Now I Lay Me Down..

Stripped of my clothes, and free from any obligations other than a meeting between my head and my fluffy pillow. My body's movement are slower...as I plunge into a state of rest where I'm as close to death as I've ever been. What keeps these labored breaths from expiring. What keeps this admittedly broken heart beating...What keeps it from seceding from it's sole purpose? My eyelids close over two white and dark brown orbs that view both darkness and light...My dark coal eyelashes fold into each other like a villain would interlock his fingers at the deliciously breaking news that his goons had just successfully completed a high profile heist...(My imagination...)

Well, this is it. Here I go. I have no idea if I'll wake up from this. I've never known. But when I was younger, I don't think I ever really care. I took it for granted because I knew that Mama would always wake me up with her little song...or her loud accusing voice... Mama is four hours away, and I haven't risen to a song in quite some time now.

I've come to understand that there is God who loves me. One who still cradles me in His arms, although I don't exactly know why...

Though I may rise at the appointed hour...Some things have died.

Dead are the worries that plagued my thoughts before I slumbered.
Dead are the missed opportunities to reach out to a brother/sister.
Dead are my regrets of things I said to people...things I've kept from people.


Beautiful One...Give me one more day.

On Death & Dying (Revisited)

I recently lost my grandfather. I had no idea how I would actually feel...seeing him there, or rather, seeing his body there laying in repose. Instead of weeping to the empty shell that lay in such an ornate box, I remembered the little things he did that made him our "Grandchester". As we pulled up to the church, I looked at all my beautiful relatives, dressed in black and silver. We all tried to keep our faces clear because we wanted to be strong for each other, but we HAD to cry... Our family's monarch was no longer with us anymore. This man was great, not one of those "funeral greats": You know how people who attend funerals and speak about the great things that the deceased was, and that person was actually a hellion?

My grandfather was great. He loved God, and he served his Church and his community daily. The events leading up to and happening in the actual funeral were quite interesting. I'll say this and only this about a former minister: It's amazing how someone so closely linked to another man through a church can stand up and speak on a man as if he had no soul. Big words and letters behind your name does not qualify you to treat or mistreat anyone. Those same letters behind your name does not afford you a certain right to be smug with anyone. And the overuse of the word "protocol" does not make you look or seem of more intelligence that anyone else. You ever meet people who learn a few words out of the English dictionary that are larger than two syllables and they begin using it like it's going out of style? (Ahem, I digress...)

But about crying...I watched people, and I learned to sense what their 'hearts' were sensing. People weep and cry out as a way of expressing themselves. There's a time for everything. Funerals excite and aggravate me, because as I've said before, sometimes people like to feel that they're mourning more than the other person. But, I think Ministers try to offer the bereaved family some hope in saying, "don't waste your tears, He (She) is in a better place." That may be so, but that doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt. There is time for us to weep and mourn.

I'm sorry, this is my blog, and I have to express this. So, when you love someone, it's expressed in so many ways, but never have I seen a man who seemed to have lacked love than my former Pastor. He stood up at the pulpit and delivered directions from the order of service with this uninterested, uninspired, unmoved look on his face, and I thought to myself, "Wow, is this the man of God that I followed for 8 years?" I tried not to focus on him so much, but I thought about my grandfather's fight, spiritually and physically, and now I'm reminded of my great-grandmother's journey of 101 years, and during both funerals, this "Man'd of God" (I don't know why Southern Preachers put the D on the end of Man...) But this "Man'd of God" stood up there, same church, same time of day, different year, with the same stank look on his face, speaking curtly about protocol and procedures and following the program as follows...

I understand the significance of following an order of service, and being mindful of the bereaved family, but in times of sorrow, I understand these are the reasons we rely and lean upon the Lord, because man, namely this preacher man, did not show even the slightest interest in loving on the family, offering support, or thinking back on the memory of his beloved brother, my grandfather, Chester Kemp, Sr.

Incompetence all around...

It rained as we approached the cemetery. After we gather, and my Uncle prayed, and people said their last goodbyes after pulling flowers from the sprays that were giving in my grandfather's memory, a few of us stayed behind to watch the funeral directors put Grandchester's remains into the ground. This was unique because I'd never seen the process of fitting a casket into a vault. As the workers, who I assume worked grave to grave, as they were lowering my grandfather into the ground by an electric crank, the crank gave out and the casket was stuck in the middle of the hole. A worker decided to manually help the casket down, by leaning over the hole and pulling the straps down, exposing his "CRACK" and almost falling into the hole with the casket. If my uncles had not been there, He would've been in that hole with my Grandchester. After my uncles helped him out, the funeral directors were like, "Why are you folks even here?" He stated that us being there watching made his workers nervous. I thought to myself, they're just shame because they can't do their jobs correctly. Grown men, being nervous... They were nervous that if they made any mistakes they probably might've been buried on that same day as well.

People, sometimes, we just don't realize that the respect and love we should have for each other does not end when we die. After walking into the church to see some more family members, I walked back out to the cemetery to just talk to my grandpa. As I was walking, I saw a man briefly out of the corner of my eye looking at something on the wall... It was Grandchester...and then I looked at him again, and it was actually my father... NEVER have I thought I'd seen anyone who has passed away, but that day, my daddy's posture and position made him look like my grandfather.

I went back out the grave, and I just stood there. The wind and rain had bullied some of the floral sprays to the ground and I began picking them up and rearranging them so that they'd stay standing. My grandfather's brother, "Uncle Party" came out where I was standing. We just stood there in silence for a while. He slowly walked up to the fresh mound of dirt piled up over his brother's grave, pulled a red rose out of one of the floral sprays, looked at me and said, "Well", and then walked toward his car, and then he began to weep.

Now, finally I got time to sit with my grandfather's remains, and kinda just talk to him as if he were there. I said, "Thank you Grandchester. Thank you for teaching me how to be a man. Thank you for your Vacation Bible School Class in the summer time. Thank you for raising my Daddy. Thank you for the $20 every weekend when I was in High School. Thank you for praying for me. Thank you for loving me." Even as I type this, tears well up in my eyes. I stood there and I cried. I was saying goodbye to the only grandfather I'd ever known...and I KNEW him. He wasn't a distant relative living in Tuscaloosa. I lived, breathed, ate with, talked to, laughed with, prayed with, prayed for, smiled at, loved on, hugged, worried about, cried for, cried with, watched, and sang with him...Memories of walking around the church at the beginning of Sunday School will dance in my head forever.

It's okay to cry. It's okay to mourn.

"You shouldn't be ashamed of mourning"-Ross Falcon, The Ars Supernova

I love my grandfather. God, I know you're holding him. I know. Hold me too.


Jirod

On Death, Dying, and Family...

I find death so fascinating. Not the actual "Death" itself, but the events that occur after one, a loved one, has left this life. Whenever a loved one passes away, it seems as if people begin to manifest their cynicism. There are even some who'd like to feel as if they're mourning the loss more than others, and proceed to weep or moan harder than their co-grievers.

It would seem to me, that death brings out the worst in some people. Sometimes, accidents can be so tragic that the grief seems unbearable. Over the years, I think I've grown a little more understanding that death is a part of life. I'm fighting to understand that some people cannot control their emotions, and I do not want to seem insensitive toward my family and friends. I remember when I was seven, and a loved one passed away. A family member was carried out of the church, kicking and screaming and as I stood to the side as other family members ushered her out, she unknowingly kicked me in the head with her high-heels. *That hurt pretty nicely*

But I've often wondered...If we, (my family) as spiritual believers, understand where our loved one is going, why do we grieve so hard? She loses her husband, he loses his father, they lose their grandfather... We shed tears...Crying and grieving is necessary, but at what point are we free to act out of place and become unruly because we want people to feel the pain we feel?

The older I get, I understand that as much as I love all races, there are just some differences in how we handle things, especially funerals, and I'll leave it at that. If you'd like me to expound, inquire within.

This past weekend, my loving grandfather passed away. My eyes begin to water even now, as I think of his gentle eyes, and his cool way of saying things. I think about the memorable quotes that used to come out of his mouth. I think about his life and how he pressed forth to be a better man and a better Christian man every day. I think about the stories that I was told over the phone about his "ornery" behavior in the hospital just recently.

So, I leave Austin to travel to Lake Jackson to be with my family. A lot of people haven't seen me since my Big Mama's funeral. I began to brace myself for the comments, as I was coming back with some obvious changes in appearance... LOL, nothing plastic really, but I'm a little thinner and I've got these seven inch vines hanging from my scalp. I like to call them locs, but you KNOW my family gon' call them something else. *SIDENOTE* When I get around my family, my vernacular changes...

I spent the night with my cousin who didn't want to sleep alone after having stayed there at the hospital with my "Grandchester" after he died. My cousin watched me grow up, but for some reason I feel like she still sees me as little "Dut-Dut". It was good sleeping in her big ol' bed. We're family. We stayed up and could not sleep; thinking about "Chester Kemp" and his life and we began to think about how much we couldn't believe that the day had come... that he was actually gone away from us.

After getting about 2 hours of sleep, we traveled to my grandmother's house. I took a lot of deep breaths because this was my GRANDPA... It's still odd knowing that he's not going to be there, standing in front of the space heater or perpetual flame as I'd like to call it. He'd stand in front of the space heater to get himself warmed up whenever he felt cold. Now, that space heater stayed on 368 days a year. Really, 368 days. It was always on. I walked in the door and I was met by the laughs of my great-aunt and others, "Law'd have mercy, look at that boy's hair. What them is, "DEAD"locs?" I 'bout died of laughter. They were pulling on my hair and asking me if it was fake. We just sat and reminisced on a lot of things. We fried fish and talked about folks. It was grand. I showed them the Study Breaks Magazine that we were featured in, as well as a copy of The Ars Supenova's new album. They were like, "That's good baby", but they didn't seem all that impressed. See, I may be "JIROD GREENE" whenever I'm home here in Austin, but when I'm HOME HOME, I'm "Lil' Dustrag" or "KOOL POP" or "DUT-DUT"... Those are a few of my nicknames. They didn't care that I was a Semi-Lebrity...

That night, when I traveled back to Austin, I lay on the couch and closed my eyes, and I began to imagine looking into my grandfather's eyes and wondering what he was thinking before he left. I cried as I began to think of his life and how we interacted the last time we saw each other. I began to think about other family members and how I would not let 2 months pass between seeing or hearing from people that I love...

I forgot to deliver him a message from a friend at my mother's church. I learned that his nickname was BILL. Country-Folks sure do have a way of making a nickname come up from absolutely nothing, but it means something. How did anyone manage to get the nickname "BILL" from Chester? It's beyond me.

I received word that some family members were getting emotional about the funeral arrangements and stormed out during several family meetings. After being perceived as still being a baby, (I'm 24) I wanted nothing more but to strut around proving my intelligence, and call the emotional outbursts and arguments, "unnecessary" and "unneeded". You see, I was NEVER EVER the youngest grandson, well, I was until others were born shortly after me, but I was always treated like the "delicate" one. Even today, at 24, I'm still treated as the delicate one who needs to have "thick skin when you come down here to the Country". All I can think about is, "I WISH I WAS THERE WHEN ALL THAT STUFF WENT DOWN", I'm speaking about the outbursts around the funeral arrangements. It just doesn't seem logical to throw a fit when you want something that no one else wants.

I feel as if it's our responsibility to be there for my grandmother. SURE, They've lost a father, and we've lost a grandfather...but she lost her soul-mate. She lost the man she lay beside every night. She lost the man that she STOOD beside in SICKNESS and in health... In sickness... MY grandmother stood beside my grandfather when he was diagnosed with prostate cancer almost nine years ago. She was there for his emotional break downs. She was there for his mood swings. She stood beside him, because she was and remains to be strong. Heck, she's stronger than a lot of us.

When I was little, around the age of 7, my family members just started DYING at a rapid pace, or so it seemed. My cousin and I talked, and we seemed to lose family members left and right. By the age of 20, all of the great aunts and uncles on my mothers side had passed away...All but one. Dear Ol' Aunt Sweet. But at funerals, I'd be crying my eyes out before we even entered the church...remember, I was the "delicate" one. I would look around to see who else was crying, and then I'd cry harder... I was young.

I think people still do it, it's just a bit different these days. Adults boast their pain by pressing the Emergency Unnecessary Outburt Button and pretend that they're the ONLY someone whose lost a loved one. I'd love to put a padlock on that EUB Button. We're al grieving. We all miss him.

God, tell my grandpa that we miss him. Tell him that we'll see him again soon. Tell him that I'm sitting here, about to design his obituaries and I can't find a good, manly font. Tell him "Robin" misses him so much, and that Laci misses him.


I love Chester Ray Kemp, Sr. I know he's having a good time with Chester Ray Kemp, Jr.


Cheers,
JG