Donreece. I awake before the cock crows daily since the news of your departure. The mystery of your untimely exit, yanking at my heart strings begging for clarity. Why? How? What? Are the gnawing questions that linger. Unlike others, i cannot make peace…It is not fair, downright unjust!
Why would I never be able to awake with the comfort of one day visiting, smiling with you, reading the poetry that you call rap, but that I find more thoughtful, deeper, more sincere and heartfelt than any rapper’s words?
How could God, in his omnipotence and omniscience snatch your light from us, when you seem to have had so much more to be, to do, to give, to get from this life?
What could I/should I have done to intervene in this ordained destiny? Did I fail to pray hard enough? Couldn’t my God have warned me so that I could beg for more time? Time to visit, time to say bye, time to kiss your cheeks one last time for eternity.
Instead, all I have are mere memories. Memories of confidences shared and kept, laughter, tears, anger. Silly memories that are but mere replicas of what else we could have done-the thoughts we could share, the confidences we could cherish, the laughter we could double over in…just one last time.
Perhaps I would let you have that beer when you were 18 and I fussed with you about not drinking until 21. You were really mad at me for that one. You, wanting to flex your newly legal adult muscles, and me, wanting to preserve the beautiful innocence I saw in you through your book of poetry and the thoughts we shared.
Perhaps I could have been a more cool less serious big cousin. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps, all I have left are miserable ideas of what could have been, of how an angel so sweet whispered in a world without the ears to hear him. I heard you, I always have. But, this time, my ears were numb to your angelic whisper by the loud , bombastic noise of my own miserable life, so that my dreams and my heart were closed to our usual telepathic connection.
As I write to get these unforgiving thoughts onto paper, I feel your gentle forgiving whisper tell me: “Joujou, it is okay. I am well, I am free. Do not worry for me but take care of you.”
I sigh deeply with the thankful relief of the chance to say goodbye. Sleep well my dear cousin, sleep well. I am sure the Angels await the music of your voice, the testimony that is your poetry. Your poetry will now find its most attentive audience and this time, maybe, just maybe, you wont mind the music because the harps and the angelic hosts will be a soothing accompaniment to your words. Fly high baby cousin, SOAR like the celestial eagle you are.
Awwee..very touching…..well written…Michelle
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