A Gift From History

I hated funerals and everything that came with it. The crying, the grieving, the heavy feeling of loss permeating the air. Everything about funerals felt like being sucked into a black hole of nothingness. It provided a painful reminder of the inevitable. Death was something that was attached to the human existence, and yet, we all secretly wanted to avoid it.

“You know your grandma would have loved to see you more often than she did, Naomi,” my mother whispered in my ear, laying the guilt on thick.

I hadn’t seen Grandma Millie since she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s a few years ago. Everything about her had faded so quickly and seeing her in a diminished state was an utterly traumatic experience. At 80-years-old, she had appeared to have more life to live. She was vibrant and social, even after the family had placed her in a nursing home that was ridden with Covid-19. We were all too busy to manage her care around the clock and needed a solution that appealed to all of us.

Dad was too busy running his own business as a real estate agent and mom was too busy pretending as though life would be perfect as a mortgage broker. She had given up many of her dreams to be with someone like Stan Williams, including a potential career in acting back in the day. Melanie Williams was a woman full of empty and broken dreams. It was never a secret that our strained mother daughter relationship had reached new heights when I moved from North Carolina five years ago to pursue theatre in New York. My budding acting career was a constant reminder of her regrets manifested in real time.

Dad and my younger brother, Jordan, sat to mom’s right. Dad’s facial expression was stoic and hard to read, while Jordan was the opposite. He was only 21 and hadn’t quite mastered dad’s commitment to masculinity and hiding his true emotions as a black man. We were six years apart and he was every bit of a mama’s boy. He was close to mom and even closer to grandma. I always had the sneaking suspicion that he was mom’s favorite, since I was the designated daddy’s girl.

Grandma Millie was a petite and fierce woman with so much hidden behind her smile. She always had a story to tell and was proud of her southern Georgia roots. Mom inherited much of her ferocious and bold character, which was a trait that I admired with envy.

We said our final goodbyes before the casket was closed. Grandma’s wish was to be cremated and have her ashes spread on the land of her childhood home in Savannah. Mom and Jordan couldn’t stomach the thought of spreading her ashes and it wasn’t on the list of top priorities for dad due to his limited emotional capacity. Ultimately, and as was written in her will, the duty was left for me to complete. I had conflicting emotions about the whole ordeal.

The rest of the day was spent amongst family I hadn’t seen since I was a young girl. We had all gathered for dinner and somber socializing. My wife, Mia, held my hand periodically throughout the day, giving it a squeeze and a nonverbal reminder that she was there to support me in whatever I needed. Mia Daniels was the epitome of Black Girl Magic and a true dream. She was an accomplished journalist and blogger that had begun to reach the heights of her potential at 30-years-old. I had met her when I first got to New York. I was auditioning for a small scale production with an up and coming theatre company. She had interviewed all the actors and oddly, my interview was done over drinks and good conversation. We went to Ibiza and eloped four years later. I owed so much to her and the way she challenged and loved me relentlessly brought a sense of calm to my life that was unknown until we crossed paths.

Bringing her home for the first time was a true adventure. Dad and Jordan were thrilled and intentionally welcoming while mom expressed her disdain from day one. She wanted grandchildren and had forgotten that it was still a possibility despite my coming out as Lesbian. Over time, she warmed up. Given the history of our strained relationship prior to meeting Mia, I had to take what I could get.

“Grandma wanted you to have this,” Jordan said, giving me a medium sized box that felt like it weighed around ten pounds. Grandma was always full of surprises and her presents never disappointed on Christmas. I smiled at the thought as old memories flooded my brain.

Mia and I said our goodbyes as I breathed an internal sigh of relief. The best part of funerals was always when they were over. The spring air hit me with a gentle breeze as Mia and I made our way to the hotel. Everything about North Carolina had seemed foreign to me after moving to a fast paced and sleepless city like New York. The slow way of life and the quiet solitude that could be found in my hometown was something I had missed.

“How are you feeling?” Mia asked me lovingly. She was attentive and had a keen eye for unspoken detail. It served her well in the kind of work she did, but made our marriage feel like a breeding ground for unsolicited questions and informal interviews.

“I’m okay, honey.” I replied, knowing full well that she could detect the lies.

“I know seeing your mom is never easy. Especially during a time like this,” she acknowledged.

She was right. Seeing my mother reminded me of every reason why I had moved in the first place. The weight of her opinions and judgment always stuck with me. I felt suffocated under the burden of her expectations of my life.

We arrived at the hotel we reserved in Downtown, North Carolina. It was modern and mirrored our loft in New York. Mia had me accustomed to the finer things in life. Being with her had changed my worldview, perspective, and taste for supreme interior design. We had planned to stay for a few days and bring grandma’s remains to Georgia before we headed back home.

I put the box Jordan gave me on the desk in our room. I was nervous to open it, because I didn’t want to feel more guilt associated with not seeing grandma as much as I should have in her final days. Inside the box, there was a photo album, two small jewelry boxes, a key to her childhood home and a small black notebook. Grandma enjoyed writing letters, poems and songs before her memory was stolen.

I opened the black book and found journal entries and poems that she wrote a few months after she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. The first entry was a letter to me in beautiful and captivating writing.

Dear Naomi,

Before I completely lose everything that I can remember, I want you to know how much you mean to me. I know you couldn’t bare to see me not looking like myself, and I don’t blame you. I haven’t seen you since Christmas, but I know you are busy becoming the next best actress of your time. I love you endlessly, my darling granddaughter. My only wish is for you to know who you are, your history and the power that runs through your veins. It was God given. Don’t ever forget that and don’t ever forget how much grandma loves you.

XO,

Grandma Millie

Tears welled in my eyes as I read through the rest of her journal. She was as detailed as she could be, and towards the end of it, I could feel when her memory loss took a toll. Regardless, she didn’t stop writing. Once I finished reading her journal, I looked through the photo album. Old pictures of my mom, her siblings and other family members were spread throughout. I smiled at a picture of me at six years old, holding Jordan in my arms with pride.

“This journal is proof that your grandmother always wanted you to know how special you were.” Mia said, kissing my cheek and wiping loose tears away. I hated Alzheimer’s and I hated Covid-19 for taking her away from me.

Mia comforted me until I fell asleep. We had awakened the next day and went to the cremation company to pick up grandma’s remains. I had felt her peace and calm energy in the plastic bag they gave me. I instantly felt calm. This same calmness carried me from North Carolina to Georgia as Mia and I found our way to grandma’s childhood home. It was a small house on a plot of land in Savannah that couldn’t have been more southern or a reminder of slavery.

“How in the world was grandma raised in this house with over ten siblings?” I wondered aloud. Mia nodded in agreement.

We walked around the land and spread grandma’s ashes around the backyard, where she requested. The small home appeared to have been renovated countless times in an attempt to re-sell it for a higher and undoubtedly gentrified, price point. We took a look around the home. Though it was mostly empty, it felt homely and vibrant with life. I breathed in the air and ran my hand across the walls as I walked through each room of the house. It felt like my grandmother’s spirit as a child teased my adult stressors and responsibilities. Life somehow felt easy between the walls.

After returning home, Mia and I had gotten back into the groove of normal life. It had been over two months since the funeral and when I last saw my family. I had managed to land a small role in a Broadway production. As I looked in the mirror and gave myself a pep talk to calm my nerves, my phone vibrated. Mom was calling, which was both unlike her and puzzling. Despite the strict policy around electronics backstage, I answered.

“Hey mom,” I said in confusion.

“Hi Naomi, it’s your mother,” she responded curtly, as if I didn’t have her number saved. Before I could ask why she was calling, she told me.

“I have been finalizing the rest of mama’s affairs. We found a codicil to her original will. She has $20,000 that she wants to go to you, along with her childhood home.”

My mouth dropped open. The money would help me find an agent and get me to the next level in the world of acting. I wouldn’t be considered a starving artist with this gift. I was shocked and amazed at the same time. Grandma Millie stayed true to her joy of surprises, even in the afterlife.

Mom went on to tell me about the history of our family and the power of our truth, as grandma had written in her little black book. Her parents were sharecroppers in Savannah and the only thing they could own was the small plot of land where her ashes now resided. The fact that she wanted me to have this intricate piece of our family history spoke volumes.

I wiped away tears as I hung up the phone and prepared myself for the opening act. I breathed in deeply and smiled at the double inheritance I had received. I then prayed and asked both God and Grandma Millie to give me the strength I needed to get on stage and live out the power and purpose that coursed through my veins.