What we remember lives on


When your child dies, you grieve.  You have no choice… you grieve.  If there is a choice it is how you grieve and what you do about your grief.

I was conditioned to believe real men don’t cry. That only weak men and women cried. I believed that tears of rage should be the only tears permitted. Then…when my son died, I cried.  No big production type of bawling, but I cried! In my life, I have faced homelessness, unemployment, faced down knives, machetes, threat of a gang beat down, drive by anti-African attacks and even guns. Nothing was as debilitating, made me feel so helpless, so unsure of my manhood, all of my fake machismo…as watching my son die.

Not once…but twice!

Read more here!

One thought on “What we remember lives on

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