I CAN'T BREATH

That's what  he was saying before he died.

That is what we all have been saying as a country this week.

That is what we shall continue to say for months and years to come.

The question I have...How long will the protests go on? How long with this be the ''in'' protest? How long will our young people raise up their voices?

For so long, the pandemic took control of our lives, our media and our social networks. 

Now this has our attention, but for how long?

This type of brutality happens almost weekly and yet we are not out marching and raising our voices.

This type of brutality happens in the black community daily. It may not lead to murder but it leads to false arrests, it leads to broken bones or fractured nerves. It leads to black men and black women being afraid to leave their homes and cross paths with certain officers.

Black lives matter but so do the brown lives, the homeless lives and all lives.

We, Black Americans, have become used to treatment like this. Which is so sad. 

The difference is; now there are camera's to record what we have been saying for years. 

That we are treated differently than our white neighbors, friends and sometimes white family members.

When will America listen?

The protests are NOT just about George Floyd. It is about the human rights of Black Americans.

The civil rights of black Americans have always been of concern.

Now you have the military involved. Look at pictures from the 60's, are these the times we are about to experience? 

I surely hope not.

We have much to do on this issue and being silent is no longer an option.

REMEMBERING A DEAR FRIEND

This time last week I was composing an email to a dear author friend.

This is something we had done numerous times since our first meeting in 2012 at the Black Authors Rock Weekend.

It wasn't until a couple of years ago, when she was the moderator for a panel I was on at Busboys and Poets that we became email pals.

I was in awe of her writing, had been since her novel, Where Did We Go Wrong? hit the Essence best seller list. She told of how she got up, stayed in her PJ's and wrote until she got tired. 

Well, as I composed that email I was telling her that I was finally getting my tiny house and finally make the commitment to write every day. I knew she would find something funny to say and then, as always encourage me to 'set aside space, time and just let my creative juices flow".

I always looked for her inspiration messages on Instagram and while I hadn't gotten a response from my early morning email; I knew she would respond to it. 

Then my heart got crushed around 9 pm Monday night.

I saw messages popping up in my stream about how we needed to PRAY for her husband and son. How we needed to hope that everything would be OK. I didn't want to go to her page because I didn't want to know what they were talking about.

But I had to know.

And I learned late Monday night that my writing, email, author friend had died. 

To say that my heart was crushed is an understatement. My heart hurts..literally. I have been crying since learning of the news. I can't stop smiling because I know her smile is forever and I can't stop from wishing that she was still here. That she would answer that last email; that she would send that inspiration message on Instagram.

But Monica is not.

She has gained her wings and we are left with a huge whole in the literary community. 

We are selfish because we want her here but there are reason why her shoulder was tapped. There is a reason why her laptop will never come back on. There is a reason why that space on her bed, that held her while writing will never be occupied. 

It's because she is now writing that next novel in her other home. She is now writing as much as she wants and will never know about deadlines, edits and rejection. 

She is where we all hope to be; she just got there first and now she is writing and holding our seat at the table.

Rest eternally my beautiful friend as I will miss you and will never forget our emails every Monday morning.

EVERY YEAR WE REMEMBER OUR GIRL

I don't recall the year and it's the only date that I don't remember.

Well I don't want to ever remember the day that my bonus daughter left us to take up residence in heaven.

I was at work and remember getting the call. I screamed in my car for almost three minutes.

We celebrated her life at the beach. We released her, in what can only be called, a surreal moment.

We knew we wanted her ashes to be left at the beach. But how?

Suddenly a school of dolphins swam almost to shore and literally stayed while we cried and looked at the sunset. It was as if they were waiting for us to give Crystal to them.

Dolphins were a favorite of hers.

Her dad, +Austin Camacho, swam out and released her into the ocean and then, just like that...the dolphins swam away.

We were all shocked and began to laugh. 

That is the only way Chrystal would have wanted to be released. Perfect, right?

Not quite.

We arrived home and found a small bush waiting on the porch for us and there was a beautifully written card from one of our author friends.

The card said that the flowers that would bloom would remind us of our beautiful daughter. Thank you +DB Corey and wife for this tree.

This year is no different. The blooms came back and every year; we stand and stare at them. We each share our memories and for me; seeing that tree every year with it's perfect blooms, reminds me that our girl is still with us.

Thank you Chrystal for being in my life. 

I know you are still with us. The hummingbirds remind us and so does this flowering tree.

Friendships via social media

Sometimes in our lives we come across people who become our friends and we have no clue as to how they became that way.

I have many friends that I have met due to our similarities or our work environment or by just being an author. I also have many friends on social media. Friends that 'friended' me or 'liked' my page or 'connected' on the more professional sites but I call them my friends.

One day those friends, for whatever reason may stop commenting on your blogs, or your FB 'status' or your 'comment' but you don't think much of it and you may forget all about them. But not me. I remember every person that has ever posted a comment on my page and one woman in particular has stuck with me. Her name is +Sandra Humphrey and she became my 'friend' on LinkedIn. We belonged to almost the same groups and we 'connected' via the blog posting group.

Every mornning we exchanged a 'good morning' email to each other because we shared one thing in common. She reached out to me when she saw me join the group and even bought my novel. Every day was the same thing...a good morning email and then at least three or four emails throughout the day as we talked about grandchildren and her children's books. Then one day it happened, no email. Hey, we all get busy but I figured I'd see one before noon. Then noon came and no email! and then a whole day went by and no email!

I logged into 'our' group and tried to find her and the strange thing was, she wasn't there. What was going on? I then got a notification that there was a fire and that Sandra Humphrey and her husband had been killed. I burst into tears. I knew it had to be a mistake, but as I tried to search for something that would make that horrible news go away, all I found was a picture of her burned to the ground home and the picture of her signing her books with a big brown teddy bear sitting next to her. That was on November 23, 2012. Our 'community' was shocked and saddened. She and her husband were the love of their community and although I never met her in person, I felt a true sense of loss.

It has taken me six months to finish this post because every time I thought about it, I would cry and now although I am misty eyed, I know that she wants 'our' group to continue to show support to each other and to continue to do what we love; which is to write books that inspire, and help children believe in themselves. For all of the authors that knew Sandra...count yourself fortunate that you knew such a great person; I know I do.