A Letter To My Son

Dear Arleigh, 

Another year has come, and still my heart struggles to comprehend the weight of your absence. The world has the audacity and insensitivity to move on. The days fold into weeks, weeks fold into months, and here we are six flipping years later. My spirit carries the ache of you being gone every single day. Today especially, I feel the sharp edges of missing you, as though all that time has not dulled them at all.

I still remember your laugh and how it could fill a room and light up every moment. I remember the way you looked at me when you were proud, or when you wanted to make sure that I saw you. I did, my child. I saw you then, and I still see you now. I see you in the small details of life and hear you in the peeling of the wind chime. I catch glimpses of you everywhere.

There are days when I still want to call your name out loud, as if you will just walk through the door and answer me. Some nights I say prayers that you still know how much you are loved, and how much you are missed.

Grief has become my companion. So has your memory. And though memories of you bring tears, they also bring life. You remind me to keep going, loving, and fighting for justice and hope in this crazy world. Your life is still speaking, Arleigh. I hear it in my preaching, and it is there in the way I hold others who are grieving. Your energy shows up in how I refuse to turn away from sorrow. You and your siblings changed me forever, and I carry you with me into everything I do.

I remember the little boy who was not afraid of the stage and whose presence always meant some kind of noisy excitement.

Today especially, I honor you. I honor the joy you gave us, the dreams you had, and the fierce love you shared. I honor the pieces of you that live on in me and in those who knew you. And I promise, as I have every year since that terrible day, that I will not stop speaking your name, loving you fiercely, or holding space for your life to matter.

This week (August 21st) we moved your little brother to FAMU. I just know how excited you'd have been about that! I can see your beaming smile as you show him everything and give him advise. You were so happy about having a little brother! He was so excited when he came to your 8th grade class. "He's a pretty good teacher," he told me. 

Your three siblings miss you. I miss you. Deeply. My belly still hurts and my breath still catches. I cannot un-hear the dreadful words or unglue myself from the moment. I hurt, Arleigh. 

I love you, Arleigh. Unless you are coming back enfleshed, stay resting in peace and in power.  Keep watching over me, as I keep walking this road with your memory pressed tightly against my heart. 

Yuh Muddah 💔

#unhidegrief #grief #lament #love