Heavy as The Head that Wears The Crown.

I haven't been able to write for a while because I know what will come out, but what's the point of blogging if you're not going to be authentic? So, regardless of where my fingers and mind take me, I am going to be transparent and open…

I have been intentional about healing and moving for the last few months. Definitely took a break from even social media and became introverted. Needed to clear away from all the alls. I don't know if that was good or bad, but I know it was required. As I began documenting and capturing moments, the pain from writing or even my mouth was intriguing. I have been in a state of reflection, dedication, and sorting. The battle of healing is a funny one. It shows up in the darnest ways, but then, like a wave, one hit can set you back. But we are here, and I am ready for all that is coming my way.

"I am summering like it's 2015 again…"

I remember telling my friends this as I awoke from that terrible era of bruised love.” As I remember vividly, the summer of 2015 was one to remember. I was traveling, my skin was glowing, and I was outside doing everything! I was vibrant and light. This summer, I was determined to get to know Shannon again, as exuberant as I was then, only more experienced now. As the weather shifts, fall is approaching more swiftly than we would like (I love the fall for fashion). I am pretty sure so is my mindset. This summer was one for the books, I tell you! I found myself adventurous, spontaneous, shifting, and extremely honest. Another takeaway from this summer: "Can you provide what I require?" That was a question I asked myself, people, places, and things, and I am here for it! I had my share of digesting what we would call "humble pie," too. I had to take a few shortcomings on the chin. We will save that story for a later date, though. However, this summer was vital for me as I needed and wanted to embark on contentment. With my world ending at the beginning of the year, figuratively speaking, of course, I took a moment to reinvent who I was, and sis ended up visiting her father in prison after 14 years… I mean, why the hell not, right?

In my defense, the pandemic had taken a toll on visitation, so individuals weren't allowed extended visits for some time. We decided waiting would be best since he was so far from civilization until the COVID-19 ban was lifted. Nonetheless, y'all know I did not like a better excuse than not going see this man. I could not understand how people would make this a joyous event. I remember the first time I saw him; I was 17 years old, tearful, messy, and panicky. My poor mother had no idea how to help me with this one. It was a terrible experience, tucking my clothes, wearing my stepfather's shoes, and waiting after pedigree. Back then, one of the most vivid aspects of the visit was the slamming of the gated bars. That was a sound that resounded with me. Once the visit was over with my father, I high-tailed my happy ass out of the prison, vowing never to endure that scrutiny again. I knew I was never coming back. It was too emotional, gut-wrenching, and damn right, just scary for the 17-year-old that grew up forming a relationship with her father via letters and phone calls. Then, your girl worked for different corrections facets over the years. Falling in love with the idea of justice and fairness. Only to be able to work with people in the same circumstances and hide behind my own fears by visiting him.

Fast forwarding to now, I am unsure, but I woke up on my birthday and said I would visit my father and do it by myself. Maybe it was the bruised love where I gathered the strength from this year. Perhaps it was the sense of losing it all but still breathing? Maybe it was even me realizing my father has served 31 years in prison, and how would I feel if he were to die when I only seen him once? Walking into 31, I knew I wanted to do something different.

I only told a few people that I was embarking on this journey. One of the concepts I battled with was if he died in prison, how would I feel not seeing him when I have nothing but space and opportunity? I also worked in a jail for about two and half years, where it's not the same, but at the same time, it's relatively similar. These are the comparisons I used to get me through this journey.

It was July 8th, a week after my father's birthday. I woke my adventurous ass out of bed ( I had a night of vices and pep talks the night before) and loaded my car to set off for my journey. It was an hour ride, and during that ride, I had my closest friends in my ears cheering me on because they knew my scary ass would have turned that car around. As I drove and took in the scenery, I played the best hits of R&B from Freddie Jackson to Peabo Bryson to calm me down. I approach the military-looking area to find a desolate, quiet place and no one in sight. I’m nervous as hell, sweat dripping down my back because Lord knows I don’t want to do this. I parked as I came to the entrance and picked up the phone from this black box ( like I am in a goddamn scary movie) to hear someone say, “drive to a white building for visitation.” In my head, I am like, what the hell kind of system is this? But I was determined. Let's say this: I got there at 10 am after driving around this godforsaken place to find his camp, going to my car five times to change my bra, shoes, and shirt, and leaving items in the car. I finally made clearance and was seated, waiting for my father by 12 pm. At this point, call me bacon because I was cooking. It was like the hottest day of the year, and of course, they had me seated and waiting with no AC on… Looking around, my dumb ass forgot to bring cash with me to get food and drinks for the vending machines; they need to update that system. It is 2023. So I waited, hungry and in thought. Looking at the different blend of people. Fathers holding their children, laughing, talking, and, I guess, making the best out of the situation. Then there's me, sweating, nervous, wondering if I look nice, wondering if I am ever going to make peace with this part of my life. I wonder if he looks the same, older, maybe? Am I even doing the right thing?

My father finally enters the visiting area, looking pretty spiffy. Clean cut, clean boots, gold chain shining, and, of course, a wide smile. This man introduced me to the officers and some of his 'friends,' and I just smiled. I’m awkward but in awe of the calmness and institutionalization that he embodies. It weakens me. I sympathize with how much this is to take in. We sat for a few hours, of course, just talking. If there is one thing going between us, it is our conversations. Of course, he asks about him being a grandfather, dating, and marriage. Talk about pressure. I look down at my left hand and say sorry, sir, I am not married and have no babies yet…heavy on the yet. We had a long, intense conversation about marriage and why he doesn't believe in it. He dates back to him growing up and seeing his mother (my paternal grandmother) leaving his father, as he puts it, when the chips were down. Separating the family because his father could not financially provide as well as he once did, and safety was a significant concern during his time where they lived in Jamaica. In a sense, his mother deciding to move when he was at the tender age of 16 appeared to taint his view of women, marriage, and vows. He grew hyper-independent, which is a coping mechanism for trauma. Ultimately, that hyper-independence seemed to have much to do with how he got here, but what do I know? It's interesting the dynamic of the conversation. Here I am, a firm believer in love, and God will bless me with a man who will love and appreciate me and my depth. As I wait for the blessing to come my way, I look at my father and realize he never wants to feel that depth I long for, at least from a person. I then wondered if my upbringing, or lack thereof with him, left me with this desire to have a love so deep. I have to bring this up in my next session.

It was nice to see him and to be honest, it was not as bad as the first time, except I was sweating like a thief. I gave him a sincere hug and high-tailed it to my car. I really do not like doing the visits. I hit the highway, and the skies open up with crazy rain. Another reflection: it always rains when I see him. Coincidence, maybe, but in a sense, I think it's a sign that this was supposed to happen. It was a little blessing because the lord knew I was hot as hell and going through it; I needed the rain. I felt a sense of relief and contentment, which is all I wanted. Now, will I make this a weekly thing? Absolutely not; it's still an emotionally taxing aspect of my life I am working through. But can I make a conscious effort more times during the year? I can.

As I have matured, my perception of people and circumstances has evolved, allowing me to make significant changes in my life. Growing up without a father was undoubtedly a challenge that required substantial effort to come to terms with. However, when I started to view my father as a human being rather than just a "dad," it dawned on me that everyone does their best with their resources. I hope that this is the case for all individuals. When my father mentioned his parents' divorce, I shared this perspective with him, hoping it would bring him solace. As I reach 31, I am beginning to shift my mindset. I will no longer coerce individuals to stay in my life if they don't wish to, nor will I tolerate those who don't treat me with respect. Instead, I will cherish those genuinely interested in being a part of my life and approach things with an open heart. It's intriguing how life can suddenly change. On my first visit, I left feeling nothing but sorrow. However, after my most recent visit, I experienced contentment and validation that I am growing. In retrospect, I am grateful for everything that I have and all that I have lost.. …after all,

…heavy as the head that wears the crown.

Until next time y'all! Stay authentic!