It happened again. Once again, during one of those precious moments when I was smiling and looking the other way. Death pushed through my door again, demanding to have another talk. Again.

I lost a friend last night. A dear sisterfriend. We were the same age. We entered womanhood together. Our paralleled lives. We were each other’s witness. Getting grown. Partying. Falling in love. Marriage, pregnancies, baby showers, births, housewarmings. We had big-girl dreams. We co-signed each others wins and losses, dreams& struggles, disappointments & triumphs. Our children are the same age. I named her daughter. Our boys ran ball together. Our girls braided each other’s hair. And today I’m here. And she’s not. She was thirty-six years old. I’m thirty-six years old. I didn’t sleep last night. The old ritual is back. Hello again. Lie in bed. Stare into the darkness. Turn on tv, turn off tv. Contemplate picking up the phone. My words are strangled. Walk into kitchen. Stand barefoot on the cold tile, try to force myself to eat or drink something. Can’t. I feel sick. I want to throw up my life. Run to bathroom. Stand over sink. Wait. Think. Try to feel. Look at myself in mirror. Debate on the sleeping pills I’ve worked so hard to kick. Out of Xanax. That shit makes me too loopy anyway. The sake I drank earlier has worn off. Keep staring. Thinking. Did she know she was about to die? God, was she in pain? Was she scared? We didn't keep our last phone date. (girl, so much so much! we gotta catch up!) What about her babies? No. Don't think. Don't think. Legs are weary. Down to the floor. Sit. Alone, barefoot on the bathroom floor.Think. Think and cry, cry and try to remember to breathe. What the fuck is this. What the fuck is all this supposed to mean. I just can’t figure it out. It’s the worst habit of mine, always trying to analyze & intellectualize, if I could just figure it out if I can just get it to make sense it’ll be ok. Nothing.

Nothing makes sense. Right now. Nothing does.

Ealier tonight, I realized a material dream (finally bought a new car), and I was planning a weekend of fun with friends, while my sisterfriend was in a hospital flatlining and no one told me because she was there for something routine and figured she’d be out in a few days. I want my mommy. She’s not here. Dead too. How long have I been on the floor. Crawl back to bed. Legs are tired. Soul is tired. Turn on the tv, turn it off, repeat. It’s back. The ritual. Heartache, confusion, sleeplessness. It’s all back.

I find it tragically sweet. No one wanted to tell me. They waited an entire day, debating on who should break the news, when, how. One person was to call, then it was handed to another. No one could bring themselves to do it. I can imagine the conversation. I’ve heard of them before. Conversations about me, full of worry and love and helplessness and concern. She seems okay, lately. Grief counseling seems to have helped. At least she’s writing again. Let’s not bother her with this or that; the constant coddling of my fragile state of being. It is a depth of love I’ve only recently become familiar. I feel sorry for them, really. I don’t know how to help them help me. I hate to hear them struggle for words or watch them cry because they think they’re losing me. I get happy, they see me planning new moves and speaking of the future, and they would push me in a protective bubble if they could, god I know they would if they could, they know I’m teetering, on the verge as someone would say, and they just hate to have to say it, but they must, and they did. Jamal, Karen died yesterday. I’m so sorry. We’re so sorry. Please don’t go away.

And I think. Remember. Again. When they found my sister’s bones on that army base, I got a phone call. I was at work. It was from a reporter, and I picked up the phone and said hello and the voice on the other end said how do you feel now, she’s been missing for three months and how do you feel now that your sister’s remains have been recovered can we get a statement from you or the family, and I got up from my desk and held my cellie in my hand and said what are you talking about, what are you talking about, and I walked outside because I didn’t know where else to go, and the voice said they found her your sister her bones your sister it’s her they found her remains in a ditch, how do you feel now, and I could hear him talking but nothing made sense, I no longer understood english I did not know where I was, I was an alien in my own body, my cheek was suddenly against pavement I felt gravel on my face, and I was alone and no one knew where I was or what was happening. my sisters bones were found 2000 miles away in some Georgia ditch and I realized that I had collapsed, was face to concrete alone in the parking lot, must’ve walked there in a daze, nobody knew where I was and to this day, I still don’t know how long I lay there on the ground, out cold between parked cars, and somehow I got myself up and walked back toward a life that would never be the same again. Never.

And when I started talking to god again I said how could you do that, how come I fell and there was no one there to catch me, what the fuck was the purpose of that, why would you let that man call me like that? because I was alone, so alone in that moment, no one was there not even you, you just watched me fall, you just let it all happen, my mommy is dead and exactly one year later my pregnant sister is murdered and now in a ditch and I'm left here without either of them, and I really need to know what was the purpose, what divine insight into life was I suppose to grasp, lying there that day, face to concrete, so whenever you’re ready I’ll listen because I think you really fucking owe me an explanation for that, and now today I think:

When I got that phone call last night, I was at home, in the company of a loving friend, had just received a soulhug and a loving note from afar (thank you again: it was perfect), and I was already sitting down when the call came, and so maybe, since I wasn’t alone and face down in a parking lot this time, maybe this was your way of saying, all right, I don't have any answers for you, but guess I owed you one. Maybe, maybe that's it.

i am hurting, but i am okay, blogger fam. writing heals all wounds. this blog is and continues to be my delicate hold on sanity. i just need a minute. came into work, but i'm going back home for the day. we'll talk real soon.

love, jamal.