JE Heartbreak's Jestings and Things: Silly Rabbit...Funeral's Aren't for Kids! Are They...

JE Heartbreak's Jestings and Things: Silly Rabbit...Funeral's Aren't for Kids! Are They...: October ‘89   Vague memories of the day that my mother was laid to rest hit me from time to time.  I was not allowed to attend the fune...

Silly Rabbit...Funeral's Aren't for Kids! Are They?

October ‘89

 

Vague memories of the day that my mother was laid to rest hit me from time to time.  I was not allowed to attend the funeral.  My father thought it would create a sense of trauma for me.  So I didn’t go. Over the years I’ve wrestled with whether or not I should have been able to decide that for myself.  But now as a parent myself of a child who is almost the exact age I was when my mother died;  whether I would have wanted to go or not, I do understand that my dad was doing what he thought was best.  I was taken to the Mare Island Park by the waterfront in Vallejo with my cousin Johnathan.  Our Sunday school teacher Sis. Thurston stood as a surrogate that day and cared for us when our family couldn’t. I gather from the swiss cheese memories I have of that time we spent a lovely day at the park, grabbed a bit to eat and ate ice cream cones. I’m sure mine was a strawberry cone. 

 

I remember that I promised myself.  Why we make promises to ourselves I believe is a protection method to face those things that we know will be difficult.  I promised my 7 almost 8 year old self that I would be strong because the day before the funeral my daddy asked if I wanted to go the mortuary to “say goodbye” to my mother.  I said yes but not really understanding what “goodbye” meant.  So, “be strong Jessica” is what I said to myself.

 

We walked into Cooley and Riolo Mortuary and I was frozen at the opening to the room.  I saw my mother set dead center in the middle.  The room seemed to compliment everything about her.  The atmosphere made her seem angelic and peaceful.  There was some odd stringed and harped chords lulling in the background making the ambience cool and calm.  She was in a raised casket.  My mother’s dark brown mushroom wig and a soft rose colored dress complimented her redbone complexion.  Her skin seemed to be glowing but muted and gray all at the same time.  Mommy’s lips seemed to be slightly turned in a smile.  I was glad to see that she looked so good and so…healthy.  The past two years had taken away her usual light and happy demeanor. The chemo had taken away her thick hair and left scabs and scars on a gaunt face and greenish skin tone.  Blindness, hallucinations, jaundice and all the bi-products of cancer had left the voluptuous and charismatic wonder I had idolized from birth less than who I’d always know in our short relationship.  

 

My father nudged me forward towards the front of the room.  I stumbled a little but regained my footing and somehow made it up to the casket.  Close enough to touch the edge of the reliquary with my nose.  It really looked like she was sleeping.  And I longed to touch her.  To feel the warmth of her hand and even for her to give a light squeeze back.  So I slowly reached out my hand to hers.  Every so slightly, sliding my little girl into her full grown woman hand.  No familiar warmth. No squeeze. No movement at all!  The chill of her hand sent me into hysterics.  Her hand being so, so cold pushed me into reality and I realized that my mommy was gone!  I began to wail!    So much so to the point that my father and to carry me out of the room quickly.  I remember screaming at the top of my lungs and sobbing until my throat felt raw and my eyes were dry and puffy. 

Even as I write this I am overwhelmed with the memory.  Tears sting my eyes.  It was when I realized that I would never see, hear again.  I stayed silent for days after.

 

So on the morning of Thursday October 12, 1989 I remember my older brother Jason dressing in a dark suit with a very sad look on his face.  Not really in the mood for conversation.  I became oblivious all over again in my 7 year old mind as to what was happening.  I believe that my mind couldn’t process the grief so I melted into a fog that children use to protect themselves from horrible things.  I remember reasoning with myself that Jason was just being mean to me.

 

After going to the park I remember going to my aunt’s house for the repast.  There were tables and chairs everywhere.  It was an odd sight to see for me at the time.  I saw every end of the spectrum in faces and occurrences.  I saw black and white faces, people sobbing and laughing and those who chose to sit in total silence.  I glided through the crowd wondering why strangers were being so nice to me when I normally feel invisible.

 

I felt sad but couldn’t remember why.

The picture attached to this post is me at my 9^th birthday party and Chuck E. Cheese.  This is the first memory I have (taking this picture) from the day of my mother’s funeral.  I remember being disgruntled but not understanding why.  I guess I get it now.

JE Heartbreak's Jestings and Things: The Big Things

JE Heartbreak's Jestings and Things: The Big Things: Is self love wrong?   I find myself warring with esteem and my health on a daily basis.   Using my sword of “self esteem” to slice the cake...

The Big Things

Is self love wrong?  I find myself warring with esteem and my health on a daily basis.  Using my sword of “self esteem” to slice the cake of self loathing that I shovel into my open mouth gate by way of grease filled concoctions dressed sexy in sugar glazes and smooth/ salty aroma.  All that yummy resting on my tongue. Filling my mouth rich and creamy.  Sugary. Sweet. Enjoying the residue so much I save licking the corners of my mouth for last. Sliding down my throat and settling in my belly. Mmmm…. Small moans escape from my mouth without my control. 

Providing a euphoric comatose aftermath that only my “junk” can provide.  But my “Junk” causes the junk in my trunk to expand and ripple a dimple.  Back fat falls far below an exceptable height on my body.  Sweater’s camouflage… or should I say lie atop  the unwelcome layers of blubber under my skin until I feel more like a hostage in my own body instead of the master of my own domain. Knees hurt. Back bent. Head still held high though because for many years I’ve lied to myself and said … The bigger the better, right? Not really even acknowledging that it’s a question rather than a statement.   Ignoring stares of disgusts from those “smaller kind” of me.  Other 30ish, articulate and chocolate girls that wonder, “why doesn’t she just do something about that?!”.  Blaming the truth on my mammorys sometimes.  Ignoring the rest like my thighs  (look at my eyes…so pretty, deep, penetrating), My arms (enjoy my charm, nice smile… eyes up… ignore everything else), my belly (but she’s so funny, hear that quick wit…its all you’ve got to distract them).

Deep sigh. 

Okay let’s try this again… You are f-word.  Okay, use your words.  Try new adjectives.  Plump. Portly. Chunky. Bodacious. Voluptuous. Robust. Sizeable. Affluent in pudge. Protudicious (made that one up... lol). Jelly- like (that one too) Is that all you are? No. But does that.. (no pun intended) make up the biggest part of who you are?  Physically... Yes.  It’s what people see.  This is not an expression of self -loathing but more of self discovery. Awareness. 

Even in all this... I still think I'm fly. Lol. That might be laced with a tinge of conceit but I own every drop.  Honestly ambivalence rears its lopsided head more than I care to mention. But this is my life.  Its how I feel today. Right now. In this instant.  Tomorrow, I may want to see something different. And the day after that.  And the day after that.  And the day after that...

Let's see how it goes.

JE Heartbreak's Jestings and Things: TaTa's, Toes and Teeth

JE Heartbreak's Jestings and Things: TaTa's, Toes and Teeth: (Imagine background music:  "It's Take Two" by Rob Base) This is my very first blog. Kinda nervous about it but... let the de-flowering be...

Singing Is My Secret Super Power

Okay, so... I sing. Not something I think I am the best at in the world, but it is something I do well.  I'm nobody's Macy Gray (and nor do I want to be... no offense to her fans just not my idea of good sangin'. I was being facetious).  I do okay for what I do.  But I have yet been able to define my actual genre.  Its a mix of soul, gospel, jazz, country, r&b, folk, pins and needles and spaghetti.  Those last two were random but somehow fit.  Now people often tell me I'm wonderful, but those are all people that love me, are blood related, have known me for years,etc.  So, it is difficult for me to believe them sometimes.  I have myself at times "encouraged" some not so great singers to "keep on going", or let them know that they "touched my heart".  A loose interpretation of those words are "yes you were howling at the moon but I love you anyway".  Just once I would like to see what other people see when I'm up there pouring my heart out in the mic. 

I'm shy.  But when I'm alone I feel that my vocal chords are an instrument that can fight the crimes of the soul.  That's why I think its my secret super power.  Is that wierd? Pompous? Yeah, I'm not really sure either.  But in my car driving... through Vasco Road ... windmills on either side... country road and mountains on the way to my 9 to 5... I sing my most fearless songs.  I belt out notes I'm scared to sing in public. Passionate purrs. I sing sexy songs. I sing silly songs.  I sing power ballads.  In my car... my songs will melt a man's heart or empower that "not so pretty chick" to get the guy. I dance sensually, freely and because I can.  Mind you... the dancing is only chair dancing because I'm in my car. But dancing nonetheless.  My singing pulls that stressed out mother of 3 with no money or resources off of the edge of her window sill.  My songs provide her hope. They let her know that she can make it another day.  That "it" (whatever "it" is) will get better.

My singing can change the world. If I would let it.  Hmmm.... something I'll continue to ponder as I stay in my little box... called a comfort zone. Rockin' the Clark Kent prescriptions and my imaginary business suit as I put along in my car down the highway.

What's your secret super power?

TaTa's, Toes and Teeth

(Imagine background music:  "It's Take Two" by Rob Base)

This is my very first blog. Kinda nervous about it but... let the de-flowering begin.  I prompted to write it because it is on my summer bucket list. I'm not dying. This is not my goodbye letter to the masses or to my best friend and handful of co-workers that may be reading this.  AbBucket list just sounds way better than "Summer Goals for J" or "Whispers of a Hope List for the Hot Months". 

Anyway, I will be writing today about my bosom and thangs.  My need for a breast reduction is dire. As much as I enjoy the voluptuous curve and all the attention that it brings ... it has become terribly laborious to haul around the watermelon-esque mammary's day in and day out without any physical reprieve.  And all the attention hasn't always been "the best".  From merciless torturing by my siblings to people to totally missing my dazzling Colgate smile to gaze up on gargantuan glands of flesh on the front of my body. 

The biggest setbacks of having such bigguns...

1. Finding shirts fit (especially button ups... that 3rd button is a beast. always screaming for mercy).
2. Back pain... self explanatory.
3. Never, ever finding a bra that will provide proper support without pinching back fat or showing your headlights at a free for all. (Btw... I have had several men point this embarrassing occurrence out to me as if they were the culprit of me being all hot and bothered.  Uh...yeah. No thanks. And I assure them it  is because the air conditioner is set to a snowman's butt cheek and not that nappy 5 o'clock shadow you've been rockin' for the past 3 days that has me all titillated.)
4. Being fondled by babies.  For some reason they all believe that I am the surrogate nurturer to the nations and that they can stick their hands down my shirt and get a snack. Super awkward. o_O
5. The open mouthed gaping and staring by complete strangers well... just because they are HUGE!

I shall not disclose my actual cup size but people have a hard time containing their shock and awe.  Sometimes, you just DON'T want to know what people think about you.

I guess its time to shut up now.  I hope you enjoyed.  I may or may not do a part 2.  Depends on the response I get to my first try at this blogging beast or ... I whether or not I feel like it. Eh... it is what it is.  Ttyl.

Signed...

"Bigger Than A G" aka JE Heartbreak