This website functions as a digital creative workshop. 

I will post creative work here and viewers can email me their responses. 

My newsletter is full of links, more writing, and more offers, so join if you enjoy the website. 

Today's Work: Remember, I Am Always There 

"Remember, I am always there," kept playing in his head. He couldn't shake it. It didn't matter what he attempted to do. She had been gone now for a few months. It seemed like everyone was too into their own pain to really comfort him. He also knew that they didn't have the skills or know how. Mental health education lacked in this area. Education, in general, lacked in this area. Kids wanted to be sports stars not doctors. Parents were getting their kid involved in anything they could in hopes that they would make it big for themselves--big name in the little city, big name out in the world. It gave the community a sense of pride. He had already gone down that road. He had already been involved in the rivalry game talks. He and his friends had already been a part of the barbershop talk around who is the best and who is going to make some noise this year. Who is a history maker. And that's what this place was about. It was about history and working hard, but the spirit of that was so dominate yet reserved for a few. Others saw the place as limiting. A small town with no bigger dreams, just plans to add more stores, more places to shop. People came here to spend money, not make it. This was a place that thrived on hospitals and retirement homes. Some of the younger people get involved in politics, but it's just something to do. They know that the good ol' boys will continue to hold their seats. And no one moves or makes much fuss. They know the town is quiet, but also know that those good ol' boys will make it an issue for anyone who takes issue with them. Confederate soldiers are memorialized here in story, statue, and street names. Everybody gets along as long as the power structure and the city influence hasn't gone too far left, and that's not just politically speaking. 

"Remember, I am always there." He finally stopped starring at her empty bed. She had fought there for years. He turned to walk away. His mind began to race with all the other things he needed to do. Empty out the house, give this company a call, prepare to move, make sure this report is turned in, stop living in sin with this lovely woman, stop masking the pain with drugs and alcohol. He had to remind himself that it cannot always be someone else's fault. He cannot always fight someone in his mind to make him feel better and give him purpose. But that's what he has done. Whether it's the devil or violence among the youth, he would do anything to give himself a reason for still being here. He ended up driving to the usually empty mall. He often found himself in stores and just staring off, or paranoid that people were talking about him and her. How he came too late. How he was irresponsible. How he was crazy and they were surprised he came to help. All these different thoughts rushed him at once. "What's up, my boy?" He turned to see where the voice was coming from. It was a friend from the gym. They stood and talked for a moment. Even though his friend asked him how he was doing, he blanked and couldn't answer. "I know it's been hard since you lost her," he said, "and anytime you need anything, just hit me up. You can come by the house and just chill. Just take a break from everything." He heard him say that and gave a smile. He would love to actually share space with someone who he thought could understand, but that was jut it: he thought they could understand. People were just being nice or noisy. There is nothing else to do in this town. 

"Remember, I am always there." He started to think that maybe Jesus was messing with his brain. He had heard so much about Jesus in his life. He felt like Jesus was this figure that so many people placed their hope and faith in to give them strength to keep going in this hard life. He had done it himself. He still had an inch of faith buried under his pain. He just didn't see Jesus except in his imagination, the same place now that he kept hearing "remember, I am always there." If these figures only showed up in memory and imagination, what was he supposed to do with that? He wasn't the artsy type. He wasn't going to make them into paintings or films. The arts had been another area in his life that he didn't want to go into. He remembered the one time he tried to do art, his girlfriend at the time asked him if he was feeling alright and noticed that he had been looking differently at her brother. It was at that point, he put two and two together, felt disrespected, and never talked to her or did art again, but he liked it. He remembered seeing Jesus glowing in paintings, seemingly being there for his followers through portraits. He was going to have to wait like everyone else to see if Jesus was legitimate or not, or if his name has been used for nothing more than to get into people's heads and mess with their psychology. He wanted Jesus to be real so badly. He couldn't accept just losing her like that. And all he could do psychologically was say she's in a better place. He didn't know that and felt like an idiot, but if God said there was an afterlife, then there was an afterlife. If Jesus came back from the dead, then he came back from the dead, and that offered hope because it's true...he knew that it sounded crazy, but he needed something to believe in. He needed something to make him feel like it's all okay because God said so and he's our creator and he loves us. And all the bad things he has done like be irresponsible and not give enough effort to save her will be washed away in the blood of Jesus. He needed that message, or else there was no redemption. There was no second chance. There was no hope. He had already killed his faith to the point that it is a miracle that he had any left. And the little bit he had was enough to make it to an online support group. 

"My father wasn't there for me. He was out chasing women and just being an absent dad. Are there wounds from that? Yes. Do I forgive him for that? I do my best everyday. See, when you've been hurt that deeply, it's hard to shake it. When you let church leaders and pastors play with your son's no no zone, there is pain there. I still can't shake that he let let happen." He stared at the screen amazed by the transparency of the guy sharing. Would he be that real? He couldn't shake the thought that the guy should have blamed himself for being touched. Should have blamed the pastors for doing it, not his dad for not being there. "Thanks for sharing, sir. Would anyone else like to share? This is a safe space. And if you're just joining us, tonight we are discussing loss and how that has changed you." He felt like it was the perfect time to speak up, but his mouth wouldn't open. He wouldn't unmute his microphone. "I'll go next...Hi everybody, my name is Robert. All praise to Allah for me being here. And I want to talk today about how I lost my mind messing around with Christianity and all that confusion over there, that undercover fraternity--at least how it's played out in this town, and I found myself again after listening to the prophet and following the ways of Allah..." He always wondered how people of other faiths survived in this town with a church on every corner. He knew that the churches were actually businesses. They weren't making the community better and safer. They were representing virtue and moral action, but in reality, were raking in untaxed contributions and thanking God for their blessings. He was interested to hear what the man had to say. Suddenly, his eyes began to water and his hand began to shake. He closed the laptop right as the guys was saying, "Now, can Isa or Jesus save you? I..." Silence. He sat staring at the wall with tears flowing from his eyes. Nothing he would do would ever bring her back. Nothing he would pray. Nothing he sacrificed for. The pain of her absence had caused him to become a person he didn't know he could be. He tried to alchemize the pain for good, and maybe he had some success, but at this moment, he couldn't see it. All he felt was a bitter, sharp pain in his chest as he wrestled with the fact that he had to keep going and no action was going to take his pain away. As he stared at the wall, his mind flooded with memories and voices; outside of his window, a cat stared at him. It licked its paw, but never took its eyes off of him. His phone started playing "Don't Stop Believing"--it was an alarm. It was time for work. Would he make it in today? He already missed last night, and management doesn't really take kindly to mental health being the reason employees can't show up. The town hadn't gotten there yet. Really, no where had truly gotten there.

Flashback

As he rode up and down the hill, he saw family members coming and going from the house with tears in their eyes. One of his aunts was screaming as if she had witnessed a murder. He was hopeful, no matter what was happening. He knew that his grandmother had come to stay with him and his mother for a few days so she could get some rest. He peddled and peddled, still unconcerned with the tears and screams. And then, he stopped peddling. His mom was telling him to go inside and see his grandma. He was happy to do so, but as he walkied through the living room, the tears and long faces finally got to him. He had shed a tear himself and wasn't sure why. When he made it to the back room, his grandmother was lying still on the bed. Her eyes peacefully closed. His uncle was standing beside her. He looked at the young man and smiled hesitantly. "She has gone on to be with the Lord," he said. He opened a piece of paper. It was a letter that she had written before she went to meet the Lord. "Oh, don't cry for me child. I know life is crazy, but don't cry for me. Remember, I am always with you. And the Lord gon do you good." After he finished reading it, he looked over at her motionless body, leaned over and gave her a final hug and kiss on the cheek. The young man wished he hadn't rode his bike so long. If he'd known she was going to go meet the Lord today, he would have come in and talked a little longer. 

Share Your Feedback

Email your feedback on the creative work. Where do you see it going, what came up for you? Email and let me know!