Chronic diseases,  Chronic illness,  Katrina,  Life,  Memoir,  New Orleans,  Non-fiction,  Relationships,  Women

Grief of Loss: My Momo

Let me say this about grief.  My grandmother died on April 14, 2017; I think. Dementia, stokes while escaping Katrina and heartache killed her some years ago. I marveled on  how well I handled the grief.  After all, she was almost 85, loved the Lord, lived well and had a held out as long as she could to that shell of her body.  Intellectually I understood the inevitability of the end of life and seemed to handle it well. I did not attend her funeral, simply for reason being I did not want my last memory to be of her in a box, simply a void of what once was. I thought I had came to terms with losing her, I felt grief and all the emotions of it while she was here detoriating away.. But little did I know that grief had etched itself in my veins, arteries, deep in my bones and broke my body from the inside out.

Native of New Orleans, who endured 20yrs cruel Minnesota Cold, I decided at 42yrs old it was time to pack up my then 6yr old and come back to my roots. I am all things that would challenge the belief of growing up in New Orleans. I was a 16yr old teen mother of a preterm 2lb baby girl born with a disability. With the help of my mother who had her own struggles. We survived the obstacles laid before us. I'm the proud mother of three children with two failed adoptions, as well as a grandmother of three, two grandsons and a granddaughter. I survived two abusive marriages. I successfully ran a soulfood restaurant and catering company in Minnesota for 12 years. I started creating custom cakes after the murder of my beloved cousin Melvin Paul.  He survived Katrina only to go to Minneapolis six months later to be murdered over a parking spot dispute.  I put my all into my cake business over the years as House of Cakes was started right out of my house in honor of him. I thought by having the big house on the hill, a husband, having a family, foster/adoptive mother at that, being involved in all things that matter, plus having the funds to match would cure me in a sense; but most of it poisoned my heart and soul. I had a broken heart and I felt deep down the only way to repair it was to get back to my roots, my soul, my home,  myself, my New Orleans. I'm here and I'm loving it. Even being in the so called Blighted Area of New Orleans and not having all the financial and material security, I'm happy. I am determined that She, yes New Orleans is a woman is just like me; together we will overcome and will rise from all that tried to kill our spirit. Nothing like starting from the bottom and making your way back up! I'm down in the boot, but I know I have a nice floppy hat awaiting my destiny...

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