Somebody Loves You When You're 32: Hint: It's You

It's my birthday.

I'm not hopping around twerking, saying, "Ay!" In fact, I'm just sitting here looking at my dirty room and going "Eh."  I sort of did something special last night: a few friends and I went to a bar, but one  by one they started to peel off from being tired, we didn't even make it till 1 am. I wasn't mad. I just recognized that none of us are the people we once were.  The energy level, the liver capacity, and the ability to withstand smelling pee and body odor for long periods of time is gone.

And I'm 32.  Not old, not super young but just at that point where I'm like "Ok, it is nice to see another year, but it's also another day."  I thought I wanted a full on celebration, so I tried to plan it and everyone was like "Sorry I can't come," "Sorry I have my kids," (and I'm thinking what are those?).  I also for some reason thought I'd actually have a man for my 32nd, an apartment, and I'd be super glamorous.

Yes I am laughing too!

As frustrating as it was to not have this imaginary, fully festive,birthday, I am happy that I can always find the small things be grateful for.  I had some friends who tried to hang which means people like me, I have health and strength, I had clean clothes.  And I realized I'm hella old to expect a birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese (though if someone suggested it, and planned it I would have been on board because the pizza is to die for).  I didn't get many gifts, which was not a big deal at all because I realized I've been getting big and great gifts all this year:

A sense of self: I actually know who I am and what I am capable of.
A sense of confidence: Over the last year, I have learned that I can hold my own even in crowded rooms and that there's nothing to be afraid of.
A sense of beauty: I have like 7 beauty marks on my body, freckles, I'm thick in the hips, and have skin the color of coffee with

a dash of cream.  And I have a killer smile with a personality...er um...killer as in nice, to match!
A sense of accomplishment: I'm a black woman with 2 degrees and a decent job. I'm smart and doing it!

And the most important thing of all: A strong family foundation that has pushed me do better and know all of the aforementioned things.  Did I also mention that God created me and is responsible for all of that? Yeah HE is!

So I guess what I'm trying to say is that birthdays are great and what you make them.  The important thing is that you recognize all the gifts you have been given year round and the progress you've made each year.  You don't need a party to do that.  You just need to do it!

Happy Birthday to Me!

Career Change...and everything

So here I am behind on posting again...but I have a good excuse!

I recently was promoted at my day job to position where I am actually using my degree. I am so excited because I have been waiting to find something that fits with all them humanities degrees I have, and I never thought it would happen in my hometown.  However, with a new job of course comes tons of new responsibilities, and lots of brain power usage...so much so, that I have kinda taken a back seat on my blog(s).  But here I am making an attempt!

Anyways...

I said all that to say that over the course of all the changes that are happening, I have been slightly self reflecting (even more so than usual), about the course of my life, how I want to live, what I want to exude, and confidence.  Before taking this job, I was kinda sloshing through life. I noticed I wasn't taking care of myself like I should: I wasn't taking time to even match my clothes, do much with my hair, eating right (and I should because I am a fitness instructor part time). I also was quiet, often times afraid to speak my ideas in meetings and in public for fear of being shot down, and part of that was due to some previous experiences I have had.  However, being tasked with new responsibilities that sometimes has me sit down with corporate officers, I've kinda had to change all that. I can no longer be sloshing through, wrinkly, quiet and meek, because my job has a lot to do with speaking and changing things.

A career change, can signal that a lot of things could use a change. Here are some things I've been doing.

It may seem like some small feat to everyone else, but one my biggest confidence game changers has been wearing makeup. I've always had some in my arsenal and used to sell Mary Kay (unsuccessfully ) but I didn't wear it often. Now in a position as some what of leader, I try to make it a point to get up early enough to do a nice and natural look. Even if I don't wear lipstick, I make sure I have shadow or eyeliner on and I stick with my power and comfort colors which are gold and purple.  For lips, I usually will do a a pink or red, the latter being my fave.  When I feel pretty, I have little bit more pep in my step.

Another thing I do now is try to coordinate my outfits on laundry day. As soon as those close are fresh out the dryer, I take my hangers and get to work mixing and matching. A lot of people think they have to go out and buy a completely new wardrobe but that really isn't necessary. The key to looking put together is just to put together stuff already in your closet. Sometimes I will even look on fashion blogs, or google "professional clothes" to see if I already have something similar and then I roll with it. One of the keys to living like a bawse, is to feel comfortable ( noticing a pattern here?).

As far as hair goes, I've learned how to do crochet braids, which have been a lifesaver for me. I no longer have to pay salon prices or wait for an appointment. Also, when you're doing A lot, it's nice to have a functional, protective style.

Finances have been hard for me, but I've been finding apps like Qqapital to be helpful in staying on top of them. I also have developed a budget plan that will help me see my dreams come true faster and eliminate some of this unwanted debt!

To stay on top of my priorities, I've succumbed to using a planner and my phone calendar. I say succumbed because I am not the most organized person and have always had trouble using planners. Well...I guess I should say that I didn't like using them. But now, I have to because much of my work relies on project and strategic management. It's not so bad once you get into the routine. For me, the calendar has become a life line. When your boss asks where you're at with a certain project, it's good to have a reference point, especially if you're working on several things at once.

I've also been making sure that I get out there. I go to networking events, parties when I'm invited. Before, I'd hang in the background or just flat out wouldn't show up. Nowadays I'm operating by a "closed mouths don't get fed" attitude as I'm learning that the only way to get ahead is to make sure people know who you are.

All these changes, whether big or small, are helping me to feel more confident in life and where I'm going. Sometimes, you just have to sit back and take stock of where you are and where you want to be. You don't have to wait for a career change to do that, or any change. You just have to... change.

Black and Bougie...or Not...or Maybe

If I could count the number of times someone called me bougie, I 'd be out of fingers, I'd have over a million dollars, and I'd be the poster child for bougieness. 

I like a lot of things rich people like...well I guess. I like operas, plays, wine tasting. I prefer men in suits over men rocking sagging pants. And yes, I might be looking for a dude with a college degree.
Where do I want to vacation? Spain, Paris, basically anywhere in Europe...and I want a suite in a four star hotel, with a balcony overlooking the city. 

And to a lot of people, that is bougie as hell. 

Which is so concerning to me because...I'm poor as hell! But because my mom wanted better for me, and broke her back to make sure I had experiences outside of the hood, I was labeled the bougie one...

The Goody Two Shoes.
The "White Girl".

I think the first time I experienced someone mistaking me for bougie was around 7th grade, when a boy I liked asked me if I "went to a Catholic school," (I didn't).  That same year during summer break, my best friend, whom I used to sing with all the time told me "You sing like a white girl," when my tone became rounder after I began classical voice lessons at my creative and performing arts school. 

It didn't stop there: when I suggested a date at museum, my man crush said "You hella bougie, but I like that."  When I didn't go outside to smoke weed with my ex-boyfriend, I was told I "needed to stop acting bougie," around his family. I didn't understand; I didn't smoke weed and I just didn't want to.

While bougie is defined as "Aspiring to be a higher class than one is. Derived from bourgeois - meaning middle/upper class, traditionally despised by communists.," by the Urban Dictionary, it is actually synonymous with acting white, in the black community.   When you act "bougie", you are acting like you aren't black (whatever that means).  By  being perceived as acting or behaving "better," you are forgetting that you are Black, where you came from, and the struggles that your ancestors came from.

You're not Black enough.

Being categorized as such, perplexes me.  Since when did being cultured be interchangeable with being white? Why is wanting to achieve more than what is expected looked down upon? Isn't that what our ancestors fought and in some cases died for? I feel as long as you are attached to your people, and are giving back, there should be nothing wrong. 

I still shudder at the utterance of the word when it is mentioned to me or about me. I get upset when black people describe themselves as such, but I no longer let it define me.  I know who and what I am, what I came from, and what I am not.

Kenneka

I am struggling with the story of Kenneka Jenkins.

If you don't know about it, then you are the precisely the reason why I am writing this blog post today.  Kenneka, was a 19 year old woman, who was found dead in a hotel freezer this past Sunday morning, in Chicago.  She had gone to a hotel party with her friends, obviously unknowing that it would be the last time she would be seen alive.  Her death, is yet another in a long line of young black women and girls, who died under mysterious or violent circumstances, and the media and our own community fails talk about it enough.

I am going to post the link to a news outlet article about her death http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/local/breaking/ct-kenneka-jenkins-hotel-freezer-timeline-20170912-story.html. I'm not going to make any conjectures about what exactly happened to her here. I don't know. I am like everyone else who thinks they have an idea.  I am like everyone else who has heard the story and added up the angles only to find out that they don't quite make a square.
here:

There is not much I do know, except that she shouldn't be dead right now and that someone who was with her knows exactly what happened and for whatever reason, will not say.  I also know that had she been a White girl, there would have been more immediate answers and a larger response. The police would not have taken their time gathering the evidence.  However, she pays the penalty for being a young, black, girl, from a city plagued by violence...and those who have not the faintest idea of what it's like to grow up with these three qualifiers might say, this sort of thing was bound to happen and then quickly move on with their lives. There is no moving on for Kenneka and none any time soon for her mourning family.

When I think about her story, it makes me think back to all the times that that could have been me.  The college parties, hanging out with a co-ed group of friends in dorm rooms, going out of town and staying in a hotel alone.  At 19, I was still pretty naive, and while I didn't drink or do much of anything risky, that did not exempt me from anything that could have happened.  The argument will arise soon enough that Kenneka was drinking, that she shouldn't have been there.  This is the all too common rebuttle that comes forth any time something tragic happens to a woman.  These ridiculous arguments ignore the fact that someone was harmed and that no one deserves that.

As I'm still reeling from this story and anxiously awaiting more details, the only thing I can hope for is that the story gets more coverage than it initially has.  I am also hoping that there are more efforts made to draw attention to crimes against Black women.

And lastly but most importantly, I am hoping for Justice for Kenneka very soon.

It's Different For Everyone

I had the wonderful privilege of attending a friend's wedding in New York this past weekend.  She was married at a lighthouse, in a very intimate ceremony with close family and friends and looked nothing short of a Greek goddess.  As we sat in our seats, hearing the lake crashing against the rocks, and taking in the landscape where Heaven meets Earth, I thought about all the conversations we had had up to this point.

Without revealing too much, (this is called Confessions...not Snitchin'), I remember asking her if she was really sure about him.  They had not courted long at all before he popped the question, and like a good friend...worry was there.
"I know that I can't live him without him," was her reply, and I saw that day in her eyes, the same look that she carried on her face when she said her vows to her new husband last Saturday.  The look was one of urgency; one that said "I really can't live without this man. I love him. He is meant for me, I am meant for him." And lucky girl she is, because he had that same look in his eyes when he said his vows to her.
I found myself analyzing my own views. I am pretty traditional and watch a lot of ID television and Lifetime movies.  I believe you should court for a year to really know a person before even talking about all that stuff and I have been known to run a background check on a mofo. I taught myself, that this was the best way for you to really know them.
But I have now known at least 2 friends who have gotten married a year into knowing their beaus. At max, it was 6 months before the gents popped the question.  My goal is to get married someday, and I find myself wondering, could I be swayed to drop my year courtship rule if Mr. Awesome came
along?  I mean I am not getting younger, and I'd still like to have a child someday.
And then I thought to myself, "Where the hell did you get that rule anyway? Why is a rule, and who told you it was a rule?"

I don't know.  But I guess it's one of those things I call myself using to protect myself from potential heartbreak and in truth, we all have things like that to preserve ourselves.  The problem is that in trying to protect ourselves, we often build walls so high that we can't see what's out there and no one can get in.

As I watched my girl and her man, say "I do", I realized that the only reason we were all sitting there, was because they both decided see what was on the other side and not be afraid of getting a little bumped and bruised. As the saying goes, "When you know, you just know." And there's no set of rules that fits every scenario, because love happens differently for everyone.

United We Stand

So, I was going to start this blog off talking about all the unholy shit that has gone down over the past few days.

You know: Racist people killing folk, racist leader applauding racist folk, terrorists killing folk...alt right-ers (still racist) threatening to come to my city, statues coming down (should they, shouldn't they?), how the world is going mad...and there's an eclipse...

That stuff.
But I decided that I could jaw all day long about how messed up things are, and it wouldn't make a difference.  I don't need to tell anyone that the world is super messy right now: they can see it, hear it, and feel it.  Some of us, have been living in this dystopia longer than others for reasons that make absolutely no sense under the Law of God but...here we are. No amount of bitching will fix that.  Only human intelligence and compassion can.

I am going to talk about how beautiful people are, instead.  How communities that seemed severed, were brought together in the wake of unspeakable violence.  How pastors stood on the front lines and linked arms.  How people came from near and far to honor a woman who died for the cause of peace, tolerance, and acceptance. How a mother, stricken with grief, was able to muster some sort of Godly strength to celebrate her beautiful child.  To Heather Heyer, we all say thank you for everything.

What I have seen over the last few days, is something that people would say wouldn't happen in a time like this.  I saw people coming together: all colors, all ethnicities, denominations...each consoling the other. I heard songs of joy and hope.  I heard "I will keep you safe."

The actors of Saturday, weren't counting on this.  They were counting on strife, derision, and division.  They thought that terror would drive us further apart and send us fleeing from each other.  They thought we would not trust each other. Of course the surprise is on them. 150 years ago, we fought a war to bring us back together in a "more perfect union."  Did they seriously think anyone would want to do that shit again? Nah, we're good.

In my previous post, I lamented the irony of a United States that was not so united. However, I am seeing through the struggles to be on the right side of history, we become united and bonded even more. I'm not going to tell you that everything is fine or that the nonsense is over, but I am going to say that if we stick together, we can make it through anything.

Don't let them win.

About Saturday

Unless you've been under a rock this weekend, then you probably know about what happened in Charlottesville, Virginia.  If you really don't, for whatever reason, then I'll recap it : White supremacists (lower cased on purpose), attacked counter protesters.

As a result, three people died. My thoughts and prayers are with the families of the young woman and the two officers that were killed.

THIS SHOULD NEVER HAPPEN.

The imagery from Saturday is like being thrown in a time machine and transported back to the 60's.  The ugliness of human kind was on full frontal display. Though ugly and gritty, the truth was also on display; the truth about America and how hate is still dividing a country that is ironically named "The United States of America."

It is easy to say, we will not let hate win.  It is easy to condemn the attacks and the acts of evil and hate filled men and women.  But beyond condemnation, what else can we do? What else will we do? We witnessed a nightmare, but we've had this same nightmare before.  It is recurring, and each time seems to become more real and more violent.  With each replay of the nightmare, some of us wake up.  Others remain sleeping, telling ourselves that it won't happen again but..it always does.  Then, when it's over, we pretend like it didn't happen and go on with our normal routine.

But how many more times does the nightmare have to play out before we realize that there is a problem with the American psyche? That we need help? That something has to change? That we need to fix this?

The first step is admitting that you have a problem...

However, when "leaders" cannot admit there is a problem, then the problem persists.  It will continue to grow and grow, until it is a monster that consumes us all.  So when leaders fail, we the people, take matters into our own hands.

We will continue to fight back and beat back any form of oppression. We will continue to stand for liberty, equality, and justice.

And we will win.

I Said No!

I recently had to break things off with a guy that I  had been seeing just over the course of a month.  At first it seemed promising; we had good conversations and went interesting places.  He had the brains and looks, his own place, and he was well traveled. Sounds great, right?  However, things turned tricky when he wanted to move into a sexual phase of our relationship.  I was still filling him out as a potential, but by the second date he was already sharing his plans to bed me , which made me  uncomfortable.

I asked him to slow down. I explained to him that I was a slow-mover and that I didn't do anything until I was ready. He said he understood but the advances kept coming and I grew even more uncomfortable and uncertain.  He was intense, and while I like my men, to be a bit aggressive, there are boundaries that need to be respected for any relationship to move forward.
  On our last date, when he went in for a kiss, I couldn't. I turned my head, only to have him in my face trying to force me to kiss him, and ask why I wasn't "showing him love." I asked him to only kiss my cheek but he remained close to my face, in attempt to make me turn my head so I would kiss him inadvertently. I didn't. This went on for nearly 5 minutes outside a restaurant, where tons of people were watching. I was both mortified and incensed.  I had told him no several times and he had ignored me.

I stewed over this for a few days, before deciding that I could not continue seeing a person who did not value my personal requests. Refusing a kiss might seem ridiculous to some, but when someone doesn't respect your person, this is a RED FLAG.  An aggressive approach to the word "No," might be a tell-tale indicator of something more troubling...or even potentially dangerous.  Coming from a family where some female family members have experienced physical and sexual abuse by their spouses has taught me to look for the warning signs early on and to not think twice.

The moral of the story; there are two: 1) No always means NO, no matter the circumstance and 2) if something doesn't feel right, run...don't walk away!

Be Safe. Be Informed. Be Strong!

I'm a Ryan. Who are you?

If you have not seen Girls Trip, then I seriously do not know what the heck you are waiting for!

This is not one of those films that people hype up and then it falls flat...this is so worth the 10 bucks! So much so, that I went to see it with my mom one night and was still laughing hysterically again when I went with my date to see it again the next night (yeah...I couldn't believe he wanted to see it either!).

But this post isn't simply an endorsement of the film, it is an examination of how I saw myself in each of the various characters...specifically Ryan (she who has it all).

Before seeing the film, I just knew that Jada's character, Lisa was going to be my spirit animal.  She was demure, covered up, and had this sensible ponytail.  However, (and I am not going to spoil it for folks who haven't seen it), I found out through the course of the film that she was me at a different stage of my life and not someone who I necessarily identify with now.  Sasha (Queen Latifah), was the furthest from who I am, and I tend to stay away from people who embody her gossipy, stuntin', behavior.  Dina...well I can be Dina when I have had 6 shots of Tequila, or have had it up to there with folks, which is funny and scary!

Ryan, and I are birds of a feather; Renaissance women who work hard, have our hands in multiple projects at a time, tend to be the glue of our friendships, and strive for a life near perfection even when things seem to be falling apart.  We're both writers, constantly have mirror talk with ourselves to bolster confidence, and simply want the best for ourselves and others. Sometimes our well meaning words, can hit like blunt force trauma and sting our loved ones.  And we simply don't subscribe to what everyone else thinks or says do, because we are constantly trying to work with what best suits our lives.  We are the women who will hunt down a 4 star hotel with a suite and spa included, but will often hide our feelings for fear of appearing weak or incapable.

This attitude does not always serve us as we can be tearing ourselves apart in the inside when things don't work out as planned. Ours is a personality that can be isolating, because to the outsider it appears we are doing well and don't need help when in reality we're 2 steps away from a full on breakdown.

Ryan's character, represents Black women everywhere who have to always work hard to stay on top in the face of adversity.  The women who statistics say will never marry or have a marriage that ends in divorce.  The women who are more often made to choose between career and family.  The women who are constantly made to prove that the are more than a stereotype. 

But Ryan's character also represents the strength and poise that Black women possess.  Yes, it can be tough, it can get messy, but we can prevail.  By using our smarts and having passion and ambition, we might overcome to become the next Oprah, or the Black Martha Stewart, ensuring that our family becomes financially secure in a world where so many doors still remain closed to them.  Her character is empowerment, despite the hurdles she has to examine and overcome.

And, it is refreshing to see such a shining example of Black Womanhood & Sisterhood portrayed in a film...especially in an industry that is know for only allowing us to be sidekicks an stereotypes. I'll say it again: Go and see it!  When you get back, tell me who you are: Ryan, Sasha, Dina, or Lisa.

Being the only one

Throughout most of my life I have been the only one. The only one who has kinky hair, the only one with brown skin, the only one who doesn't look like they fit their name. I have been the only black child,girl, woman in a sea of faces that generally accepted me but didn't quite understand me.

Some of you may have been the only ones. Maybe you are okay with that. Perhaps you haven't encountered any major problems. If so that's good..;great even! However, you cannot argue that being the only one renders feelings that being the ONLY can. You may have a point when one of your friends is so cool with your otherness that they include you in on all of their secrets, things that are said about your only oneness in the dark.  You may have also encountered a situation where they did not understand why something was offensive and you found yourself having to speak on behalf of all of your people. 

Then there's that whole thing with minimizing.  When you are the only one, sometimes you might find yourself minimizing your otherness as not to call attention to it, though..let's be real: your cocoa skin or thick tendrils make you the elephant in the room.  Sure, you might stay away from saying "Bye, Felicia," so they don't get comfortable...but you know Amber, she dated Dontae'...and at some point, she is going to bring Felicia back!

Being the only one can attract the curiosity level that a bearded lady strikes. Why are you the only one?  Why do you want to be the only one? Are you comfortable with being the only one? Furthermore what do you do when your only oneness literally becomes being a token? Is it because you like White guys? Or are you one of "those" black girls who secretly wants to be White?  These are the questions that I have been asked!

The thing is, sometimes being the only one is not a choice. It just is what it is. Being black doesn't define who your friends are or what you like.And being the only one is not all bad, but it comes with a duty to establish certain boundaries when things get complicated or things get uncomfortable.

Sometimes being the only one is a blessing because it allows others to see just how unique we truly all are.

Don't Forget Who You Are: An Ode to Liz:One Kick-Ass Granny

My Great Grandmother has been dead for 12 years.

As a child, our interaction was amiable at best.  She was feisty, and I was docile. In her day, she'd whoop your ass (and if you got close enough to her...she still would...she was blind in older age); in my day I would fight because I had to, but I really didn't want to.  Two different sides of a coin-but nevertheless bonded by blood and understanding.

I think we were exactly what each of the other wanted to be. However, time and circumstance made her the tough one and me the victim.  She grew up during the Depression era, the first generation of  us who would become Pittsburghers.  Her family had come from Montgomery, Alabama, following the seduction of steel mill jobs with decent pay. She had to make her way...she was black, poor, and a woman; the three strikes that often determine whether you make it at all. Her first child died....a boy who was stillborn, when she was 15 or 16.  He was buried in a shoebox in an unmarked grave, on their property I am assuming,  By 17, she was married to a man from Georgia, who was already married to someone else...she didn't know She would bear two girls by him, one of whom is my bff (my grandma) and he would leave her for a town in Ohio...re-marry and have more children. A single parent, with 3 little girls to care for in a segregated country, she struggled...but as they say "she persisted."

She was tough, but she had this sweet little voice that said "Love is Tough." One minute she might be feeling your head to feel "all that glory." The next she might call you a hussy if you sassed her and  didn't do what she said in a timely manner.  I got both of those.  I didn't sass her, because my great grandmother scared me shitless. There was something about  her that commanded dignity, respect, and honor.  There was something about her that said, "if you don't follow the rules, I will make you understand why you should have." That was her way. Her "granny voice" was cute but it carried the air of an all knowing queen. We treated her as such.  When she needed to go to the "Love Room" as she commonly referred to it, there was no hesitation in who would take her. Someone would link her arm to theirs, lead her there, allow her to do her duty, and lead her back down the stairs.  When her glass needed to be freshened, you didn't ask if she needed ice cubes---you just put those suckers in there and filled it up with her favorite beer. Ah, yes she was a lady and a Queen, but she was no dainty flower...and she'd let you know!

 Elizabeth or Liz (as she liked to be called), was a woman who had to make it on her own terms.  She never talked much about growing up in her household...but mainly about school and her neighborhood on Pittsburgh's Northside.  She talked about the scuffles she had been in; one in which she had a girl knock a stick off her shoulder to challenge her to a fight (a Depression era fight code)...or that time when she punched a woman off of a bar stool for trying to flirt with my (step) great -grandfather, who she never legally married because they were both still married to other people. She laughed about these things; a sweet, warm, laughter.  This was her as a rogue, as a youngin', as a rebel.  Yet, when she was telling these stories, she always found a way without directly saying it, to impart to my brothers, cousins, and I, that we should not behave in this way.  She gave us candy and pop as an incentive for good behavior.  Since she was blind, she would take her wallet from her pillow case, pull out a bill and ask which number it was.  If it was the amount she wanted to give, which was always greater than $1, it was yours to keep.

When we talked, just her and I, we mostly laughed. This was of course when I got older, into my later teens. We shared jokes, stories, and she asked me about school. She always wanted to know how my grades were, what I was doing.  When I got to college, she couldn't be prouder. She couldn't come to my high school graduation but she wanted to know what I wore, how my hair was styled, and what color my robe was.  She was fascinated. I wish she she could have actually see me then. Our last conversation, happened two weeks before she died. We had just moved her into a new housing complex for senior citizens.  She and I were sitting in the hallway chatting about...everything. Laughing about how she called Duquesne beer "Du-Quincy".  I just remember her laughing, her dark sunglasses on her nose, her beautiful straight gray hair braided into two cornrows;that she always did herself.  She did not let her blindness stop her from ANYTHING. There was something about her that day, that seemed so peaceful.

She died at the age of 77 in January of 2005. A shock to us, who thought our kick-ass granny would live to be 100 at least.  We think she caught a cold. My heart was broken. , I felt like I was just getting to know her, really, after a whole life time of knowing her. I had so many questions to ask her, which would now be only whispered to the ears of Heaven.

My Gran, as I called her, is still alive in my heart. I hear her laugh, smile when I see her smile in my mind, and she comes to visit in my dreams.  Her message: never forget who you are.
Time may pass but I'll never forget who she was and who she made it possible for me to be. She had to be tough so I could be something.