PAIN, TEARS, AND TESTIMONY

Preface


“Influential I am at that, couldn’t be a hustler, couldn’t carry the strap, Aye yo, I pray for my homies, like my cousin J Mack, who was riding for his sister and took a shank to the back. How real is this, or how real is that, on my way to college, flushed an eight ball of crack.”


“4 Candles”
Biga Boys Club


No one, including me, knew just how serious my alcohol problem had become. I moved home to Rhode Island when my mother died after her battle with brain cancer. My intention was to move home and assist with the care of my twelve-year-old sister and younger brother Darryl. My older sister Vera was already doing her best to hold down the home at 226 Vermont Avenue while still trying to maintain her own family. I knew I had to do something, my intentions were good, but when God is in the rearview and not leading, it is very easy to get engulfed in the trap of the enemy. To be all the way honest with you, I got caught up. I could not deal with the pain that came with my mother’s illness and untimely loss. The struggle was real. I saw a strong, bold, and vibrant woman just dwindle away to cancer. She never gave up, and she fought the good fight until her very last breath. She was a true soldier for Christ, still giving God the praise while enduring sickness and affliction. There were many days when I could see that her concern was for the well-being of her children and what was going to happen to them when she was gone.
You never know how you are going to react to a real situation until a real situation happens. The day before my mother died, I was in New York City working. My younger brother called me. “What’s going on, bro?” He told me in so many words that I needed to come home. Disturbed by this revelation, I first went to the corner store to purchase twenty-two ounces of cold beer. This was my way of copping when things became overwhelming. I came back to the production studio I was working in and turned that bottle up 90 degrees. I finished my assignment, and told my supervisor that I had to go home.
I called my girlfriend at the time and explained to her what was going on. I told her I needed to get to Rhode Island right away. I wanted her to be by my side but really did not know how to express that. At the time I was so agitated and fearful of the unknown. I raced down to the Port Authority bus terminal and got on the first bus going to Providence, Rhode Island. When I touched down, I walked in the front door and immediately felt that weight hit me. This would be the weight I would carry for years to come. I went straight upstairs to see mommy. My gut told me something was different—I could feel it. I laid down in front of her door that night and waited to see what the morning would bring. Lord, do something, I prayed silently. I do not know if I am ready for what is happening right now.
The next morning, the hospice nurses and attendants came to the house. On this particular morning, we also had a grievance counselor coming to speak to the family. I still remember my dad calling everyone to the living room for our family meeting. The counselor approached us with a humble spirit and tried in her best way to explain the transition process to us in preparing for our mother to die. All I could think about was, What are you talking about? Mommy is going to be good. She is a soldier, throughout her illness when things seemed to get bad, there was always another surgery, another treatment, but now you’re telling me this is it, the end? Sophie Muhlenburg Cassell? No way. I don’t believe it, I won’t accept it, no.
Before the counselor could finish talking, the attendant who was taking care of of my mother walked slowly down the stairs in tears. She looked at all of us and said with great heaviness, “She’s gone.”
I sprinted up the stairs in disbelief, entering the room only to see mommy’s lifeless body lying there as if she was just resting. I was stunned. I just sat there and stared for a million miles. Is this really how it is going to end?