrase: “A dream is a dream. Sometimes it’s not meant to be true.”

How many of us will actually land our “dream job?” How many of us will live out our lives doing what we absolutely love above any and everything else and also get paid for it? How many of us are genuinely happy when we do land that “dream job” and not just sharing the notable moments while we skirt about the less significant ones?

This week is nearly behind me, and I want to be sure I step into the next one with a happier and healthier heart in tow. I have to make that happen. No one else can.

A track that hits straight to the soul and settles in your heart … Marvin Gaye’s Inner City Blues.

Marvin Gaye, Inner City Blues

Inflation no chance
To increase finance
Bills pile up sky high
Send that boy off to die

Make me want to holler
The way they do my life
Make me want to holler
The way they do my life

Hang ups, let downs
Bad breaks, setbacks
Natural fact is (Aww honey, that)
I can’t pay my taxes

Welcome to The Grieving Room. I am here. You are here. We are not alone in this. 

See you next Saturday.

©2022 Tremaine L. Loadholt Originally published in The Grieving Room newsletter via LinkedIn.

I Wish You Were Still Here

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A Lamentation for Chrissy

Photo by Eye for Ebony on Unsplash

And I’m not lying.
I tell people, “I’m trying”
because really, I am.
But my heart breaks every
single day still, and it feels
like I’m watching the
world crumble before
my eyes.

People don’t want to be
around the grieving ones.

It puts them in a place
of discomfort — shifts them
from good times to
“Is this still happening?”
and since I can’t quite
answer their questions,
I bubble up in the safety
of my home and swat
at the hard times slowly
creeping up my stairs.

If you were to tell me
this would be my life
ten years ago, I
would’ve uttered some
common phrases like,
“The Devil is a lie” or
“You can’t predict the
future,” and I would’ve
swiped my tongue gingerly
across my two front teeth.

Nothing can bring hell
like the death of a loved
one — like the sound of
one heart breaking into
a million pieces and scattering
itself throughout your entire
body.

How does it feel to walk
around with your insides
regrouping while you
find your center?

I am told it’s okay
to struggle — to flounce about
with my head bowed, searching
for the writing in the dirt
under my feet.
Where there’s dust, there also
will I be …

I don’t want to dissolve
into the muddy waters
of this stomach-churning
world, so I pull myself
out of the quicksand of
despair and snail on
while I still can.

I wish you were still here.
I am second-guessing myself
again. It’s almost like
a default setting, and
every time I try to move
through it, I sink even
deeper.

I have trouble
seeing past my most
hated self — it’s hard to
shove that part of me
deep into a closet
and throw away the key.

I feel like I have to
soon, though.
Because if I don’t,
the sun will back away
from me and never
lay itself at my heels again.
And that, my beautiful cousin,
would be a life I
don’t want to live.

I love you.
I always will.

Originally published in soliloque via Medium.

The Things I Am Not

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And who I am and who I’d like to be

Simple. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

I am an open book with a tired spine. I am not an only child — the eldest of seven. I creep beneath the sun’s shadows on cloudy days and savor a subtle breeze as it blows haphazardly in my direction.

Not a smoker. Not a drinker. Not a person who cares if you do or don’t, as long as you aren’t bringing harm to others — do as you please. I won’t sit back and keep my tongue on pause when a situation/action/ordeal rubs me the wrong way.

I am not your best friend’s best thing. Not a visual artist. Not a fan of everyone merging into one another. Where is the ability to be unique — to stand out from the crowd?

The bandwagon is toppling. We need to lighten the load.

I am not a night owl — not a club-hopper, can’t tell you the last time I’ve allowed someone to get within six feet of me if they weren’t family or a close/best friend.

I am not interested in cryptocurrency, bitcoin, sales & marketing. I don’t want to know how many ways I can flip a house.

I could care less about social media. You won’t find me on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, or TikTok; hell, I’m barely tolerating LinkedIn, and it’s lightweight entertainment on a good day.

I still listen to my favorite artists on CDs, others on vinyl. I have zero shame in pulling up YouTube to venture down memory lane.

Nope, I’m not addicted to Spotify, Apple Music, or any other app that gives me hundreds of thousands of artists at my beck and call.

I can write until my fingers bleed. I give birth to stories that have spent more than nine months in my brain. I am a healthcare worker leaning towards 20 years in the field.

I am not heterosexual.
I do not lack love.
I cannot stand what this world is becoming.

I am not in a relationship — don’t want to be “hooked up” with your boy or “set up” with your girl. Keep your friends where they are — they’ll have way too much to deal with as it pertains to who I am now.

I can say that openly without stuttering. I can say that and feel no shame. I know where my lane is and I stay in it.

I am me. Flawed. Fearful. Forgiven. The things I am not are exactly who I am.

This is a response to the CRY “Who Are You” prompt. Originally published in CRY Magazine via Medium.

N’Dambi, Can’t Hardly Wait

The Grieving Room

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Bless and Tre. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

Celebrating milestones, spending time with family, and living again

A few months ago, my kid sister decided she wanted to come up for a visit during her summer break. Since she teaches, this is the perfect time to travel, enjoy time away from home, and explore a new environment. Why not venture to North Carolina to make that happen?! I was all for it and scrambled to put in my time on our department’s PTO calendar well in advance so I would have this time with her to celebrate her 23rd birthday the way she intended to have it celebrated.

My dad and stepmom took the five-hour drive up from Georgia along with her. Seeing all three of them at once, and in my place for the first meeting in over 3 years, had been a blessing. I have not been traveling nor have I been venturing too far away from home. (Thanks, global pandemic, you really know how to show a woman a good time.)

Every time I feel as though I should take a road trip at least 3–5 hours away, my body and mind turn against me. I feel physically sick and afraid. There is a fear that has strapped itself to my skin, settled in my bones, and hasn’t released me yet. But slowly, surely, I am wiggling myself free from it.

Having the kid here for the weekend has lifted my spirits. Friday night, we watched Sing 2 on Netflix since she had not seen it. I love a good animated film. I love it even more if it makes me laugh!

There’s a specific scene when Meena is trying to run back into the lobby with her ice cream cone because she has gotten incredibly nervous and flushed from being around her crush. She attempts to push a pull door and lands hard into it — splattering ice cream everywhere.

Meena Falls in Love. Sing 2, 2021

I cannot tell you the number of times I have watched this and laughed until my throat became sore — tears sputtering from my eyes. What gets me, even more, is Alphonso’s reaction to Meena’s misstep: “Whoooaaa! Are you okay?” If you haven’t treated yourself to this movie, do so.

Celebrating a milestone simplistically but in style

23 is a fun age. If you were to ask me if I remember turning 23, nearly twenty years ago, I’d confess — I do not. I remember it was the year I graduated college and I believe much of the month before that was spent preparing myself for what was to come after I walked across that stage.

My sister did not ask for much. She didn’t want to go anywhere major, didn’t want to do anything over-the-top. Her requests: take pictures in the park, have a birthday cake, a hearty lunch, and spend time with us. Not much, right? Nope.

We have done these things, and there is still more to come. In order for me to have this time to spend with her, I took Friday off from work. I’ve also taken this coming Monday off, as I know I will need to rest and recuperate before I “go hard in the paint” again at work. Priorities, people. Priorities.

Why a milestone, you may ask? I had friends who did not make it to this age. They’d died in their early 20s, late teens, or just as we entered high school. So seeing my kid sister, all smiles, living her life to the fullest, and being able to freely, makes me miss those friends more. As I stated several entries back, grief comes in waves.

I feel immense joy witnessing her happiness. I am overwhelmed with elation, however; I think about the loved ones I have lost — those who cannot share these moments with me any longer — those who … had not been given extra time. It hits me like a ton of bricks and I am a puddle of tears once again.

23. Bless Loadholt. Used with her permission. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

Although my sister is celebrating a new year simplistically, she did so in style. As we readied ourselves this morning to meet up with my dad and stepmom, the kid wrapped herself in a stunning yellow dress and donned her feet in wedged heels.

I am not dainty by any means. I find comfort in themed t-shirts, sweatpants or jeans, and sneakers. During the winter, themed hoodies or long-sleeved shirts, sweatpants or jeans, and sneakers. The last time I wore heels? Senior prom, maybe?

I admire those who choose to rock them and can make heads turn while doing so. I am proud of my kid sister for having her own sense of style and shining so brightly as she shows it off.

Preparing for the busy weekend and much-needed family time

The workweek had been a short one. I only worked Tuesday through Thursday and Thursday ended up being a shorter day than normal because of system and connectivity issues.

Throughout the week, I was preparing myself for this weekend — getting things in order. I also rested more than usual because I knew I would be busy. Jernee (my dog) is perplexed because we have had back-to-back visitors and not much lazing about.

I appreciate spending time with my family — being able to do so with a few people here and there, and in small doses, has been a gift. I needed this more than I can put into words.

Singing Happy Birthday to someone I love and someone whose diapers I changed sends a slight shiver up my spine. I have watched this person grow from all stages of life and she is still growing. There is a sense of pride welling up within me, awaiting the proper moment to burst out.

I think I’ll hold on to it a little longer.

How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you are? — Satchel Paige

Welcome to The Grieving Room. I am here. You are here. We are not alone in this.

See you next Saturday.

©2022 Tremaine L. Loadholt Originally published in The Grieving Room newsletter via LinkedIn.

A Short Break

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Our Mindful Life

I will be preparing myself for the arrival of my kid sister this coming Friday. She’ll be here to celebrate her 23rd birthday with me, and I haven’t seen her in a little over three years.

I have work today through Thursday, and then I will have Friday and next Monday off.

I will return back to my regularly scheduled WordPress interactions and creative writing on Saturday, July 09, 2022, in the morning.

Here’s hoping Tuesday and the rest of this week will be a safe, enjoyable, loving, and blessed one for each of you.

Peace and blessings.

Dead in Akron

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An Audio Lamentation for Jayland Walker

Photo by bimo mentara on Unsplash
Dead in Akron by Tremaine L. Loadholt

90 shots fired?
90? 90? Are we sure?
Could be a little more
Could be a little less.
Who’s counting? When it’s
us, who’s counting?

You can’t be Black and young
and afraid of authorities in
America, it’s ammunition
for their ammunition, and
you will never win against
their numbers.

The system was designed to
hunt us like deer
draw our slain bodies from
the scene, and mount us
above their mantels;
prizes for their buddies
to gawk at.

There are checks being
cut for the officials
who can sell the most
bullshit in the darkest times
and the 1% has scrambled to
collect their due.

While we continue to
drop like flies, letters
lacking empathy are issued
to grieving families and lawyers
prepare themselves to seek
the highest monetary amount
possible as though money
resurrects the dead.

What do you do when
you’ve become numb to
the constant pain that settles
in your bones?
It’s there, you know it’s there
but now … it lingers
like a reminder, one you
claim as a task to get
rid of, yet …

You never will.

©2022 Tremaine L. Loadholt Originally published in soliloque via Medium.

“After a car chase, Walker got out of his car and a foot chase took place, police said. Officers believed Walker was reaching towards his waist and they ‘felt that Mr. Walker had turned and was motioning and moving into a firing position,’ Mylett said.

Walker, however, was not armed, Mylett said Sunday.” — Samantha Beecher & Dakin Andone, CNN News