Memory. Taking Stock, Progress & Praise

Today is a day I normally spend alone. In a graveyard shedding tears and conversing with my beloved grandmother Violet Wiltshire. She passed on when I was 21, to this day I still feel an emptiness that can not be filled by anyone else. When I lost her, it was like losing my mother. See she and my grandfather raised me until I was a teen and sent (by court order) to live with my mother. Being a child caught in the middle of a domestic violence dispute between my mother and older brother, she was my rock. She kept my world from spinning out of control with her infectious joyful demeanor and constant emphasis on learning and growth. I owe my academic excellence, passion for art and black history, and all the other good parts of me to her.
Today is her birthday. When I was young, we would have a family gathering that rivaled the Braxtons to celebrate and honor her. There isn't a person who knew her, that didn't love her. After my grandfather's passing, the celebrations became smaller; more intimate gathering of relatives and close friends. Until we were split apart by distance and circumstance.
My birthday is in 6 days. I will be 30. Kind of a big deal. And while I harbor excitement around what my 30's hold, today I am overwhelmed by the sadness of her absence. The fact that she is not around. She didn't live to meet any of her great-grandchildren. That she is not here as I ascend into my womanhood. While I always feel her presence, her spirit holding me daily; its not the same. Her physical presence is what I long for. The peace her hugs brought. The way she could make rainbows out of muck. The way she over cooked every vegetable she ever cooked for my brother and I, yet still got us to eat them (mostly). But most of all, I miss her conversation. The living history that she was. A black woman, educated, and professional during a time when black people weren't expected (and in most places, allowed) to be. I think about the conversations we would share now. I think about picking her brain for hours in the same manner she revealed the true history not taught to me in my school. I wish she were here to talk to me. Or rather, respond to my constant chattering to her. I miss her correcting my grammar, and improper manners. As I ascend into my womanhood, I wonder if she is proud of me. The course I've taken, while at times weary and skewed, mostly righteous and good. If she sees her sunshine in the eyes of her great-grands. Does she hold us all? Has she chosen to be reborn into them just to remain close to us? I wonder if she has been reunited with her lifelong love, and if they are still living their happily ever after. If the reason i feel secure being a mom is because their love flows through me, providing me strength to continue forward in life.
In 6 days I will be 30. If I have learned anything, it's that I am the sum of my experiences. My mind was plied with positivity and a love of learning from an early age thanks to her. And thanks to her, I am a strong willed, accepting, flexible, considerate, kind hearted, fair, compromising, idealistic, dreaming, free spirit that can not be contained. She has taught me that a quiet rebellion is as (if not more) effective as rowdy resistance. That not all struggles have to be armed. That an opportunity may not always be in your best interest, so it's okay if you're not willing to sacrifice your integrity or your soul for it. She taught me its okay to ask questions, especially when in pursuit of the truth and clarity. She taught me that its okay to not hold my tongue for anything, but to know to use it wisely. She taught me that I was beautiful just the way I am, and to always believe in myself no matter what society or anyone says. She was the first person to show me how amazing I could be. I hope I've done her proud.
When she passed I was chosen to give the eulogy. I remember standing on the podium of our church, looking at faces I hadn't seen since my childhood. I tried to fit someone else's words for her in my mouth but my tongue couldn't hold them. All that came forth were loving words divided by tears. I remember someone coming to take me to sit down so the congregation could hear the remainder of the prepared speech. I still don't remember who it was or what was said. What I do remember was staring at her still body through glassy eyes until her casket was closed and ushered into the hearse that would take her to her final resting place; Greenwood Cemetery next to her husband of 55 years. The rest of the day was a blur. Maybe because I drank myself into oblivion with my mom and older brother. Maybe because my spirit is trying to protect my heart from the pain I felt during that time. Whatever it is, every year on this day, I write and cry and pray for her knowing she will never return.



In memory of Violet Fitzgerald Wiltshire, beloved grandmother, mother, wife, deaconess, teacher, & friend. May you be resting in peace.