Forever Love

I was 13 years old when I lived on the D train. It was my father who decreed that I was old enough to be excommunicated from my three siblings and sent out into the world to experience homelessness at such a young age. Fortunately, I survived and found a reason to live after I gave birth to my first son. I was 17 by the time Kareem and Mario were born. The three of us lived out of a huge black duffle bag with neatly folded and organized articles of clothing, diapers and toiletries. We shared our sleeping quarters with several friends whenever their parents gave us permission to spend the night. A couple of times we shared our sleeping quarters while entering and exiting train stations stops along the D train line. Once we slept huddled together on a park bench at Holcombe Rucker Park across the street from my childhood home before our rotation sleepovers and train station lullabies came to an end after four long years. I was 19 when I retired our black duffle bag at the top of our Bronx apartment closet in exchange for two twin mattresses and Smurf bedding in the summer of 1984. Kareem was turning four and Mario was turning two when the three of us were finally fortunate enough to unpack our black duffle bag permanently. We unpacked our neatly folded, organized articles of clothing and toiletries and immediately began to create memories that made us inseparable. Thirty eight years ago seems like yesterday as I sit in this moment, reminiscing over past memories of the three of us laughing and sharing our meals at our hexagon glass dining room table. Our threesome turned to four as I replaced Kareem and Mario's Smurf bedding with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle sheets, pillowcases and comforters and turned my bedroom closet into a nursery after Jamara Taylor was born. Over the years our bedroom walls changed colors as often as Jamara changed pajamas as the four of us grew out of closet space in our two bedroom apartment.

Kareem and Mario regained their much needed closet space after Jamara and I moved to Madison Avenue in 2004. Three closet systems and many articles of clothing later I am overwhelmed with thoughts of re-organizing my closet again. After I organized the two closets in these pictures in 2015 after Jamara and I moved upstate, attending my son Kareem's funeral was not part of my design. "Wasn't it enough that I managed to take a breath after my daughter Jlynn took her last one? Didn't I accept her death graciously; never complaining or blaming anyone for her life being snatched away from me in the twinkling of an eye after her ninth month? Haven't I re-organized enough closets as a single dear brown mother who overcame adversity in spite of unfathomable circumstances."

I’ve survived many closet re-organizations but this one doesn't seem fair. I understand that my children were never mine to keep but I am no longer willing to heal my broken heart in silence. My good friend Nathan, who’s known me since we were teenagers growing up in the Polo Grounds in Harlem NY said “Janice if there’s one thing I know about you, you always land on your feet…” Although Nathan's description of me is accurate, I am tired of having to land on my feet. I am tired of being labeled the strongest woman by everyone who knows me. I am not as strong as people who think they know me. Kareem's passing on April 5th of this year shifted something deep inside of me. His death has etched out a space in my soul that no one is able to fill. I am angry and I am sad and for the first time I am refusing to sit quietly in the shadows waiting for permission to not be okay. I am not okay. I was available to support the lives of family and friends after my youngest daughter Jlynn’s tiny heart stopped beating unexpectedly in her ninth month. Now 15 years later these closet photos are reminders of the role that my eldest son played in my life. It is cruel to have to survive him. I would have never made it this far without him. Kareem's birth was the catalyst that led me on my path to success. Without him I had nothing to live for. He was the beginning of my family and the end of my suicide attempts. He was the first to give me a grandson and the first to give me two more of them. His daughter is my only granddaughter and in his absence I don't know if I'll ever see her again. He was the first to graduate from kindergarten and grow into the man that made me proud as I cheered his name after he graduated from Rice High School. Kareem hated school....and told me that he completed school because of me. I had no idea that I had made such an impact in his life until he and I bonded again over our visits to see his doctor.

"Dear Kareem, I miss you deeply....you were my first love and the space where you "rest in peace" inside my heart will only be filled with thoughts of you...."

Love Mommy aka Ma Dukes

In 2015 after I'd sold my coop in Harlem to move far enough away from the painful memories I endured walking past Jlynn's empty crib. My closet photo at the top doesn't capture Jlynn's bright red box sitting on the shelf. Jlynn's box holds her yellow rubber ducky, orange and white striped pajama set, red and white sneakers, and her New Years toy that played the tune, "I wanna dance, dance, dance till the sun don't shine..." while it lit her eyes up as the bright lights flashed.

It's been 23 years since Jamara slept swaddled in her crib in her makeshift closet nursery. Her closet is now filled with pink storage containers, fancy shoes and a jewelry box mirror in the corner. Everything is organized for accessibility as accessibility contributes greatly to her success. She was at the hospital with me when her big brother needed her the most. The thought of him lying helplessly covered in very little skin, in excruciating pain could never erase the hero status that she held for her big brother from her eyes. I turned away sobbing quietly respecting the final moments that they shared knowing that hope was no longer on our side....

The bright red box that holds her baby sister Jlynn's most cherished items was taken down from my closet and re-organized shortly after the steel metal box that carried Jamara's big brother's body to the morgue disappeared from my sight. "There's got to be a morning after...." I thought, as the hum of my stainless steel refrigerator motor and my neighbor's dogs barking transported my thoughts back to a time where living this life minus two children was nowhere in my experience.... I used to cry over commercials that advertised sentimental content. Today I cry from a space within which no two people experience alike....

"Standing quietly by Kareem’s bedside, the hum of his heart rate monitor flat lining felt surreal. I wasn’t prepared to re-organize another closet....I wasn't prepared to cut or add a lock of Kareem's hair to his youngest sister's bright red box....I'm not taking my eldest son's death graciously like I did in the past...."

For 89 days I’ve been struggling to re-imagine a life where not needing to re-organize another closet is my reality. I miss my son. I miss living without access to the little boy who blessed me with his life 41 years ago and filled mine with such purpose and resilience after he was born. I wouldn’t have these photos of mine or my daughter Jamara's closets if it wasn’t for Kareem because I would not have survived my life without him as a teenager growing up alone in the world. Kareem’s birth gave my life meaning. His life insisted that I live beyond my broken family and childhood trauma for his sake. His presence in my life provided me with opportunities to build and establish a family foundation cemented in love. Having Kareem inspired me to dream beyond wishing to go back to my childhood home where neglect and abuse cradled my heart to sleep most nights. Today, I’m learning to balance my grievance with death, with my abundance of gratitude. I am allowing myself the grace to grow forward in stillness as I revise holiday celebrations, birthdays and family gatherings once again. I know that death is a part of life however, death sucks! Redefining my life reflects the state of "Saudade" that I experience daily.... "I will never get over the death of my first love....I will never get over the death of my fourth love...." What mother does?"