Community is It

It's been five months since the most wonderful dude, son, brother to many, friend to the kind hearted, and partner [to me] was taken away from us at the hand of someone who was wildly drunk, and chose still to get behind the wheel of an Escalade. I still don't have the words to describe fully who B was to all of us here, nor who he is to us now. Those of us who were privileged to know him will not ever forget the mischievous twinkle in his eyes, the width of his smile, the resonance of his laugh, his wicked wit, and the acceptance and presence we felt when we were with him.

On the good days [they come more often now than I would have thought], I can see him in my minds eye, grinning, his wild laugh reverberating across galaxies as he flies across the cosmos in good company. I imagine him getting to know the kind and brave souls of Martin Luther King, Jr., John Lewis, Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Chadwick Boseman, his uncles and aunts gone before, his brother, Ian. I imagine him giving my aunt Mil a kiss for me. But for those of us here, the five months since his passing have been an unanticipated journey through grief and loss. What has gotten us through? I can only speak to my own journey through the process of loving and losing B. In a single word, I will tell you what has gotten me through: COMMUNITY.

Almost ten years ago, I met an old woman on a park bench at Lake Merritt. Newly returned from New York City, I was working through some anxiety stuff, and held a book with that word in the title. "What do you know about anxiety?" She asked me. My cynical, 28 year old self chortled, cause she had no idea. Nonetheless, I sat down next to her on a bench, and we began to talk. As we got to know one another, I felt comfortable enough to ask this 87 year old woman, "What is the secret to life?" She answered, "Finding the right community."

Brandon and I both were blessed to know its importance, and to have it in spades. I can say easily that without it, I would not have made it through the last five months. I would not have been able to get back up. Community takes all kinds of shapes:

Two heart friends who flew down from Seattle, leaving their romantic relationships and homes behind to come cradle me as I wept. To make me coffee every morning. To hold my arms up.

My two brothers who came to be with me, to stand in the roaring wind and yell into it with me as I tried to celebrate a birthday two days after B passed.

Neighbors who have left cards in our doorframe. They hardly know me, but they send their thoughts and prayers still.

Sisters who have been brave enough to witness my heartbreak and share their own.

A dad who has joined me for coffee, [more often, brunch] every Saturday. A mom who has walked with me through gardens of grief and joy.

B's ma and pops, who never let me leave their home empty handed. His sister, who sent flowers, as her brother would have, when our new nephew was born. B's brother, whose words were kinder than he may know.

Prayer team members who have held the ropes.

Sistas from a Black women's group I was a part of in Seattle. Only one of us lives there anymore, but bonds remain.

Aunts, uncles, cousins, who have sent flowers, cards, texts. Who have checked in, and shown their care.

Strangers I have met on piers in the rain with our dogs, sharing their own stories of outliving their sweethearts.

Colleagues who have sent books, grace, and prayers.

Last but not least, little Waffles, who has become my protector in B's absence.

I am overwhelmed by the power of those who choose to BE WITH in the joy, pain, the life of it all. I am grateful to know and be known, to love and be loved, by community.

We don't get through life alone. I know I could not have gotten through this without community. I am thankful. I am grateful. I love and am loved.