2020 black boys children death faith parenting relationships

12

For all those that know me and for the new followers that don’t, Thursday, April 30th was the happiest day of my life. It was the day that my Munch turned 12. It was bittersweet as I constantly sigh and wish the clock would slow down. He’s growing too fast. One more day God. One more day.

I did a Zoom call and did this beautiful video for him.

My Munch turns 12.

It was a great and quick way to make him feel special in this pandemic. This pandemic has taken so much from him. His school. His friends. His playing outside. His Saturdays at church school. His activities with the Youth Group. His choir practices. His Sundays at church.

He’s adjusted well though. I can’t complain. We had no real plans for his 12th birthday as it wasn’t a big one. The next party was for 13. He wanted a family dinner and a new game for his Nintendo Switch. The pandemic took that for him.

So, I came up with the Zoom idea, ordered his video game, put up decorations, bought balloons at the Dollar Tree and ordered a customized cake. I was supporting small businesses. I wanted it to be special. It’s a party during the pandemic. I wanted him to see that people care and love him.

I started off with introductions and showed the video. We sang Happy Birthday and he blew out the candles on his cake. He acted shy with his friends on Zoom and stayed off the camera for most of the 20 minute call. He asked about a few people that were on the call that he didn’t know because he’d only met them once or had never met them. I explained that they were my friends that I’d met over the internet. He said “Mommy are all these people from the internet?” I laughed and said “Not everyone, but God’s allowed me to meet some great people.”

The call ended. Munch had an attitude. I asked what’s wrong? He said he was embarrassed by the video and said “Mommy, it’s like you don’t want me to grow up. You want me to stay little forever.” It’s true. I’m guilty of wanting to soak up every minute with this child. Every kiss. Every hug. Every laugh. Everything.

I told him, I know it seems that way but I’ll be better. I promised him that when he graduated from high school that I would have the biggest sign and yell the loudest. I told him that when I took him to his college dorm that I wouldn’t cry. I would help him set up his room and kiss him good bye because I knew he’d be fine. He said okay. He hugged me and grabbed his gifts and headed upstairs.

He had a couple of hours until he was going to be spending the rest of his birthday with his dad. I finished working for the day and called for Munch to come on down so we wouldn’t be late. We left the house and arrived at the halfway point between our residences and waited.

Munch saw his dad and stepmom pull up. He got out of the car and was so excited. He almost forgot to close the door. He yelled “Bye mommy, I love you and I’ll see you Sunday” and closed the door. He hopped in their car and left with a big grin on his face. I heard his dad say “Happy Birthday”.

The next morning, Munch’s dad died. The day after he turned 12.

We are shocked. We are…

We are coping.

Coping. It’s a safe word. I mean I don’t know how to explain this new reality we’re in.

Writing has always been my refuge. I’ve been distant and deserted my writing. Other things took me away from sharing my life. The good. The bad. The painful.  So, I decided to write where we’re at right now and tell you that through it all I still have faith.  Munch still has his faith.

God. The constant in my life when all hell seemed to be breaking around me and I felt like I was succumbing to the darkness. God pulled me out. He listened. I needed to remember to listen so this new change of circumstances wouldn’t let me forget that I still needed to pray and call on Him.

I prayed. I needed him to order my steps. Help me to understand that Munch and I needed him more than ever now.

Munch returned to me that evening. Broken and in pain. His dad was gone and he couldn’t fix it. He cried in my arms and said he missed him so much. I cried with him. I held him and tried to comfort him.

This unexpected change in our lives had thrown us a curve ball. You see I had just prepared myself to let my dad go. To literally stop putting his body through the multiple procedures to keep him alive. I signed the papers and held them and praying just a little bit longer. Accepting that it was inevitable but feeling like I’m failing my dad.

My ex’s death wasn’t expected. There are so many unanswered questions about how I’m supposed to help Munch through this. Am I strong enough? Will I be okay to help shape him into the man that he’s destined to be?

The thing is that I schedule many posts for a couple of groups that I’m moderator of on Facebook. In one of my groups I posted two messages on Friday and today. They were previously scheduled.

Friday, May 1st:

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Tuesday, May 5th:

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Was God sending me a message? I don’t know. But, I needed the reminder that I can do this alone. One day at a time.

I told Munch that we would get through this together. Each day will get more bearable. He will feel less overwhelmed and sad. It takes time.

And on Monday, May 11th at 11:30 p.m. my father died. I wept. How was I supposed to help Munch grieve his dad when I was grieving my own. It became too much. It was like the world was crushing me right now. I couldn’t breathe. I needed…

I don’t know what I needed. I knew that my dad was in a better place. I told you in November in some of my posts how sick he was. I had just authorized his hospice care that day. He didn’t even make it. I had to reimagine a world where there would be no more conversations with my dad and that my son couldn’t play his flute for his grandpa. But, I couldn’t tell him.

I called my therapist and she told me not to tell Munch right now about my dad. That because he lived out of town it was too much for him to handle. Soon, just not now.

We’ll get through this. We have no choice. We are strong.

Want to keep in touch? You can find me on social media at the following links: Twitter @mskeeinmd, Facebook page A Thomas Point of View and my Instagram page @mskeeinmd.

22 comments

  1. Tikeetha, I am very sorry to hear of your dads passing . I hope that Munch received my card and journal . I am praying that God sends the Holy Spirit the great comforter to massage your heart . Sending love to you and Munch ~

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks so much Dana. He did. We haven’t gone through all the cards and I told him to try to open a few each day because he’s overwhelmed. But, we just finished up the rest of the school work and we’re trying to move forward. Thank you so much for your kindness during this difficult time.

      Like

  2. Writing has always been cathartic for you. I have told you before that you are stronger than you believe. You know I have your back and your front and my shoulders are strong. You and Munch will be fine. Love you both.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Tikeetha, I’m sending all of the love and light I can, along with my condolences over and over again. Remember, none of us are ever really alone. You know exactly how to find me if you need anything ❤

    Liked by 1 person

  4. To echo Deborah, I’m so very sorry for your loss. I’m sorry for the loss that both you and Munch share. That’s a lot to deal with and to feel, for a 12 year old or a grown woman, but knowing that you have each other, I know you’ll manage to keep moving, even if at times the moving is hard. Do what you need to do to get through this…feel what you need to feel…and we’ll be waiting for you here, should you need us.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. I am so shocked and sad for you. I am obviously way behind on blogging but i hope you are all doing well. Between the virus and the deaths of GF and AA, I can’t imagine dealing with your family’s losses. Such a time of grief. Many blessings on you.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Tikeetha,
    I don’t know what to say, but I’m going to try.

    I was all set to comment on how much your baby has grown…

    But then, I had to force myself to continue reading after I saw the words that Munch’s Dad had died. My heart dropped for you guys— but most especially for Munch!

    Then to read that you were dealing with end of life issues with your father. I’ve been there with my mother so I know how hard that is. Of course, it’s been about 7 years now since her passing but sometimes I wonder if we held on to her too long when she might have been ready to go a little sooner.

    It seemed like she was holding on for us.

    Just know that you have a whole community of folks here for you and your dear son. May God continue to hold you and Munch.

    Much love and prayer,
    Gwin
    *Chile, 2020 is just too much!

    Like

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