After a few days of irritation at the workplace, courtesy of the boss almighty, I was relieved that this week is finally over. The last few sunrises have also brought a family issue to my attention. Something I thought I had let go years ago resurfaced like a stain on a rug. It pulls at my heart strings because the person it involves is my brother, once my closest friend. We have not communicated in four years, a result of his addiction and the havoc it has caused.
I found out that he had written me a few letters from prison that were surreptitiously concealed from me. I debated reading them for days and finally decided to open and skim his words. I say “skim” because this brother has embellished things and denied wrong doing his entire life and one can only believe about ¼ of what he says.
My conundrum was whether to write back or not. I gave it a few nights’ sleep and consulted a close friend for her thoughts. Her suggestion was to write back. She gave me some strong words, really putting the decision into perspective. The advice was, (if it were her) to opt for a functional, unencumbered relationship with her brother. She told me, and I quote here “life is too short-I don’t think admission is a pre-requisite for much.” She added that one person’s aversion to admission is viewed by someone else as a perpetual shortcoming. These words made me reassess the weight I put on specific things between us. How many people in our lives have hurt us once and we remove them from our daily life over small incidents. This in comparison to those who consistently hurt us and yet we keep them in our lives.
I have responded to his letters although I was extremely circumspect about sending it. I wondered if I was essentially opening my soul to further hurt or if I should stick my head back in the sand for another four years.This morning I got my answer. I got word that my oldest, dearest friend EJ’s grandfather passed away. We lovingly called him Papa. The words she had spoken to me just 24 hours ago about life being short echoed though my thoughts with the semblance a marching band symbol two feet from your ear.
Allow me to turn the clock back for a moment. Every now and then kindness springs up out of nowhere and from the least likely places. This happened to me the summer of1990 in South Central Los Angeles, 107th and Vernon; the Crawford family home. This entire family welcomed me with open arms, my skin color made no difference; they lovingly dubbed me as the most light-skinned person of the family. They are the effigy of what family should be. I have maintained my friendship with EJ for 17 years and we consider each other sister and brother, more so than my own blood siblings. I communicate with most of his cousins and relatives on a regular basis.
Out of respect for Papa Crawford I feel the need to say a few words. James Crawford, Sr. was a devout Christian his entire life and raised his six children as such. He was honest, humorous, faithful, generous, smart and dedicated. He was kindness personified. I learned lessons in life through him with his stories, his wisdom and his life experiences. These were lasting lessons about the value of hard work, goal setting, focus and self education. He once told me it was better to have a degree from God than from any university. He told me if I was right with Him, I could achieve anything. Papa married his high school sweetheart at 16 years of age and was a loyal and devoted husband and father for 60+ years. His wife, we called her Ma’Dear, passed years ago.
My prayers and heartfelt condolences go out to the entire Crawford brood. It’s time to reunite Papa with his beloved Ma’Dear, lovingly and safely in God’s hands. Rest in Peace Papa, we will all miss you.
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