The Ghost from Juneteenth Past
Trigger warning If you or someone you know has struggled with suicidal ideations or attempts, please refrain from reading this content. Seek help! “Today, “988” is the three-digit, nationwide phone number to connect directly to the 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline. By calling or texting 988, you’ll connect with mental health professionals from the 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline, formerly known as the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline. Veterans can press “1” after dialing 988 to connect directly to the Veterans Crisis Lifeline, serving our nation’s Veterans, service members, National Guard, and Reserve members, and those who support them. For texts, Veterans should continue to text the Veterans Crisis Lifeline short code: 838255.”
Juneteenth
When you hear the phrase “Juneteenth,” what comes to mind? For some, it might be a day of little significance. For others, it is a deeply revered and celebrated day. According to Wikipedia, “Juneteenth, also known as Freedom Day, Jubilee Day, and Cel-Liberation Day, is an American holiday celebrated on June 19. On June 19, 1865, the Emancipation Proclamation, which had been issued on January 1, 1863, was read to enslaved African Americans in Texas by Gordon Granger.” That is a monumental moment in history! For me, I celebrate it, knowing what it means to my son, my nephews, and those I love. However, Juneteenth is also a dark day for me personally.
Loss and Grief
On June 19th, my friend passed away. LA was a firecracker. She was loud, her laugh could fill a room, and she loved her kids fiercely. LA was a fighter, loved by many, yet at times, she didn’t feel that love. She struggled with guilt and addiction. LA loved Jesus, her dad’s mini pecan pies, her children, her dogs, rabbits, and that smelly turtle in a tank. I loved her so very much.
Grief ebbs and flows. There are times when grief is so thick you can hardly breathe, and other times, you learn to live life again—until the nightmares come, rocking you to your core. Lately, I’ve had fleeting memories that make me smile, and the nightmares have mostly subsided.
The Ghost of Juneteenth
Today, as I walked into the clinic, I was greeted by the beautiful, smiling faces of people I’ve come to love. These faces are full of joy, hope, some sadness, and a lot of grit and determination. As I scanned the room, my eyes landed on a new face.
I caught myself inhaling sharply. The woman in front of me was dressed head-to-toe in hot pink—her hair, her eyes, her clothes, her voice—it was all LA. I swallowed hard and took a seat next to a familiar face while I gathered myself. I decided to take charge of the situation and avoided making eye contact for the rest of the day.
After finishing my rounds, I pulled the new person aside. We walked outside to get some fresh air. I sat mostly in silence as we spent time together, but toward the end, I felt myself choking up, overwhelmed with a sense of love and protection for her. In that moment, she hugged me so tightly, and we both began to sob. She couldn’t control her sobs, and I let mine flow too.
In That Moment
That moment brought me back to the slab where my friend lay, and I found myself wiping the dirt off her body. I was brushing and braiding her hair, speaking to her softly, telling her how worthy and loved she was. On June 19th, 2018, I was preparing her for her mother, brother, and children to see her one last time.
Today, in that room, I felt like I was hugging her again, weeping for her and with her, telling her she was worthy and loved. I longed to hold her longer, to tell her more about her children and grandchildren, but I remembered this wasn’t my LA.
The Lord has stirred up my grief, and I know I’ll need to confront this over the next month. During this time, I pray for healing—for my mind and my heart. I also pray for comfort for her children, brother, and grandchildren. I pray that I can make a difference in someone else’s life through this process.
Remembering
LA, I loved you fiercely in life, and I love you still. I’m so sorry that you felt alone and unloved in those final moments. I close my eyes, and I can still see your smile. Honestly, I can smell your hair, your fresh tattoo, and the detergent on your clothes. I can still hear the voices of your children, mom, and brother on that day. They loved you so much, and they still do. You are worthy, you are loved, and the world was better because you were in it.
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