Big B, Big F.

Whenever I'm down, I call on you my friend 

A helping hand you lend, in my time of need so I 

I'm calling you now, just to make it through 

What else can I do? Won't you hear my plea?

Friends may come and friends may go--

But you should know that 

I've got your back, it's automatic 

So never hesitate to call 

'cause I'm your sister and always for ya 

and I don't know. . . 

I don't know what I'd ever do without you 

From the beginning to the end 

You've always been here right beside me 

So I'll call you my best friend 

Through the good times and the bad ones 

Whether I lose or If I win 

I know one thing that never changes and 

That's you as my best friend

~ Brandy, "My Best Friend"

____________________________________________

I remember my third day of medical school well. Well, not the full day of it but one part in particular. I'd just parked in the lot next to our academic building and had slung my backpack over one shoulder. Since it was the start of the year, I wanted to hustle inside and get a comfortable seat in the lecture hall before it got too crowded.

Yep.

Like always, I was walking fast. But this time, since it was that point at a new place where I was just making my mark, I wanted to be early. With blinders on, I picked up my pace. It surprised me when, despite how quickly I was trucking, someone would decide to sidle up next to me, match my pace and make small talk.

"Hey there! I'm Lisa," the person panted.

Mid-stride, I swung my head to the side and noticed this woman walking lock step with me. I hadn't seen her on the first day of orientation but something about the way she introduced herself made me immediately know that she was just as new to our medical school as me.

"Oh, hey. I'm Kimberly," I replied. I pulled my strap over onto my shoulder and then reached for her hand, legs still moving the entire time. "I'm sorry. I'm just trying to make sure I get a decent seat."

"Oh, no problem. I'm a fast walker, too." Her voice was hi-pitched and her tone was familiar. I noticed that immediately. That and the fact that, like me, she had a smattering of freckles over her nose and cheeks. She was smiling at me in this warm and easy way. Like an auntie or a neighbor welcoming you into her home for a slice of homemade pie.

"Nice to meet you, Lisa," I finally replied.

Swiftly, she spoke again. "I went to Hampton. Where'd you go to school?"

"Tuskegee." I took a few more steps and then looked back at her. "Hey, Tuskegee and Hampton! We've got the Booker T. Washington connection, right?" I chuckled and offered her a high five. Lisa obliged me, quickly affirming that she knew the association between her fellow Hampton alumnus, Booker T. Washington , who would go on to later found my alma mater in 1881.

She was wearing her sorority jacket. This isn't such an unusual thing for folks who graduated from historically black colleges. The most striking thing perhaps was that it was the first obvious thing we didn't have in common. Lisa was an AKA unlike myself, a recent initiate of Delta Sigma Theta. "AKA, huh?" I feigned a look of disapproval as we continued up the path.

"And proud of it!" she giggled. "Delta?"

"You know it!"

"Mmm. Some of my closest friends have that problem." We both shared a collective laugh as we took the last few steps into the Basic Sciences Building. We diligently found our seats in the freshman lecture hall and started what would be the first of many days just like this.

And the rest, they say, is history. That was the day that Lisa Walker became my best friend. And I guess I say that because every memory after that gets blurry and runs all together for me. That walk from the parking lot has always stood out because it really is impossible for me to get my mind around the time at Meharry or beyond where she wasn't just that--my best friend. It's a title she holds to this very day.

Yep.

Now. As far as close woman-friends go, I am deeply blessed in that area. Without question, my collection of "Ruths" (as I call them) sustains me. And you've heard me speak of that very idea of women being there for women and how important that is. Regardless of marital status, age, sexual orientation or socioeconomic position, women need women. And me? I've been fortunate to have them surrounding me.

Yes, I have.

But a best friend is different. You grow up together and grow through things together. You become uniquely vulnerable to one another. The spinning merry-go-round of joy, pain, sunshine and rain is one that you try your best to cling onto together without getting thrown off. And with best friends you do cling on. Or you get right back on the second you're flung into the sandbox. You mature and learn that love and acceptance are found there like nowhere else. That being you is just fine. Especially with her. Your best friend.

Do I have some other super-duper tight-girl besties? Of course I do. And so does Lisa. But it's weird. There's this unspoken thing between those who enter this kind of friendship that is its own kind of special. Separate from what I share with my blood sisters or my mom. Just. . .I don't know. . . .different. And I guess any woman who knows of this kind of friendship is nodding her head and understanding. Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, having this kind of best friend doesn't undercut or minimize other friendships. In fact, quite the contrary. That kind of friendship makes you a better friend. It keeps you in check and teaches you loyalty.

At least that's what I think.

And you know? Not every woman will know of this. That is, a real, true, bona fide best friend. A Big B, Big F best friend, as my sister Deanna used to call it. Some have "good girl friends" and that's it. Or they're best friends with their spouse--which is fine--but again, different. So no. Not every woman can say she has a ride-or-die, undeniable, go-to BFF. But what I'm saying is that I do. And I'm so, so glad.

Damn, I am.

Anyways. Stay with me. I'm going somewhere.

Okay. So last month, I heard some awful news. A college friend and sorority sister had a sudden death in her home. A massive pulmonary embolism which the doctor in me recognizes as a very ruthless thing to have. What's even worse is that her own mother found her and tried to do CPR. She had two daughters, countless friends and was simply an amazing human being. She truly was.

Sassy and quick-witted. Fiercely loyal and ready to have your back. Thoughtful and attentive.  Her name was Jackie and I'm so glad to have known her. I really am.

Man.

JoLai was the one who told me. She abruptly cut into what had been a lively phone chat and blurted out that she'd just heard it via text message. With emotion in her voice, she quickly hung up and left me to wrestle with that bombshell.

Shit.

Of course, I felt all the things any person feels when hearing of the untimely passing of a peer. But now, my feelings always have this new complexity since Deanna's death. I cried immediately upon hearing the news. Jackie and I didn't talk much so I admit that I wept for her mother first. Then for her daughters. I knew that for her mother, a resilient and strong woman, this unnatural order of events would introduce her to a level of pain unlike any other. I'd seen it up close and personal in my own parents. And that? That broke my heart. And breaks my heart. Because no mother should have to attend her child's funeral.

Nope.

And so. I looked on social media at the beautiful words and photos posted in her memory. Friend after friend reminisced on special moments and priceless memories shared with her in school and beyond. I loved it all, particularly because Jackie was not only my friend but Deanna's close friend. The pictures of Jackie that started popping up often included her friend, my sweet sissy, too. All of it warmed my heart.

It sure did.

But then, as I clicked through post after post, something grabbed me by the neck and squeezed the air out of me. A simple, yet sorrowful post that read:

"I have to say this is the worst day of my life. I feel like someone just ripped my heart out." 

And that was it. No photos. No hashtags. No nothing. But those words, coupled with the knowledge of who wrote them, invoked a sympathy so deep that I had to close my computer and drop my head into my hands.

Those were the words of her best friend.

Shit.

No. Not her close friend. And no, not her very, very, dear friend. This was her Lisa. Her 3am phone call. Her bridesmaid that didn't even need to be asked or assigned since it was a given. The peanut butter to her jelly. The hip to her hop. Any who knew Jackie, knew that she and Joye, her best friend, went back like car seats. Not only had they attended Tuskegee together--they both came there after transferring from Syracuse where they'd met as freshmen. Years, miles, husbands, children, health issues and anything else that could potentially tease them apart never had a chance. These two were like peas in a pod, sisters from another mister. And you know? It was just one of those things that everyone knew. Jackie and Joye were best friends. Big B, Big F friends. And like Lisa and me, I doubt that either of them could ever remember a time that they weren't.

Nope.

And so. After reading Joye's words, it dawned on me what she, too, had lost. I imagined the terrible, raw and gaping hole that had to be throbbing in Joye's chest--or the chest of any person who has just lost THAT kind of friend. Their Big B, Big F Best Friend. Especially one with a personality as big and alive as Jackie's.

Damn.

Of course, my thoughts constantly went to her mother and her two girls. But closely tethered to that would be this relentless, gnawing sympathy for her Big B, Big F best friend.

Yeah.

On and off, I also had these fleeting thoughts of what it would feel like to hear such news about Lisa. The thought made me so immediately nauseous and tearful that I'd do my best to think of something else. Once I even told Lisa all about Jackie and Joye and my morbid thoughts. I could tell that she, too, had never even thought of what that must be like.

Sigh.

When Deanna passed away, I was so consumed with the grief of my family that this thought never crossed my mind either. That is, this specific idea of what Deborah, Deanna's very best friend must have been feeling back then. Or what she feels to this very day.

Hmmm.

So I guess that's what I'm reflecting on this evening. The blessing of living into your adulthood with a Big B, Big F best friend--one with whom you become so close that the whole world knows it, especially the two of you. You know? I wish a Lisa or a Jackie or a Deanna or a Deborah for every woman. Because even when you are surrounded by throngs of amazing friends, having that Big B, Big F one is like climbing into bed with freshly laundered Egyptian cotton sheets.

Comfort on a whole 'nother level.

So yeah, despite how painful the thought is, I have let myself think about what it means for someone to lose that person to death. I try to get my head around it but honestly can't. Instead I've just decided to let it remind me of how blessed I am to have my Lisa. I appreciate how much better we make each other and how much we've grown together through the years. I love that we give one another space for other close friendships. Sometimes they overlap, sometimes they don't. And with your Big B, Big F friend? It's all good.

Yup.

The older I get, the more I see. And I'm okay with expanding my view to include the suffering of others. Today, it includes that of a best friend who is trying to navigate a world that suddenly doesn't include hers.

So to Joye and Deborah and any other Big B, Big F friends who know this unusual grief, I'm so, so sorry. No, I don't know what it feels like to lose a best friend. But I do know what if feels like to have one. That I know for sure.

Yeah.

***

Now playing on my mental Vine.



And my mental iPod. . .

Diamonds in the sky.

 Shine bright like a diamond
Shine bright like a diamond

Find light in the beautiful sea
I choose to be happy
You and I, you and I
We’re like diamonds in the sky

~ Rihanna

____________________________

Someone spoke words that hurt my feelings today. They didn't mean to, I'm sure. And I really shouldn't care, right? But still. I am human and those words were hurtful.

Simple enough, those words were. Three words to be exact.

"She's in denial." 

Denial. You know, that first stage of grief that Kubler-Ross described in her stages of grief. The one that can either be the "this did not happen!" kind of denial or the "I'm doing fine!" kind of denial. I suppose the idea is that I'm in the latter of these two.

Let me be clear. I feel certain that this person did not mean to be anything other than concerned. I also think it probably wasn't meant for my ears but somehow, like things sometimes do, it found its way there.

"She's in denial." 

Well. For the record, I am fully aware of what has happened. I recognize that heart disease is a ruthless thief and that my family is not immune to it's sticky, prickly grasp. Not even the youngest of my family. My eyes are wide open to the fact that my sister, Deanna, is no longer a phone call away from me and that she will not, under any circumstances, be coming to ring my doorbell or pick up my children. I am aching in the deepest parts of me from knowing that my parents have to know what it's like to call funeral homes asking if the effing death certificate is ready yet and I'm feeling frustrated as hell when I haven't managed to intercept such a task and do it myself before they get to even think of it. Not because I'm in denial. But because it's the right thing to do. And because I realize fully that what my mother and my father are going through is in no way the same thing that I'm going through. Hell no, it's not.

That I know for sure. And dammit, if they can lift their heads, I know I can. Thankfully, I haven't had to coach myself to do that, thanks to my faith.

"She's in denial."

I texted JoLai and told her how I was feeling about that. She replied:

"I'm sure a lot of people think that about us."

I stuck that on a mental post it note.

Here's what I know now:  Grief looks very different to different people. A lot plays into that. Faith. Regrets. Unresolved beefs. And just who you are.

And let me tell you something--I've found out a LOT about who I am in this situation.

I am a woman of faith. I am. I am not this uber-strong person with emotions of steel. I have cried when I want to cry. I have buried my face in a pillow and shook until I was exhausted. But every single time, no matter how much I try otherwise, I am reminded of how blessed I have been in this life and that DEANNA was a tremendous part of that.

Can I just unpack for a minute? I'm sorry but I need to.

This is what faith is all about. To me, it isn't about how many rituals you can follow or whether or not you have a big shiny crucifix hanging from your necklace. It isn't about your denomination or how many men or women are leading your church. It's about the quiet times, the alone times. The personal moments where it's you and your faith and nobody else. Not a clanging cymbal or a fast clapping choir or a Holy Ghost filled preacher standing in a pulpit. When it's all said and done, it's about a personal trust and relationship with God. Period.

So, for me, this is what I call a faith walk. Evidence of things that eyes have not seen.

But there are some things that my eyes have seen.

Like, my life so far. You know? My life is a good life. I have a fantastic husband with whom I am madly in love. Two amazing sons, one of whom jumped up and hugged my waist after I finished eulogizing my sister on Saturday and the other of whom repeatedly gave me thumbs ups from his seat on the front row complete with a six year-old perforated grin. I have parents who have not only loved me and my siblings unconditionally, but who also had the resources to help us succeed at nearly everything we tried. I have scores of very good friends and a close circle of very best friends who would stand in front of traffic for me on any given day.

But wait--there's more.

I have the job of my dreams teaching medical students and residents and caring for unforgettable human beings at historic Grady Hospital every single day. I have been extremely successful in my career, have been on CNN more than five times, local television too many times to count, and even in the freaking Oprah magazine. I have talents that I am not only aware of but that I strive to use daily. And those talents have been recognized by others.

I'm grateful for that. And not in denial about this being a big, big deal to have so many blessings stacked up on one person.

Still don't believe me?

My kids go to an amazing school in an amazing neighborhood. My home is one that if it weren't the one I lived in, that I'd probably drive by rubbernecking at each day wishing it were. But it is. Mostly because my husband has also been successful in his career as an entrepreneur and, despite the wretched economy, has still managed to provide the majority of what we have. I can fit the clothes I wore in medical school twenty years ago, I like how I look and I like who I am. I even have the world's greatest hair stylist who never, ever messes up my haircuts and who happens to also give kick ass advice.

And. My siblings and I grew up nurtured and close. We had spats here and there but have always found a way to stay together. We even got to all be at Tuskegee University at the same time--excelling in four completely different departments and sharing the same college memories. All four of us completed terminal degrees--a Doctor of Veterinary Medicine, two Juris Doctors and one Doctor of Medicine. All products of public schools in inner city Inglewood and of one household.

Sure. This is a testament to our parents, yes. But more--in my opinion--it's ALL God's favor and a part of a bigger plan. That's a lot to be thankful for, don't you think?

It's funny. No one accused me of being in denial when I woke up to all of the blessings I just listed. No one shook their head and tsk-tsked me, feeling confused or worried then. But see, to me, all of that is far more astounding than my attitude during this walk through the valley since November 15.

Yeah.

There's this psalm I like that includes these words:

"Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts."  - Psalm 139:23

 Even though it's one of my favorites, this psalm always kind of scared me. Now? I'm no longer as afraid of that charge as I used to be. I'm not.

Perhaps some don't see my anxious thoughts, but He does. He also knows my heart.
 
Sigh. So what am I supposed to say? I haven't done this before, so I'm just doing what feels right. I am very, very effing sad that my beloved sister is not here on earth. That's true. And missing her sucks. But my faith, blended with the kindness of others and the closeness of my family, has propped me up and made me stronger. Stronger than what seems even logical.

Logical to me. Logical to most.

But faith walks aren't so much about logic, you know?

Look, man. All I can do is surrender to where I'm at. Where I am is in a place that is saying, "I didn't question the heaping helping of blessings I've received and continue to receive--how dare I question this?" I've asked God to show me what to do and to order my steps. This is all that you are seeing, hearing and reading.

That might change at some point. But you know what? It might not. Only time will tell. But it still kind of hurts to be psychoanalyzed in the meantime.

Yeah.

One other thought--perhaps this process could be helping someone else. Giving them a different idea on what grief looks like. I'm not doing this for that reason. Instead I'm just trying to process all of this in the best way I know how. For me, that involves writing and sharing with a community of thinkers.

And I do realize that my community of thinkers do not all share my faith perspective, but that's okay. I think seeing different perspectives of faith is good for all of us. Like, when my friend Lisa B. asked me today what it meant when she saw hands reached for the sky during gospel songs and during prayers at Deanna's memorial service. And when I asked her about the swiftness of the funerals in Judaism and how best to support her when she sat shiva after her mother departed.

So we live. We grieve. We love. We learn.

It's all we can do, you know? In the way that works best for us. And me, I've never fit into any standard box or cookie-cutter version of how to be. So I'm feverishly writing and I'm letting all kinds of music minister to my soul from people like JT and Rihanna and Maxwell and CeCe Winans and Daryl Coley. I'm doodling on a pad of paper while talking to friends and I'm walking through my (dream) neighborhood meditating or praying while feeling those crunching leaves under my feet. I've been doing all of those things and somehow, through it all, still shining like diamonds in the sky.

Yeah.

Uggh. I'm rambling. I know. But I warned you that I would need you for this. So thank you, okay? I mean that.

Here's the reality:

Three weeks and four days ago, I held the phone as my mother turned onto my sister's street and discovered her car parked and unmoved. Three weeks and four days ago, I stood outside in my sister Deanna's driveway holding my brother as we both collapsed to the asphalt and clung to the back of my mother's head as she did the same. Three weeks and four days ago, I picked up my cell phone and called my father to tell him that, I think, maybe his daughter might not be alive and to please brace himself. And three weeks and four days ago, we found out for sure that she had transitioned from her earthly body and that she would no longer be with us in the way that she had for nearly all of our lives.

And since that time, a world of people have prayed for us, thought of us, and sent that energy out into the universe for our parents and all of our family to grab. We have walked through fire and rain and will for a while. We have clung to each other and to our faith. And mostly, we are better than people would expect.

Is that called denial?

Hmm.

I just realized that it doesn't even matter. It just is.

***
 Happy Monday. Again.

Now playing. . .love this song . . . .thanks Biz.