Over the years I've gathered a few chat buddies on line, some of whom I've met and some I've never met and don't don't plan to. There is one in particular in Louisville, KY who has become a part of my daily routine. We actually got the opportunity to meet in Chicago about four years back and had a blast hanging out. The physical meeting only enhanced the on line relationship and some of us know how seldom that can occur.
This morning he shared that he'd had stroke earlier this year. A stroke! 30 years old and a massive stroke affected the entire left side of his body, leaving him unable to care for himself. He began rehab, but mysterious seizures delayed his therapy. He was left feeling low.
I cried because I didn't know. I cried because he might have disappeared from my life without me ever knowing why. I cried because I love my friend. I cried because through all of his misery, he entertained mine (well that bitch does love company, don't she?). I cried because I have full use of my mind and limbs and yet still find reasons to be unhappy.
I didn't cry long though. I got my happy ass up and proceeded to have myself a say something hat day. I put on my favorite Kangol and Ken.neth Cole boots, slung a bag over my shoulder and went out, collecting donations for this empty ass apartment. It's serious y'all. I mean I got an echo. I'm putting out the word to anyone in the New York metropolitan area that I will accept your old furniture! Unless, of course, you or your cat peed on it, but even that depends on what kind of piece it is. A pissy sofa is definitely not attractive, but some Murp.hy's Oil Soap will work a table leg right out. Don't be afraid to offend me. I appreciate the thought. I am the grandchild of Second Hand Essie. That girl taught me how to take the cast-offs of a materially richer culture and make them useful and lovable. Hell, I still love chitlins! Nikki Giovanni said it best in Hands: For Mother's Day.
Some people think a quilt is a blanket stretched across a Lincoln bed . . . or from frames on a wall . . . a quaint museum piece to be purchased on Bloomingdale's 30-day same-as-cash plan . . . Quilts are our mosaics . . .Michelle-Angelo's contribution to beauty . . . We weave a quilt with dry, rough hands . . . Quilts are the way our lives are lived . . . We survive on patches . . . scraps . . . the leftovers from a materially richer culture . . . the throwaways from those with emotional options . . . We do the far more difficult job of taking that which nobody wants and not only loving it . . . not only seeing its worth . . . but making it lovable . . . and intrinsically worthwhile .
Me in my empty home
3 comments:
damn.. having a stroke at 30 really puts things into perspective about relishing in the good things we have. stay up!
Boy, get your ass some funiture....When I come to New York the week after next, you want me to bring you like a glass or something? On a more serious note, about five or so years back, a good friend of mine had a stroke that left her paralized on one side of her body. The doctor's said if her brother hadn't just happened to be their she might have not made it at all. She went through rehab and although she walks with a bit of a limp she has regain all mobility back. She is still self conscious, but if you didn't know about the stroke you would never guess it....So, God is a great God. Everything will be okay. Don't cry, it makes me said. If you wanna cry, cry for that barren ass apartment. You said you have an echo....You funny. Peace.
So sorry to hear about your friend. They are so young!!! Hopefully the rehabilitation (though long and painful) has begun or will begin soon.
As for your apartment...even without the furniture the place is gorgeous! Love the hardwood and the architectural detail on the ceiling and walls!
Good luck with getting some furniture.
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