The Magic Number of Three

      They always say coincidences happen in three's. People are more familiar with things happening in three's when death is involved. I know in my twenty-six years of living I have found this to be true. Recently, Doris Roberts, mother from "Everybody Loves Raymond" passed away. Couple days later WWE Women's Champion and one of my favorite wrestlers, Chyna suddenly died. To add insult to injury, I only knew about their deaths because Prince died the following day. It was a Thursday to be exact. Meanwhile the prince of England was in NYC appointing the next royal heir of hierarchy while millions of people mourned the loss of "The Artist Formally Known as Prince." Don't worry, this post isn't about conspiracy and how a higher government power may or may not have had anything to do with their deaths, all I know is things happen in three's very particularly in my life.
    Back in high school I met this guy who had just moved to the neighborhood. He was quiet and I could tell he had a lot going on that none of us junior/seniors could ever imagine. Our biggest issues were dealing with parents getting divorced, prom, and graduating, but I knew there was something different in his eyes. We became friends and over time we shared secrets with one another creating a bond that could never be broken.
      In 2008 I moved away and lost contact with him. Life moved on and I paraded toward a college experience filled with friends, self-discovery, strengths and weaknesses. Few years later, one day I was walking my dog on the trail we had marked around my apartment complex. I assumed everything would be the same that day; workout and meditate, feed the dog, go for a walk, come back and do some homework. This time my dog was pulling me in another direction. I didn't understand why she wanted to go off the path but once I began listening, the back of my mind told me to go where she wanted. Finally, I listened and walked her down the right path (because the route was literally toward the left) my friend from high school called out my name and came jogging into view. WTH??
     We stayed in contact as much as we could but like coincidences we lost track again. I was progressing further in my writing career, traveling around the Midwest meeting new people, realizing just how much I enjoyed being a freelance journalist writing and interviewing artist of all types. I created this blog and posted much of my admiration for the world to see.
    Third time was a charm last year in 2015 when I wrestled with the idea of deactivating my Facebook page. I was dealing with stress and a recent breakup and I just didn't want to be bothered by anyone or anything. Within 15 minutes of deleting my page something kept pulling at my ears to get back online. I kept questioning WHY? There isn't anything on there for me, I don't want it. Again finally I listened and AS SOON AS I LOGGED BACK IN GUESS WHO WAS IN MY INBOX? The man who has become my backbone and best friend. Everything happens in three's for me. Specifically with this one guy situation. I didn't realize how important he was until after the second time we reconnected. Still, life goes on.

Normal transition here.

   Amos Brown passed away early November 2015 leaving behind loyal listeners and a host of political leaders and community activist here in Indianapolis. He was a radio personality on AM 1310 "The Light" and host of Afternoons with Amos. He was the voice for all citizens in the city more so for the black demographic. He kept it real no matter what. I remember meeting him for the first time at Ivy Tech Community College for a speaker series. His words still motivate me to this day, "never stop writing and follow your dreams." When I heard of his passing I was devastated. His death was so sudden leaving many feeling empty not just for his death but the voice of the black community. No one ever said he would be replaceable, not even Pastor Michael K. Jones host of Community Connection, which he took over in March after Brown had passed.
   When given the opportunity to host the show, Jones said, “I'm fortunate to stand on something I didn't build, to be able to continue something I didn't start. I could never fill Amos's shoes. I just hope to be a voice that his shoes will say, 'That's what I want to see after me.' That's the best I can offer." (Indianapolis Recorder) Tuesday July 26, 2016 he passed away from a heart attack. I didn't tune in as often as I did when Brown ran the show but I can honestly say the Community Connection was a band-aide over the loss. He didn't shy away from criticism nor did he come on air trying to be someone he was not. He genuinely cared for the people by allowing honest feedback from new and old callers and listeners.
     I heard the news of his death today when I decided to tune in and listen. I was expecting to hear something about the shootings that happened yesterday in broad daylight. Not of him passing away, leaving an even bigger scar over the wound Brown had left. All of our leaders are dying! Black on black killings continue everyday during this hot summer. "Who are we to lean on now?" is the thought that ran through my mind upon realizing the truth. Just take a look at what happened YESTERDAY:7/26/16 IN BROAD DAY.
   Everybody should know by now to not stop at that gas station. The shooting continued further down at the next station on 38th and Sherman. SMH. A wise person said, "Our leaders are being taken by the Most High maybe because the battle isn't there's, it is ours." Dammit. In the words of Pac, "they say it ain't no hope for the youth but the truth is there ain't no hope for the future." Everything happens in three's.
   Last Saturday my family and I buried my aunt after 53 years of life. My best friend buried his grandmother of 90 yrs on Friday. Sunday was silent. Monday Pastor Mike Jones did his last Community Connection radio show, went to bed that night and passed away Tuesday Morning. It happens in three's. Yet still life goes on. 
   I don't want to end this on a negative tone. It is truly up to my generation to be the leaders for the kids growing up behind us. We have to soak up all the wisdom our parents and grandparents have while they are still around in order for us to keep going. The media tricks all of us, whether you want to believe it or not, to forget the morals and values we were taught as a child. Discretion is pretty much nonexistent these days; everything is out in the open. I know for myself that these things are suppose to happen. We are suppose to have chips in our debit/credit cards and pets. We are suppose to be on one television network ridding away with basic antenna channels all for a flat screen TV and a cable provider. Most people are #firestickswaggin now-a-days. All I can do is pray and grind myself to be in a position to lead the youth in the path of righteousness.
All I got is me.
#WonLuv
 

Bending color lines effortlessly...

He wrote me love letters in blue ink. 
Blue flowers with petals fading pink were decorated

along the bottom portion of the plain white sheet.
He was very meticulous.
Very careful.
He said lines were restricting, held too many barriers.
He wanted to be free.
Dared to have a space where words flowed completely,
Assumed the responsibility to allow my love to burn sweet

from my eyes and down my cheek.
He knew just how much I adore metaphors and simile,

simple haikus dressed in fashionable soliloquy.

Telling me he loved me and that he'd never hurt me,
Never judge me,
Just letting me be,

he knew how much it would mean to me.

And this letter was quite the same.

Delivered in the mail under the same name

arriving to my home the same time on a Wednesday.

Though I did not rush to open this one.
I waited.
Waited until midnight just when an orange moon shined the brightest

from my bedroom window and the stars lingered awhile...

Red and yellow petals fell onto the bed.
Sand covered parts of my hand as I slowly began to read all he said.

The white paper was wrinkled and the ink this time was black. 
He seemed rushed.

No matter how patient I tried to read,

his thoughts poured quickly.
Words were scribbled out as if he forgotten how to talk to me.

I once found his italic handwriting sexy and discreet

but now everything seemed so sarcastic and matter-of-factly...

He urged that no matter what he loved me.

Found peace in my eyes and something everlasting within me.
He recalled the long nights at the beach,

staying up listening to the waves crash upon our feet.

Said he never done it before, just up talking.

And the night we sealed our love became more than just a fantasy.
The world around us seem nonexistent.

Politics didn't matter.

Hate didn't matter.

The fact that we snuck around for a year and a half

lying to friends and family to share time away.
To love in a world so different than our own.

A black woman from Harlem.

Falling in love with a man from Europe.

A man whose ancestors controlled all that I stood for

was now doing to me what they did to them.

Strengthened by body.
Making my mind weak.

How could he do this to me...

The black ink forged on the page showed his frustration.

The urgency to let me down easy took hold of me...

The last butterfly that lived in my belly took flight.

From my eyes soared away for all eternity.

I'll never forget the times Love was true, open and free...

Paralectra Divine.