PRELUDE TO A THOUGHT
I sit here alone with many thoughts befuddling my head. A dream of love, a thought of hate. I ponder the thought of life after death. I wonder if my offspring will see a world of peace or a world without trouble. I dream if my people of color will one day taste true freedom. Freedom of the mind, a life without inferiorities. I remember a day when life was good. I was classified as a youth, a person of single digit years. My life had no worries, my dreams had no demons. But with age comes wisdom; with age come nightmares and a world full of disappointments and social ills. The more I age, the more I see. I would love to cure world hunger. To end discrimination and racism, to negotiate a world of love and to kill our social ills—are but dreams of mine. But for now, I collect a thought or two. I cloud my mind with thoughts of yesteryear, thoughts of yesterday and thoughts of tomorrow. And I hope that one day, my collection of thoughts will be the reality of today—and the dreams of tomorrow. A time when life was good!

“There’s always time for a good story or two.”

You can call me “Fortunate,” though it’s not my name. But it’s how I feel—fortunate. I have drank wine in Germany, dined in Moscow, enjoyed siesta time in Sicily, shopped in the streets of the Philippines and Korea, and salivated at the marvelous view from the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. Fortunate, I can truly say I am.
Why fortunate, you might ask? Because I was born and raised in the ghetto called Binghampton in the Bluff City called Memphis, Tennessee. They told me then and tell others today that the chances of escaping the ghetto (or as it is referred to today, the ‘hood) are slim to none. I disagreed then and I still vehemently disagree now. I was taught that escape is in the mind. And my mind tells me that I escaped the ‘hood’ years before I actually departed. Fortunate I am, because fortune I was taught. To seek, thrive and be wealthy… wealthy in the mind, rich in the heart.

BRIDGE OF LIFE

And then she smiled that billion dollar smile and that’s all I could do was just smile.” He stares in space, marinating on good moments.
“At this time, I would like to read a poem I wrote for my Grandma.” He pauses as he looks down at the paper again… mustering up the courage to continue speaking. And with as much clarity and conciseness as he can gather within, he begins reciting.
“I call this poem, Gone.”

When I first heard the news you were gone, Sadness controlled my feelings, Ache dominated my heart. The initial shock was too much for me to bear. I had never known a life without you. You were always my bright sunshiny day. When I thought things were truly bad, You made me realize that things could never be truly bad, if you have someone to love.

Often, when I was lost and A sense of direction left my mind, You were there—my navigator. You taught me goodness and shared your secret recipe for success. And now you are Gone. Gone from my world, But not from my life.

Yea, the initial shock was tough, But they assure me the days will get better. But I know they do not realize I never lost you and I can never lose you. I am blessed with memories—I remember days of joy, Days of laughter, Days that will forever be engraved in my heart with happiness.

You ignited my soul with deep love. Those are the days I remember. The days we shared together. So to say, things will get better, Are just words of hopeful encouragement. Which is something I do not need—Because I have you.

No, you may not be by my side, But I know you are there. You have always been there. And I have always been grateful. Grateful you taught me—and taught me well. Grateful our paths crossed. Grateful you graced my presence. Grateful I have known you.

Yes, my heart knows sorrow and my spirit knows loneliness, But my soul knows you are there and you will always be there. GOD blesses his children—From day one, I knew you were his angel. And in your capacity as guardian, You touched a heart and saved a being. You brought love to a life and restored hope to a soul.

I heard you were Gone. But how can someone that touched the hearts of so many—Ever, truly, be Gone!!!

BLOOD BROTHERS

During the day, he made time for him to do something that needed to be done. He dropped by Laura’s gravesite to say “goodbye.” It was the hardest thing he had ever done, but it had to be done. She was his true love, his first love. But now it’s time to move on. He bought a dozen of both red and white roses—signifying love and friendship, two small wineglasses and a short poem. He stands the roses against the tombstone, takes out the small bottle of white wine from his pocket and pours a small amount in each glass. He then lifts up one glass and makes a toast, “For a love of a lifetime and a lifetime of love.” He taps the glasses together in the form of a toast, takes a drink from one glass and pours a little wine from the other onto the grave. He then pulls out the poem and starts reading.
“From days of love to days of joy, my heart beats a tune for you. From days of life to days of love, my heart sings a song for you. Love is lasting, love is forever, your love is the essence of my soul. From the beginning of time to the end of a lifetime, my love—my life begins and ends with you. I say I love you, my dear. And my love will be forever more. And forever more, your love will be mine.”
He lifts the glass again, makes a toast and takes another drink. Then he kisses his two fingers and plants a kiss on the tombstone. He looks at the tombstone and the gravesite one last time and says to his Laura, “I will forever love you, Laura, but it’s time to move on. This will be my last time coming here. I hope you understand. Take care, baby. I love you.”
He turns, walks away and stops. He turns around one last time to look at the tombstone. Though tears are forming in his eyes, he maintains his composure. He walks back to the tombstone and pulls out his wallet. He goes to a small pocket and pulls out the wallet-size photograph of Laura Paige-Richardson. Her smile is radiant, her face glows with excitement and love for the man who was standing there when she took the picture. He remembers the day like it was yesterday. He can only smile—forcing himself not to go back to yesteryear. He puts the photograph to his heart and says, “Baby, I had that last walk in the park and that last candlelight dinner you wanted me to have. It wasn’t the same without you.” His head turns heavenward, with the picture still pressed against his heart, “But you know I must go on. I will always love you, miss you”… he pauses for a quick second or two. “And I do forgive you.”
Tears steadily flowing from their ducts, he puts his two fingers against his lips and throws a kiss at the tombstone. Then he softly utters under his breath, “Thank you for showing me what true love is all about.” With that, he finally musters up the courage to walk away—forever.

DEFINITION OF LIFE

But the most important thing I remember about Uncle Henry was when we were working in the yard. He invited me to go with him to Chickasaw Garden, where all of the well-to-do white folks lived. He wanted me to help him with his yard work. From our street, Chickasaw Garden was only a twenty or thirty minute walk. While we were cutting grass and trimming hedges, as well as planting flowers, Uncle Henry told me something that would stick with me forever and mold my life. He stated, “This is a white society and it is up to you and your generation to make things right—make things better for our kind. This is not the kind of work you need to do. Make something out of yourself.”
I remember stopping work and just staring at him. He looked at me and asked me why I stopped working… of course I didn’t say anything and just started back working. I would mull this over in my head all day and night for the next several days. He was right! This was not the kind of work I wanted to do. But why or how did he end up doing this slave labor.
I asked my Mom and she told me, “Your Uncle Henry is the kind of man who is reliable, a true bread winner. He is that strong, quiet, protective type who takes care of family first and takes care of family last. He doesn’t chase dreams; he provides for his family and ensures their well-being. He is the one who opens doors for his kids, his kids’ kids, his nieces and nephews. By working hard and making a way—he opens doors and makes sure, the doors of those who follow him, will never be the back door.”
I knew then, it didn’t matter what my uncle did or why he did it. Uncle Henry taught me a very valuable lesson. It was my job to heed and learn. This would be the first pivotal point in my life. Defining point number one. Nothing spectacular, nothing eye-popping and it doesn’t take long to tell, but what an impact it had on my life.
Uncle Henry died some years later. I remember thinking about that day when I heard the news. Years later, I saw this older black gentleman cutting grass with an old two-wheel, rotary push-mower and thought about Uncle Henry. I also thought, “I wonder if he lives there or is he doing yard work for someone else.” Whenever I see one of these mowers, I think about my Uncle Henry and the things he taught me. Sometimes I still think to myself, “Did I do something with my life or am I still belaboring in yard work.” Love and Miss You, UNCLE HENRY! And “THANK YOU” for leaving the front door open!!