Here is my end-of-life note. Please give it to my brother, Jake, once it’s been manhandled & pondered over by authorities.
I, Miranda Charlley Powers, offer the organs in my body to anyone in dire need & waiting for a transplant. My heart, lungs, kidneys, & liver, please distribute accordingly.
But my bone marrow . . . this is for Jake. There’s a Bone Marrow Specialist who believes his method of application can save my brother. See to it that he’s contacted immediately.
1. Small Hours is a short mix of nothing but goodness from Amber Navran, lead singer of the groupMoonchild. Even though she isn’t a wailer or a singer with deep lungs likeJill Scottor Algebra Blessett, she can definitely hold her own against them.
She is a beast behind massive beats and stellar production with her variations of scatting and rhythmic tuning and vocal tones. I love how she can interchange jazz vocals with a bit of pop and bop, too. When I listen to her, I can hear so many vocalists chiming in through her voice from the 60s, 70s, and 80s.
It’s odd to see/hear her performing alone. Apparently, she has dropped an entire soloalbum recently, and I am so far behind on this, but I shall be sitting down one day to give it the listen I’m sure it deserves.
I hope you enjoyed the above YouTube video share of Small Hours. I love everything about it! I just hate that it’s not long enough. A song like that should LEGIT be three minutes (at least), IMHO.
2. Jamaica Kincaid Quote is the second share for today. Jamaica is an author, gardener, and a Professor of African American and African studies. She is the author of the following books: Annie John (one of my favorites), A Small Place, and Lucy. And this list does not even begin to cover her achievements in the writing world. I own all three books and I thoroughly enjoyed them. I’ve read Lucy and Annie John twice.
The above quote hit home so hard that I had to share it. Many of us believe we know who we are. We believe we have gotten ourselves down to a TEE. But really, do we? As human beings, we are constantly evolving and growing, so it’s almost impossible to truly know who we are. Therefore, emerging as this mystery Ms. Kincaid refers to.
The question is really, how many of us are willing to admit this?
I still struggle now that you’re gone, but I am getting better.
Chrissy and I, Circa 1985-1986. I do not know who took this photo of us. But it’s my favorite.
My cousin was Black Joy personified. Her contagious smile entered a room before her feet could land softly on the floor. She was so many things to so many people; mother, sister, aunt, cousin, healer, and friend. To me, she had been a rock; steady on her feet and a guiding light for my path.
She did not know a stranger.
She was sixteen years older than me. I looked up to her. Every time she and her siblings visited our family down south from up north, I couldn’t contain my excitement. I knew we would have a time with my big cousin, and I dreamt about her arrival days before I saw her.
If my cousin was visiting, that meant I would get all the hugs and kisses I wanted from her. That meant I could sit and listen to the lull of her voice rise up and down, and her accent coat the walls of any room she graced.
If you have never had the chance to know genuine love from a person, I apologize to you in advance. I knew how it could develop and how it could lift you up when you were at your lowest. This form of love from my cousin differed from what I had from my parents or grandparents. It was a high-feeling love. A love without actual description; for there are no words for it. Not any that come to my mind, at least.
My cousin was magic, and I yearned to Houdini my way through my pubescent years as magically as she had seemed to do. I clung to her safe space as tightly as I could from as young as the age of five, which is my earliest memory of her.
I have a picture I take out occasionally on which to reminisce. I give it a once-over, shed a few tears, and then I smile. As you can see, it is of her standing behind me and raising my arms out far and wide. We’re both smiling as hard as our jaws would allow.
The event had been my great-grandmother, her grandmother’s birthday party. I do not remember what we ate, what music played, or what time the party ended. But I remember my cousin’s smile. I remember the imminent peace that radiated throughout the room with her there. I remember her laughter and, of course, the hugs.
I remember the fun I had with her and not wanting the night to end.
I have a few photographs that I love of the two of us together, but the photo shown above is by far my favorite. It has been a savior for me when the depths of some dark days hover over me without an invitation.
It’s my go-to when I feel like I want to remember every detail of her face; every smile-line, crow’s foot, and beauty mark. It’s my inThe Grieving Room get-by healing memory.
I always come back to it.
No one tells you how to grieve.
Not for an older cousin who mothered you in ways you searched for mothering. No one tells you the pain that lasts; how it creeps in and creeps out when you least expect it.
There is no how-to manual on how to stop your heart from breaking when a patient sounds like her on a scheduling call or a friend says something she used to say. You cannot stop yourself from crying out of the blue because the wind hits a certain way and suddenly emotions pummel you without warning.
There is no cure-all for deaths that come unexpectedly and during your happiest moments.
Just when I thought, I’m proud of myself. I’m doing so well moving through these phases of life, God’s plan swooped in and stirred up something.
I thought, Years of therapy—down the drain, but my cousin’s death allowed me to open up more during my therapy sessions. It allowed me to be vulnerable; to cry without warning and to witness my former therapist at her most engaging and encouraging. “I know it has to be hard for you, Tre. Crying is good. It’s a release. There’s no shame in crying.”
And there wasn’t. And there isn’t. There are days I wake up with sunshine flowing through my bones; ready to take on anything thrown in my direction. Those are the days I think to myself, I wonder if she sees me getting by—mastering every obstacle and jumping over every hurdle.
And then, there are days I wake up so out of sync with the world and my surroundings and I want to lie back down and let sleep consume me. Those are the days, I think to myself, What would Chrissy do? How would she conquer this day?
Chrissy’s Selfie and the Waves. Photo Credit: Christina M. Georges
The finality of her life made me more in-tune with everything around me and my most inner-tormented self.
How warped must my brain have been to stay stunted and recycle the same events yet repress them as well? Losing my cousin in her physical form pushed me to challenge what I feel, how I feel, and to sit with those feelings and move through them until I no longer freeze in place from pain.
I will not say I am at my best now since her passing on February 18, 2022. I can’t say I am at my worst because I have been there, and it had not been a place to which I wanted to lay claim. I am, however, somewhere in between where healing appears to be more like second-nature than something I cannot attain.
Born in October, years before anyone thought about creating me, she was a star before anyone said she was. Her light hovered over us in life.
And it still does in death.
If I can be honest, I still talk to her. I still ask for her advice, and at the oddest times of day—when the light hits my balcony door just right, or an epiphany greets me without warning, I hear her. She still answers me.
I have had so much time to write poems, essays, and create characters to shine a light on my cousin and her life. But the following is how I’d written about her just a couple months after she died:
On February 18, 2022, I muttered my last ‘I love you’ to my closest cousin — one of the greatest loves of my life. She had been significantly older than me, so she mothered me — nurtured me — allowed me to be guided by her.
She could rain down love without being coaxed or manipulated. It simply fell out of her and onto/into you without caution. If you loved her or had been loved by her, you knew it. You felt it. There was no reason to question this love. It was genuine and given with every ounce of her being.
I no longer view my cousin’s death as the end of her life.
It is more of a continuance of her spirit’s presence in ours. I have her spiritual form comforting me every step of the way.
Surviving her death is an incredibly talented son, a beautiful globetrotting daughter, an intellectually sound husband, and countless others.
She has connected us and in us is that love she deposited the moment we met. Even though I miss her deeply . . . even though I can’t get through some days without completely breaking down . . . I am getting better.
I am not afraid to walk the path of this life without her.
Not anymore.
The above essay was written for a prominent online magazine this past January and was recently declined. I decided to share it here. Peace and blessings.
This is what was trending in my “For You To View” videos this morning.
As a former track competitor, I cry every single time I watch Sha’Carri compete. I cannot adequately put into words what her race to the Olympics means to me.
I am overjoyed and ecstatic that she gets to experience Paris, France in this way; especially alongside her teammates, too.
And the embrace she received from her grandmother and love pouring out from her family toward the end really did me end, too! I felt every moment of that embrace deep in my bones.
I didn’t expect to cry happy tears this morning, but here we are.
I am always grateful toKathy, the host of Navigating the Change, for publishing my work. It reminds me that I am not alone in describing the various changes we may endure as we age. It reminds me that I still have a voice and others want to hear (read) it, too. Here is a snippet from the article, but to read it in its entirety and comment, please proceed to the actual published article on the site. Thank you in advance. Peace and blessings.
Though my therapist and I have worked through strategies on how to live with this diagnosis, she did not prepare me for what I am supposed to do if she should announce her retirement during my fourth year of perimenopause. My initial response was one of happiness; I was and am happy for her. I celebrated the reality of this new venture with her during our last session. I told her I was proud of her. A leap like this is monumental.
We chatted about it a bit before the end of our last session, and she communicated that she would help me to compile a list of recommendations.
2. My doggy nieces: Bella-Rue and Stacey-Lou. Photo Credit: M. Monique Steele
1.Abstract African Woman print via artist,Digital Prints ArtRO is a stunning representation of bold art. I love the colors, the stoic look on the subject’s face, and the ensemble the subject is wearing. When I look at this art piece, I smile. I feel moved and empowered. Enlightened and awed. I think it’s an exceptional masterpiece.
It’s a bit pricey to me (as a print, and I literally have no wall-space for it), but that doesn’t stop me from admiring it from afar.
I may end up getting it anyway!
2. My doggy nieces: Bella-Rue and Stacey-Lou. They are two years and one year old now. They were a bit younger in the photo shown above. The two are my best friend’s puppies. She used to have Nala and Reese and they both died. They were alsoBoston Terriers.
It is no secret we miss bothNala and Reese, and we always will, these two are in no way replacements, but they have helped to fill a void for my best friend when Nala passed away nearly 3 years ago.
I am so attached to them and I love them with a love that is sound and gargantuan. They have become Jernee’s little cousins who listen to her and abide by her rules. LOL! I am so happy they are a part of our family.
We will probably get another little one soon! My best friend is looking into a litter from their mother & father, and she also wants another female. I asked if I could name her and she said, “Sure! It has to be a two-part name like theirs!” I had a name ready and I shot it to her rapidly: “Talulah-Bell” and she declined. LOL! I came back with, “Misty-Blu,” and she approved.
So, if she really does get a third Boston Terrier female, she will be “Misty-Blu.” I will keep you guys updated!
A Cornered Gurl 
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