Breaking things down professionally and respectfully.
When we are money-hungry and crave power over humans’ actual existence and well-being, many countries suffer; many people suffer. Death knocks on multiple doors and takes its reward.
Google Sudan. Research the recent occurrences in the Democratic Republic of Congo. Look up the history of Haiti. Your mind will be blown away.
Greed breeds power. Power breeds evil. Evil breeds the death of many to get back to greed.
Ukraine’s president, Volodymyr Zelenskiy, has imposed sanctions on 37 Russian groups and 108 people including a former prime minister and a former education minister and said he aimed to fight wartime abductions of children from Ukraine and other “Russian terror”.
Ukrainian officials said on Saturday that the armed forces shot down 29 of 38 drones in an overnight raid. More than 400 towns and villages in the south, south-east and north of the country were affected by the drone attacks, including an oil refinery that was hit in Odesa.
Ukrainian troops are working to push back Russian forces positioned on the east bank of the Dnipro River, the military has said, a day after Ukraine claimed to have secured multiple bridgeheads on that side of the river that divides the country’s partially occupied Kherson region.
I’m extremely over the overlord of Russia and his expectancies and over-elitist actions and presence, and he needs to be taken down several pegs.
It’s been nearly two years. I’ve one thing to say to him and any minions at his disposal, “Ain’t y’all tired yet?!”
Where is peace when you need it? Where is justice when it’s overdue? And why must so many fight to obtain both?!Why–because they’re tired, too. Doing right really isn’t hard.
Remember my neighbor who has thunder in her heels?
I introduced myself one night as she was storming down the hall. Her smile appeared before I could part my lips, “Hey! Good evening! I’m Tre, by the way.” She nodded and acknowledged me as I fumbled with my keys, attempting to lock my door. “Hey, Tre. Nice to meet you. I’m Marcella.” I instantly think, And now, I know her name. I can greet her accordingly from this moment forward.
She strikes me as someone who commands the air around her to be still and it probably will. She’s not rude–no, not by a long shot. At least, not from what I can tell. She is, however, stern and confident in her approach to things. I get this–I can sense this. And why shouldn’t she be?
Marcella bolts around the corner just past my door and smiles in my direction once again, “Good night, Tre.” I am taken aback by this as I had already started to head down the hall in the opposite direction, but I don’t let the opportunity pass me by to wish her a good night also . . . “Oh! Good night to you as well, Marcella!”
We’ve made each other’s acquaintance, and I can breathe easier knowing someone’s name who lives just a couple doors down. We are surrounded by people we do not know–may not care to know, however, I must become familiar with people and places in my surroundings. I have always been this way. I doubt I will ever change.
On the eve of a night when bombs land on hospitalsand children’s lifeless bodies are removed from debris spread about their homeland, I toss the idea of communing with others just for shits and giggles in my rattled brain. Why aren’t we a more loving people?! What is happening to humanity? Gone are the days when we could see a child slain in broad daylight and our heart splits in two, withers, and slides down to our feet until we’re walking on our pain.
W H Y A R E N ‘T W E E N R A G E D?!
I try to remind myself not to sink too far down the rabbit hole of videos and articles about the goings-on and genocide occurring in a country/land that feels half a world away. But as time ticks on, I watch another reel, read another blurb, andfind my eyes fixated on yet another image, and I can’t pull away.
But I think back to Marcella–the woman with thunder in her heels who appears to be forceful yet gentle, too. And I wonder, is she thinking about world issues and how we need to attempt to save humanity also? Or, is she wrapped up in her own little world simply trying to survive while the rest of us who are too sensitive crumble?
And just as I am preparing to read for the night and tuck myself into cottoned delight, I hear her storm down the hall once more.
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 …
“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.
Land of the Free (laughable). Home of the Brave (how sure are we about that?). This … a country that would rather make it illegal for a woman or a person with a uterus to make their OWN decision about what to do with THEIR body because well, it can versus implementing gun laws that could save hundreds of thousands of lives.
*Comments are closed because I don’t feel like arguing with anyone who does NOT have a uterus or arguing with someone who DOES have a uterus but does not realize the impact this decision will have on everyone.
I don’t need to say it. You don’t need me to say it. Getting through this past week has been hard. Our nation had already experienced one mass shooting that took place in Buffalo, New York on Saturday, May 14, 2022, only to have yet another stop us dead in our tracks on Tuesday, May 24, 2022, in Uvalde, Texas. Just 10 days later. I have no clue how you have handled dealing with or processing these two events, but for me, they have been racing rapidly through my mind and the ache from each is still strong.
I floated through most of the week, trying to find my footing — trying to make sure I could perform at my highest during work hours. I maintained a calm demeanor. I handled each call I took effectively and efficiently, according to the requests that had been made. There were moments when I had to say several silent prayers to push me through, but I made it through my workweek unscathed and alive to share this newsletter.
I saw this moment without completely breaking down. How did I do that? How was I able to stay afloat above the raging waters and vicious seas? Who was my life raft? I am so thankful for a supportive and loving group of people in my life who make their presence known — who sense my sadness. Without them, I am almost certain I could not press forward on the extremely hard days life hands out occasionally.
It’s been one hell of a week, but I’m still here.
My therapist knows I am emotionally free, and she doesn’t suppress it.
Tuesday, May 24, 2022, the same day as the most recent tragic incident, I kept my therapy session. Knowing it would be at a later hour that night (7:00 p.m.) after work and settling into the evening, I had to build up the energy to log on virtually to meet with her. I am still not comfortable venturing out to her office. Call me crazy, senseless, whatever label you deem necessary to choose, but my comfort level is best at home, and at home is where most of my therapy sessions take place now.
I need to be comfortable these days — I crave it, more so than I have in the past.
We began the session with me discussing what had taken place in the last few months as I had seen her on an “as-needed basis,” but it has become clear I need to pursue my once or twice per month sessions. Speaking about my cousin’s death, then my aunt’s, followed by this nation’s tragic events, sent shivers up my spine. I waded through intense moments of crying and finally got to a point where I could talk about my growth during all of this — how I feel my cousin with me — how I know she is still here.
Tuesday, May 24, 2022, before my therapy session. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt
I talked about my cousin’s ways of loving — how she’d loved me and helped me so much during her short time on earth. I talked about the guidance I received, the advice, the strong opinions she had, and how we bounced ideas off of each other. I talked about her powerful presence, her love of children, and how anyone she came in contact with was left smiling — forever changed by her.
It is still hard to speak about my aunt. There had been so many years that had passed since I last saw her and every year between us was, “I’ve got to come and see you” or “I need to visit you where you are now,” and it never occurred. We allowed the miles between us to stay exactly that — miles between us. We did not move to close the distance, if only momentarily. And this is what I grapple with mostly — losing her without seeing her one more time.
As I cried and wiped my eyes, my therapist — although usually stoic — was shedding pieces of herself I hadn’t seen before. I apologized at one point because I couldn’t stop the tears from flowing and she said in a gentle tone to me, “Don’t you dare apologize — feel what you are feeling.” And I did. It was wholly and completely rejuvenating. Not to say that I still don’t cry in my aloneness here at home, no … I do from time to time, but to shed some of this weight in the presence of a professional listening ear was pertinent. It was what I needed, and I didn’t know it.
Another holiday is before us and I miss my people more.
With Memorial Day fast approaching, I feel the pain of these losses so much more. Each holiday that has passed since my cousin’s death (St. Patrick’s Day, Easter/My birthday, and her wedding anniversary) heightens my awareness of the finality of death, and it is a hard pill to swallow. No one could have prepared me for the extremely hard days. No one could have told me just how badly I would feel experiencing these significant days without her.
Death dates are now a part of my vocabulary. I speak in dates — when someone was living — when they died; what happened in between. Holidays are reminders of a loved one’s physical presence and form wiped away from my life. They all are merging into one — a day everyone knows about and celebrates, but I will mourn from this moment forward.
Knowing this truth, I believe it will be much more important to continue to be surrounded by family and close friends, which is why I visited my mom today. A few hours with her keeps me on my toes. The woman is a strong tower — being a holder of her past; I am aware of what my mom had to endure, and how she has conquered so much. We can be in the same room now and truly enjoy one another’s company. This only arrived with time and understanding and going through some heartache, pain, struggles, and rough periods myself.
We may have some differences, as I am sure most mother-daughter pairs do, but I am grateful for where we are now. I look forward to the upcoming holiday knowing that I will have her to call, at least, to share a significant date in time with — if only for a few moments.
I am a resilient person.
I have been through many things and I will go through many more, and if it is the Lord’s will, I will survive those things too, and come out on top. I believe this. What do you believe about yourself?
I will leave you with a quote that gave me pause — made me dwell on what I have, what I had, and what I might gain in life.
This world is a comedy to those that think, a tragedy to those that feel. — Horace Walpole
Welcome to The Grieving Room. I am here. You are here. We are not alone in this.
A Cornered Gurl 
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