• Self Care is EVERYTHING.

    July 4, 2022
    Art, Peaceful
    Self Care is EVERYTHING.

    There’s nothing wrong with spoiling yourself. I chatted with my therapist about my supposed shopping addiction. While she didn’t immediately agree that it’s my diagnosis, she noted the pattern in my recent purchases: they are all things that pamper me.

    I guess I felt scared and lonely after the Mother’s Day incident and used money to comfort myself. For example, I got a relaxing deep tissue massage and my first Brazilian wax, along with cute summer dresses. It felt good to treat myself with dignity and love. Too many times we rely on others–or even social media–for our sense of self worth. It felt good to provide those things for myself.

    On this Fourth of July, I won’t be at a cookout and I may not see fireworks, but I am going to do what pleases my soul. Stay safe and *Free Live!

    *Free Live (v) – to partake in unplanned activities that promote personal wellbeing.


    My most recent Free Livin’ involved randomly going to my local Muse Paintbar and attending one of their paint classes. I had a blast! I’ve always considered myself an artist and it felt like I’d reached heaven when I finished my last brush stroke. I’ll definitely go again!

    A happy sunset amidst a volcano eruption on the beach.

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  • I Bought a Louisville Slugger…and a Bunch of Other Things 😩

    June 29, 2022
    Anxiety, Physical and Emotional Symptoms

    It’s been a month since the Mother’s Day incident and I don’t think insomnia is my only PTSD symptom.

    In the weeks following the incident, I’ve developed a shopping compulsion. It started with buying things to pamper myself—from a large bed pillow, complete with pockets and its own lumbar pillow, to an iPhone 13 Pro which I lost at the Something in the Water music festival. Whenever I go out, I buy something. I’m concerned because prior to May 8, 2022, I was always frugal and cautious with my coins.

    Now, it’s like I can’t stop myself. Whenever I see something I like, I have an incredible urge to get it. Of course, these are items I can afford (for now), but what happens if I can never return to my old habits? I don’t want to end up broke or homeless due to my own actions. I don’t want to be a hoarder. And I damn sure don’t want my boyfriend to say I’m not wife material because I’ve been spending so crazily.

    According to Psychology Today, “Compared to healthy controls, first-degree relatives of people who sho[p] compulsively are more likely to have the same condition or other mental health issues such as anxiety disorders, mood disorders, and substance use disorders.”

    My mom did shop manically in the last years of her life. I remember asking her why she spent so much money on things instead of being content with our current possessions. She never had an answer. I’ve been through too much trauma in the past two years. From losing her, to the instant decrease in household size, to the flood in my apartment last fall, and more recently, witnessing a loss, then being pickpocketed at the music fest. I don’t feel safe in the world. I didn’t before because of the countless atrocities against Blacks, but now my faith in mean world syndrome is on full blast!

    So I bought a bat. I saw it resting with another on an arm chair inside a vintage shop. I made a reminder to come back for it. I instantly knew it was what I wanted, what I had to have.

    While getting lunch at a nearby restaurant, my Apple Watch noted the increase in my resting heart rate: 131 BPM. I remember feeling anxious about getting the bat.

    Thoughts like, ‘It will keep me safe. I can use it if someone tries to rob me. They will be afraid of me,” raced through my mind.

    131 BPM, my heart rate before buying the bat.

    I’m going to chat with my therapist about my spending habits and ask for tips to snip it at the bud.

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  • Just When I Thought I Beat Grief, This Happened…

    June 13, 2022
    Anxiety, Despair, Insomnia, Physical and Emotional Symptoms

    I had just returned home from visiting my mom with my boyfriend “Scott” and my best friend “Demetria”. Demetria and I wanted to visit our old childhood neighborhood, and Scott came along. When we got to the apartment complex, we saw an ambulance and squad cars.

    Demetria wanted to see what all the fuss was.

    We heard a woman scream.

    “I think she getting arrested,” Demetria said, pointing to a lady with her hands behind her back. But there were no cops around her…I sensed something far worse was happening.

    Apparently, the lady’s aunt went into distress in her apartment and 9/11 was called. When we happened to walk up, the family was outside their apartment building, anxiously waiting while EMS did CPR.

    They couldn’t restart the aunt’s heart and informed the family.

    The lady broke down. I deduced her hands were behind her back because her loved ones were trying to keep her from re-entering the apartment.

    I can still hear her pleas in my mind.

    “Noooo!!!! That’s my aunt. Please keep trying. Somebody tell them to keep trying! They didn’t try hard enough! Noooo!” 😭😭😭

    The paramedics began descending the building. Once outside, one of them stopped when the woman asked if they could try again. Demetria, Scott, and I were diagonal to the paramedics, facing the grieving family, so I couldn’t see or hear the medic’s reply. I knew it wasn’t good though because the woman understandably swayed as her loved ones held her on both sides. 😔

    The medics put the oxgen masks, and all their other gear back in the ambulance. I noted that no one came back with a stretcher, as it wouldn’t be needed. 😔 The EMS team backed out of the complex and disappeared down the avenue.

    The lady’s family calmed her enough to walk her into a neighbor’s apartment in the next building. I’m glad they were there for her. Lord knows what would’ve happened if she went near her aunt’s body.

    As for me, I can’t sleep more than 2 hours a night–since Mother’s Day–without sleep drugs!!! I’m glad I had the courage to see a doctor because my three week insomnia battle nearly killed me. I took a mental health day from work to clear my mind and I smoked hemp pre rolls to take the edge off. I had so much stress. My mental state started affecting my body and it was hard to stand, concentrate, and even breathe. I worried about my heart because it felt swollen and heavy. My mom died from heart disease… I don’t want to suffer the same fate.

    I keep thinking about how I was like when I found mom lifeless on her bed. Fuck! I’m irritable. I’m paranoid. It didn’t help that one of my clients came in the office on Friday the 13th looking for my colleague, saying she was gonna kill her…THEN the Buffalo mass shooting/Hate Crime happened and 10 Black bodies, not unlike those of mine and my family, are souless! May was a horrible month. Repeated Ls.

    I’m in therapy now. Demetria recommend I try BetterHelp. I am not ashamed to get mental help. I know I won’t be able to do shit if my mind isn’t intact.

    Please pray for my resilience.

    For others struggling with secondhand trauma, a guide on combatting the condition: https://socialworklicensemap.com/blog/coping-with-secondary-trauma/

    #SpiritualWarfareIsReal

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  • Cardinals and Presence

    October 6, 2021
    Spiritual Signs
    Cardinals and Presence

    Two months ago, a cardinal visited a tree outside my balcony. I know they’re a sign of ancestral spiritual visits, so naturally, I was thrilled to have my mom visit me. Although I live in a wooded area, it’s rare to see a cardinal. I felt as though the bird meant something, especially since I saw two crows before it, one the same day and the other the day before.

    Once I saw the second crow, I Googled the occurrence to research the deeper meaning. I got mixed results, but in any case the sighting has a profound meaning. Something was about to happen in my life. About three weeks after the sighting, I passed my road test on the first try! I believe Mom wanted me to know she’s watching me. I love her. I still feel her energy.

    As I wrapped my GYN appointment at my new doctor’s office, the receptionist mentioned how much she liked my first name. And then, out of the blue, she said her daughter’s name is Keo. This would’ve been a mundane comment had Keo not been a nickname my mom called me.

    The crying spell hit instantly.

    I had to apologize to the receptionist and explain that the sudden rush of tears were due to my loss. The receptionist got up from her desk and met me in the hallway for an embrace. I told her about the cardinal and she welcomed my mom’s spirit. She mentioned that she lost her own mother several years ago.

    In this stage of grief, I thought I was healed, but the burst of tears made me realize that I will never be completely healed. How can I? My mom is gone.

    Today, I find myself avoiding deep memories about my mom and her illness. Of course, they still surface, but I’m able to block a lot of them with distractions like work, food, movies, and music. This probably isn’t a healthy approach, but it’s been almost a year! I’m tired of crying and feeling sad deep inside. I want my soul to feel clear and free again, without blocking trauma. I wish she was still here.

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  • Her Final Hospital Stay

    October 3, 2021
    Physical and Emotional Symptoms

    Today marks a year since myself and one of my cousins signed my mom out of the hospital. In the nights before, Mom had relentlessly called us to bring her home. I will never forget the interactions I had with her that week.

    Gagging ~ 6am September 29, 2020

    Mom’s boyfriend, who I’ll name Avery for the sake of privacy, called my cell from her room on the other side of our apartment.

    “Your mom is in here throwing up. She needa go to urgent care,” he said, while Mom gagged in the background.

    An hour earlier Mom called me to her room to help her get out of bed to use her commode. She also asked me to rub her feet, which I did with a little massage oil through bleary eyes. She had been peculiarly restless since she came home from the hospital less than two weeks before, often bouncing from bed to rocking chair to commode. During that stay she received the milronone IV, which stayed in her arm until her death.

    I jumped out of bed and ran around to her room. I prayed that he was just exaggerating, but he wouldn’t do that when it came to her. When I got there, he was holding a trash can beneath her as she continued to heave. I rubbed her back and asked if she wanted to urgent care. I only asked because she HATED seeing doctors, especially the ones that Kaiser hires.

    To my surprise, she nodded and said she wanted to go. So Avery and I helped her bathe and get dressed. I ordered an Uber for her and we brought her commode into the living room as we waited for the car. I was a little disturbed by the confusion she showed when we asked her to sit in the swivel chair after she finished on the commode.

    “What chair?” She asked. The chair was directly across from the commode, in her line of vision. Something was wrong. My mom was never confused.

    Hospital Admission ~ 8am

    Avery went with her to Kaiser, while I stayed home to get myself together to start my remote work day. When he returned, he gave me her wallet and told me how a fleet of medical staff surrounded her when they arrived at the facility. A few minutes after that her advanced care doctor called me to let me know he immediately called an ambulance to send her to the hospital.

    Removing the Fluid ~ 4pm September 30, 2020

    Mom called me to let me know the doctors had removed some of her fluid. She sounded much better and almost like her old self. I relaxed a bit. She told me the doctors still heard more fluid in her lungs, so they were going to try to get it out. I was happy to hear that they were making progress and hopeful that she’d be home laughing and joking with me again.

    Text Messages ~ 3pm October 1, 2020

    Mom had been in the hospital for two days, on her third visit since mid August. I was still working, so I texted her as I always did to check in on her. But this day, her confusion went to a different level.

    Mom: “Where are you? Did you leave me by myself?”

    Me: “At my desk. Huh?”

    Mom: “Where is Avery”

    Me: “In your room.”

    Mom: “Come see he’s not in here”

    This broke my heart. She thought she was still at home. My God, I have no idea what was going on inside her body but it was sickening to witness.
    I was in the kitchen later that day and Avery laughed about the things she’d texted him. I quickly stopped him and voiced my concern about her mental state. I know my mother. She was always sharp. She was very ill…

    Shrieking in Pain ~ 9:30pm October 2, 2020

    Like she’d done several times during her hospital stays, Mom called me ask me to get the nurses to help her use the bathroom. I had her room phone and the nurse’s desk line saved in my phone at this point. I immediately called and asked them to send someone to her room to help. The nurses seemed to be tired of my mother at this point. She told me they’d have her waiting nearly an hour to go to the bathroom, which is torture for anyone, but especially for her with her weak heart and stressed kidneys that ultimately failed. After one of her previous stays, she told me a cold nurse said she and her hospital suitemate needed to be in a nursing home, not a hospital. It broke my heart to hear that, but during Mom’s final visit it became clear that she was gravely ill. This wasn’t a typical hospitalization.

    I stayed on the phone with Mom while the nurse helped her. To my horror, I heard my mom yelping in pain as though the nurse were ripping off her skin. I couldn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to do. Whatever was happening to Mom frightened me. I knew she needed me.

    The Last Phone Call ~ 10am October 3, 2020

    This call showed me the power of my mother’s will and I will never forget it. I was in my cousin’s car, heading to pick my mom up from the hospital. I hadn’t slept well in days, neither had Mom. I called her doctor and told him that I was about to sign my mother out, per her final wishes. He advised me not to and said he wouldn’t do that for his own mother.

    Fuck that. I was tired of hearing my mother beg the family to bring her home. After the call the night before, it didn’t feel like her regular requests to leave the hospital. It felt like a cry for help.

    I called mom to tell her I was scared about signing her out.

    “Mom, I’m scared. What if something happens to you if you come home?”

    “We can’t worry about that now,” she said, cryptly.

    “What does that mean?”

    Silence.

    “Your doctor said it’s not a good idea to sign you out. I don’t know if I want to do it.”

    “Why are you listening to them?! Listen to me!” Mom yelled with what must’ve been a bulk of her final energy.

    She didn’t have to say any more. I was coming. I was scared, but I wasn’t going to leave my mom alone. I couldn’t have lived with myself if I ignored her wishes. I’m glad I got her that day. I’m glad I got to spend six more days with her, although I didn’t sleep and barely ate during those days. I’m glad we got to hug one last time and I got to say my goodbyes.

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  • I Didn’t Wake Early, I’ve Been Up All Night

    August 19, 2021
    Anxiety, Insomnia

    It’s after 7am…and I have to log into work by 9am.

    I’ve been up since roughly 1am, and although my body is physically exhausted and showing stress signs (i.e., tense shoulders, worse vision, decreased mental sharpness, mild chest and neck pain), my mind refuses to let me rest.

    I’ve battled insomnia for over a month now. I struggled with it in the past, but I thought I put it behind me once I got to the acceptance stage of grief (circa March 2021 ~ five months post-Mom’s transition). But it seems insomnia is as sneaky as grief itself. It appears that it’s always lingering, waiting to pounce on the vulnerable.

    I landed a new job last month and it’s been an adjustment. My work isn’t stressing me out per se, but the idea that I couldn’t share my success with Mom cut my soul. Therapists offer survival tips for the holidays and the dark times, but what about when things are going well and you can’t tell your loved one? The moment my offer letter came, it brought on a new breed of grief, one for which I wasn’t prepared. My boss even cried during our celebratory call because even he thought about my loss and how my mom might feel.

    Yes, I know my mother would be proud of me. I always fought to be the perfect daughter. I was never suspended, I was HS valedictorian, I graduated college–I even switched industries and entered the tech world, while fretting about Mom’s inevitable passing in the half decade since college and her diagnosis. For me, it hasn’t been 2016 to 2021–it’s been 2016 to 2036.

    For me, it hasn’t been 2016 to 2021–it’s been 2016 to 2036.

    From my analysis, sleeping was rough last night because this week marks one year since the hospital doctors recommended palliative care for my mom. I held my Galaxy S7 to my ear as the apartment I once shared with Mom blurred. I didn’t want to believe the news.

    “A lot of times, when we mention palliative care, people think about a hospice,” the lady doctor said. “But it doesn’t mean that.”

    She was obviously trying to soften the blow, but I knew palliative care meant there was little time left with Mom in her human form. I just wasn’t ready to accept it.

    In addition to flashbacks from Mom’s declining health, I was also triggered by my boyfriend’s coughing, throat clearing, and discomfort last night. He has the same condition Mom did. It’s painful for me to love him because his heart health is so similar to my Mom’s. He’s a sweet guy, but my PTSD is getting to me. My mom died in her bed. What if my boyfriend dies in mine?

    Fuck heart disease.

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  • More Loss, New Chapters

    August 2, 2021
    Peaceful, Physical and Emotional Symptoms

    It’s been almost ten months since my mother left this world, and I have no idea how I’ve survived so long. The last six months were rough, but things started to feel easier around March–then my aunt, my mother’s last living sibling, passed away at the end of April. My aunt and I were never really close, so I didn’t know how I’d feel at her funeral. I didn’t know if I’d break down and melt into the floor, or if I’d sit in the pew, stoic and numb as she lay motionless before me.

    On the day of the funeral, I dressed and met my cousin’s boyfriend outside to head to the funeral home. My cousin chose the same funeral home that I did for my mom, along with a white casket (also like Mom’s) with gilded handles that only differed from Mom’s due to its soft pink lining. I didn’t choose to have a funeral for my mom, and I’m glad I didn’t because it took me to another dimension when I saw my aunt’s body. She was a woman who had posed with me in front of my mom’s casket, as it rested on top of the grave. She was a woman who danced with me at the repass to release the nerves. She was a woman who battled breast cancer for nearly two decades.

    All of the losses made me appreciate life for all it’s worth. Yeah, there are dark days, and yes, there are trials, but life is a roller coaster. What goes up, must come down, and vice versa. I’ve learned that my crying spells will fade (though not completely disappear) over time. I believe I’ve made it this far because I allowed myself to feel and process my grief, I trusted God, and I sought counseling when things felt unbearable. It’s this kind of self-care that is conducive to survival. And as my mom’s only child, I must survive.

    My new philosophy is to live freely. Or as I now say, I like to practice “free livin’”. This means that I do what most pleases me, so long as it’s within my budget and not draining on my introverted spirit. I mean, I’m young, unwed, and childless. Why the fuck would I not enjoy the hell out of my life?! My mom would want me to go on. She and I always feared that I wouldn’t be able to keep it together, especially after what happened to Bobby Kristina Brown.

    I’ll keep free livin’ because I love my youthful freedom (what little I have left since COVID).

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  • The Devil Won’t Stop Me

    December 11, 2020
    Anxiety

    Yesterday was LONG.

    First, I thought my counseling session was going to start an hour before I’m scheduled to start work, but I was wrong. Through blurry eyes, I realized that my therapy sessions are bi-weekly instead of weekly. I guess I was too deep in grief a few weeks ago to pay attention to that important detail. I hope there’s nothing else I missed around that time.

    Second, the damn Internet experienced a two-hour outage while I was starting a time-sensitive task at work. I’m glad my mobile carrier offers unlimited data and tethering, or else I would’ve been screwed. Although I wasn’t anxious or sad about my mom while I waited to come out of the dinosaur ages, I still had anxiety about my day job. These are just a few of the anxious thoughts that swarmed my mind:

    What if the Internet remains unstable? Where can I safely get public wifi during a pandemic? Will I look crazy if I huddle outside my office building in a down coat to leech the wifi connection? Would the cost of commuting to the office outweigh the cost of twiddling my thumbs sans wifi?

    The Internet eventually came up again and I was able to take a nap after work. I didn’t let the devil win today and I never will.

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  • Negative Memories

    December 2, 2020
    Anxiety, Guilt, Physical and Emotional Symptoms
    Photo by Karolina Grabowska on Pexels.com

    Her final days haunt me
    Her cries for visits taunt me
    Emptiness wraps around me,
    Like the darkest of blankets.
    I am lost and alone.
    Why has she gone “home”?

    How do I make the images fade?
    How long till the pain ends?
    It seems there’s no escape.


    My mom’s last week of life was undoubtedly the hardest of my own. The image of her fragile, bedridden body is burned in my mind; forever ingrained are her cries which cued me to administer more pain medicine.

    The hospice medical team assured me that I could make no mistakes. I was told her liquid opioid dose was small, but articles I read about the opioid epidemic made me question how frequently it should be given. Overdosing my mom was the last thing I wanted to do. Were the doctors sure the medicine wouldn’t further damage her weak organs? Was she so close to transitioning that it no longer mattered?

    With all these worries on my mind, I waited until she audibly showed discomfort (usually 10-15 minutes after a new dose was due) before giving more medicine. I hope I didn’t increase her suffering. Why did she want to be home so badly? Did she know how sick she was? Did she understand the hospital doctors when they recommended a hospice? Why couldn’t those doctors do more for her so she wouldn’t require a hospice in the first place? I’ve had no medical training and felt ill-equipped to handle her late night restlessness and anxiety. It seems there’s nothing to remove those images of her final week from my mind. I hope therapy helps.

    It was only after reading about impending natural death that my anxiety ceased. The goal of palliative care is to provide as much comfort as possible to the dying. I hope my fears didn’t stop my mother from resting comfortably in her last days.

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  • No One to Worry

    November 27, 2020
    Despair, Guilt, Physical and Emotional Symptoms
    No One to Worry

    What’s the point of life if we’re all just gonna die? Why do we go to school? Why do we get jobs? Why do we date? Why do we have sex? Why do we get out of bed? Why does it all matter?

    Thanksgiving was yesterday and it was hard without my mom. She hadn’t cooked the last couple years because of her health issues, but this was my first holiday without her. I couldn’t stay in the apartment. I opted for a relaxing walk at a park down the street. I had to get out. I had to feel the sun and breathe.

    After my walk, I came home, cooked two eggs over hard and paired them with a homemade spinach and jalepeño salad. After I finished eating, I texted my half sister that I’d be over her place for dinner. I showered. Thoughts of Mom crept from the recesses of mind into the forefront when it dawned on me that she wouldn’t worry about me leaving after dark. There’s no one who worries if I’m out after the sun drops anymore.

    I was definitely a sheltered only child. Mom kept constant tabs on me and she’d have an anxiety freak out if she couldn’t. If I was out a half hour longer than expected, she’d blow up my phone to see if I was okay. I don’t blame her. So many young women get attacked, or even sucked into sex trafficking when they’re out alone. But now, there’s no one to worry about me. I could cease to physically exist, just as my mom did, and no one would know.

    I wish I sought more independence before she passed. I should’ve moved out and tried to get my own place. I wouldn’t have to learn to navigate society alone because I could’ve leaned on her while she was still alive. I think that’s what you’re supposed to do post-college. I think I failed young adulthood. When I came to live at home again after college, I felt like an old teenager, far from the self-sufficient woman I dreamed to become. I seeped back into my old life, my old room, and my old role as my mom’s baby. It’s a safe space that I never wanted to leave, yet I knew I’d have to one day.

    I never knew that day would come last month. Mom battled heart failure for four years. During her sickness, I learned that although the condition is inevitably progressive, it can be managed with serenity, a low sodium diet, and fluid restrictions. I also adapted to the waves of health–sometimes Mom would be okay for months, then she’d need to be hospitalized for excessive fluid in her feet or legs. I thought she was just going through a really bad wave a couple months ago, until the doctors explained that her fluid was not only in her feet–it was filling her lungs.

    I often wonder if I was a good daughter. Why did I let my COVID-19 quarantine depression push me to order fast food from Uber Eats? Why didn’t I practice more self control? Why did I ask Mom if she wanted food too? Why did she accept the food? Why wasn’t I selfish when I needed to be? Did I expedite her demise?

    No. I can’t think like this…

    It wasn’t my fault.

    She told me she had a year left in March, but I refused to hear her.

    Now I’m alone. And there’s no one to worry. 😔

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Kee Grieves

Living with Loss, Growing with Grace

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