Call me a Beggar

Call me a beggar, but mister could you spare me some time?
I want to hold my babies and read them sweet nursery rhymes.
I want to swing them on the porch and listen to the soft wind chimes.
Just to tell them I love them again, I'd trade you my very last dime.

Please! Please! My precious little boy has not yet turned two.
He needs me to clothe him, feed him, and tie his little shoes.
He needs me to teach him colors, and shapes, and his ABC's too.
Please! Please! What must I say to receive mercy from you?

My baby girl just turned eight, and is a big girl, I know.
But who else can give her all the love that I show?
When she's sick or when she's hurting, to whom will she go?
Tell me, where will she turn when life pulls her to and fro?

Please! My parents, they need me. I am their only daughter.
Don't you know how this will crush them? My sweet mother, my dear father.
All those spankings, scoldings, and groundings really were no bother,
For my life without my parents would've been like an ocean with no water.

I wish I could tell my kid brother how much he means to me,
And how he has changed my life everyday since I was three.
I wish now we were kids again, skipping rocks and climbing trees.
I'd love to go back to fighting over the seat on daddy's knee.

Won't you change your mind? Give me another chance?
I want so badly to live my life, please don't take it with no second glance.
Think of all my loved ones, all my cousins, uncles and aunts.
Is there anything I can say to unlock your murderous trance?

My family will fight for me, you are building your own tomb.
They will fervently seek justice, I swear you will be doomed.
The things you've done to me are only earthly wounds,
Just know that I will forever walk with my Heavenly Father soon.

You've seen the inner workings of this heart of mine,
So, now mister tell me, could you please just spare me some time?

The darkest day

My left hand took hold of my cousin, Devon, my right held tightly to my cousin, Laken. All the family ahead of us shuffled slowly through the big white double doors. The gap between the three of us standing side by side and the people ahead began to lengthen. We had to move forward, there were people behind us waiting to come in, but it seemed all of us were frozen in place. Then slowly, without saying a word, we all put one foot forward in unison. We moved together, as one, into that funeral parlor. This was the only way we would survive the day. The only way we could prepare ourselves for the sight we were about to see. I stared at the carpet, took notice of the color, but I had could muster no opinion of it. It was neither pretty nor ugly, neither bright nor dull, neither boring nor interesting; it just was. We took a step. I focused on the shoes of the people in front of me. Mostly black ones, some were brown, a few scattered white ones. We took a step. I gradually moved my eyes up to catch a glimpse of some black and white art work framed in what looked like an old window frame. It was familiar, I'd seen the curve of those lines before, I recognized the shape of the sketched flowers. It was Marriah's handiwork, crafted by the hands that lie still in that casket. We took a step. Then I finally saw that there were flowers. So many flowers. So many colors. We took a step. Bodies swayed from left to right as the line to see her shortened; we got closer and closer. Someone moved a step away from the person beside them, leaving an open space, and between the sea of torsos I saw her face. Eyes closed. Face so still. Her pretty brown hair laid in soft curls around her face and rested on the pillow. And then someone moved again, and my line of vision was blocked. I thought, Oh God, please, I can't go forward. I can't handle this. I can't move ahead. I don't want to go up there, I don't want to see her up close. I don't want to have to tell her goodbye. But nevertheless, we took a step. Kleenexes were being stuffed into my hands from all angles. I hadn't even realized I had started crying. Truthfully though, I guess the crying had never really stopped. We took a step. And then we were there. Our chain of hands broke apart, and we filed behind one another to tell her goodbye. I could reach out and touch the oak casket, smell the red roses that were laying on top. I saw the cute black and white polka dotted dress she wore, saw the rings on her fingers, and the necklace around her neck. I took notice of the shortened state of her fingernails; she had never really been a girly girl. She had hands that spoke of hard work, small and petite, but strong. Her face looked serene, like I was about to wake her from sleeping. Serene, but not quite right. It wasn't quite Marriah. Not really Doozie, I told myself. I sobbed as I clung to Aunt Tiny; her poor, tired body had to nearly hold me up. My tears soaked into her sweater. "She's so beautiful," I managed to say. She lifted me up to where we were face to face, and said you know I can just hear her saying "Momma, will you please stop rubbing my arm?" I gave a broken laugh. I was supposed to be strong for them, and here she was the one trying to comfort me? I fell out of her arms and into Uncle Keb's. I don't recall now what I said to him, or if I even said anything at all. I'm sure "I love you" was mumbled in there somewhere. I stumbled away, struggling to see because my vision blurred with tears. I saw a figure dressed in all black reach out and graze my arm, as if to comfort me, but I shied away. I don't know why; I obviously needed comfort. But at the time I was no longer sad. Fury raced like fire through my veins. It was so severe that it shocked me. For days, all I had felt was pain, sorrow, regret, and grief. Angry tears sprang from eyes and ran hot down my face. How dare someone do this to her! How dare someone do this anyone! I found a chair in the corner and sat while fierce sobs escaped my throat. My hands were balled into enraged fists in my lap, balled so tightly that my fingernails bit into the palms of my hands. My teeth were noisily chattering; I was livid! And then, my momma was there hovering over me. Her tears mingled with my own and landed on the lap of my black dress. I had to bite my tongue to keep from screaming. "I'm so mad, Momma! I'm so mad!" I tried to whisper, because I knew this wasn't the appropriate place to shout out. "I'm so mad, Momma!!!" My breathing was choppy because I was sobbing uncontrollably, and I knew that what I was saying was surely not coming out as quietly as it should. She held me and soothed me, as I clenched and unclenched my fists. She rubbed my arms and kissed my head and patted my hair. She tried her best to smother out the furious fire burning wildly within me. Eventually, my pulse slowed, my teeth became still, and my hands laid motionless in my lap. She had calmed me. There's nothing like a mother's touch. Then they called the family all back into the room for prayer and to view a slide show of pictures that had been put together. The pictures flashed on the wall directly above where Marriah lay, as if to show the stark contrast between her face in past pictures and her face as it was now. She was so alive! So full of life! They showed pictures that made us smile, some that made us laugh, some that made us sigh, and many that made us cry. About half way through, Mason made his way to the middle of the floor. He saw his momma up there in those pictures and just started grinning and giggling! He pointed at her and kicked his little feet. He was so happy to see her, like he had been searching for her for days...as I'm sure he had been. Payton tried to hide her little eyes; I wish she could understand that it's okay to hurt. Shortly after our private family moments, they opened back up those big white double doors to the public, and tons of family and friends began to pour in. I sat in the corner and watched as an endless line of people marched in to pay their respects. Whether it was grief, pity, or a combination of both, emotion could be seen on each stranger's face. The time came too soon to say our final goodbyes. We were lead in another prayer, and before I was ushered out, I went back to Marriah. I told her I loved her and reached down to touch her arm. That's when reality shook me to my core. She was so cold. Too cold. She felt just like snow, but without the wetness. But, after a while I realized the cold was appropriate. That her being like a field blanketed with a new snow was right. She was pure now, she was all white and clean. She wouldn't have to suffer anymore with any of life's dirty smudges or muddy footprints. She would feel no more pain, no more worry, no more anger, hurt or sadness.
I love you Doozie, and I miss you so much. I'm so sorry that I didn't spend more time with you. I'm so sorry that I didn't reach out to you more. I'm so sorry that I wasn't there for you as much as I should have been. I will always regret the time I had but did not spend with you. I promise to take up time with your babies. I promise I will help to raise them to remember, know, and love you. I promise to make myself an active part of their lives. Your memory will live inside me forever. I will love and remember you always.

One indifferent mind, coming right up!

The media has desensitized us to violence. We've even paid them fortunes to do so. We watch war movies with bombs, blood, missiles, and terror. Our kids and teens play video games where the winner is the one who has the most kills. We watch cop dramas with drive by's, and westerns with bloody shoot outs. We don't bat an eye at the whizzing bullets on the screen, we don't cringe away from the holes they leave in their victims. Just last week, I myself couldn't wait for the season finale of my favorite show. It was a two-hour long violence driven event in which a crazed, grief stricken gunman went on a killing spree. My eyes were glued to the TV, my pulse sped as I focused on the drama. I saw a girl being shot in the head. They zoomed in to show the tiny but deadly hole in her pretty face as the blood pooled around her petite body. I didn't look away. I didn't change the channel. My heart raced to match the intense suspense as the slaughter ensued. Now just a few days later, the memory makes me sick. It makes my heart slow and sag with disgust and anger. I've seen Robinhood shoot an arrow right through his enemy's neck, I've seen snipers shoot to kill from miles away, I've seen psychos slice through people in showers. And I thought, ew that's gross, or whoa that was graphic, or man that was a really good shot. I never saw the victims as real people; they were just characters that could stand up and wash away the fake blood when the director said cut. I never saw them as someone's sister, someone's wife, someone's only daughter, or some sweet child's mother. Not until now. I never thought of who the victims had left behind, I only wondered, are they gonna find the killer? Can they get away with it? How can he hide his tracks? Does she have a solid alibi? Is there enough DNA to convict? I never considered the pain of the family, I never once pictured the victim's mother as they gave her the news. I only thought of murder from the investigative, a game of 'who done it', stand point; I never saw the other side of the picture. But now, it seems, this side of the picture is all I can see. When I was on my way from Jackson to Bogue Chitto after hearing of Marriah's murder, I had to change the radio station so many times I lost count. In that short hour drive they played countless songs about violence, guns, and death. I remember one country song lyric said "i shot my woman and now she's 6 feet under." This is entertainment? This is music to sing a long with? How did our society become so, not only immune to, but enamored with violence?? It has to stop. We have to change. We need to be more aware of what we watch, and think of the impact it is truly having on our minds and the minds of our children. My perspective of the world and all things in it have drastically changed. It seems now that I may even be hyper-sensitive, which I would argue is a vast improvement over the alternative.