A Hurting Nation

A nation is hurting today. Even those who believe that justice prevailed in the case of Trayvon Martin's murder are hurting. And they don't even know it. You see, nobody wins in a society where human life, any human life, is devalued. Nobody wins when "my" life is more valuable than "yours."

Many people are angry right now. Understand that anger is a secondary emotion. Nobody is born angry. The natural disposition of the human race is happiness. Then tragedies happen, travesties happen, hell, bad hair days happen and we allow ourselves to be knocked off our naturally happy journeys.

So no, anger is not primary. Anger happens usually as a result of fear. Take the situation that is upon us. Think about your own reaction to the not guilty verdict. Why are you angry? I'll tell you why I'm angry: because I'm scared out of my mind. I'm scared that my sons could be killed and no one would care. I'm scared that my sons will believe that their lives are expendable. I'm scared that my sons will grow up jaded and believe that no matter what they do, no matter what they accomplish, it will never be good enough. I'm scared that my sons' lives are irrelevant to those that would have them die untimely and senseless deaths.

I'm scared.

So I am angry because I know none of that is true, and I can't fathom a world where others don't know that, too. I'm also angry because I live in that unfathomable world.

But the anger is not what matters here; it's how we choose to channel that anger that matters. I choose to hug my sons (and daughters) and tell them emphatically that their lives matter; to look into their eyes and tell them that they are relevant and important and loved.

I choose peace. I choose love. I choose life.

What do you choose?

Be comforted by the knowledge that only light can smother darkness. Only love can triumph over hate. And Karma...well...that lady's a bitch.


Until next time,
Feed on love, subsist on peace, and hug your babies.

Mrs. Hyde

Farewell My Friend

My heart is heavy today. Not even one hour ago I learned that a dear friend was killed last night in an act of senseless violence. Apparently, he was killed over a parking space. He was an 18-year veteran of the Baltimore City Police Department where he risked his life daily for its citizens and now his family has to suffer the pain and anguish of his loss...over a parking space.

I am deeply saddened right now. Brian and I have been friends since high school. When we started at Dunbar, it was the first year of the program and partnership with Johns Hopkins Hospital. There were two classes of us and it was like we were in an exclusive club. We didn't look down on others or anything like that, it's just that we all were so close. Like a family. You know how you have a friend that you might only see every few years or so, but when you do see them, it's like no time has passed at all? You find that you're still close just like you've always been? That's how it is with our whole class. We recently had our 20th reunion, and we laughed and enjoyed each other like we see each other everyday. It was truly a beautiful thing.

The thing that saddens me most is not that he had to die because all of our life cycles will end eventually. Some of us will go seemingly before our time. Most of us will leave behind loved ones, unresolved issues, and many, many questions. It's painful, but it's a part of life: birth, growth, death, and to some rebirth. What upsets me is the absurdity that my friend lost his life over something so petty. So insignificant. So unimportant. So incredibly stupid. So astronomically unnecessary.

How does his wife explain that to their children? How does she say, "You father was killed because he stole someone's parking space" or whatever the circumstances were? How does she make them understand that someone took him away from them forever for a reason so small?

It seems that we are willing to kill over anything these days. It doesn't take much for us to become murderous and/or blood-thirsty. Why is that? Why do we fight to the death over things not worth dying for? It's a sad state of affairs we're in right now. Somebody please tell me what I can do to change it. Please tell me what I can do so that another child doesn't have to be fatherless. Please tell me what I can do so that another wife doesn't have to bury her husband and then figure out how she's going to teach her children the lessons that only a father can. Please. PLEASE. It has to stop. We have to find a way to bring about more peace, more love, more understanding, more forgiveness. We have to find a way to say, "It's okay, you take that parking space. I'll find another. Even if it means I have to walk further to my destination at least I'll get some exercise."

So I ask today that you forgive someone a small injustice. If I let a door slam in your face, forgive me. If I forget to say thank you, forgive me. If I insult your hairstyle, forgive me. If I cut you off in traffic, forgive me. If I don't share my lunch with you, forgive me. If I don't answer your phone call, forgive me. If I hurt your feelings, forgive me. If I forward a chain letter to your inbox, forgive me. If I disagree with you, forgive me. If I'm ungrateful, forgive me. If I'm critical, forgive me. If you love me, forgive me. If you don't love me, forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive him. Forgive them. Forgive.

Farewell, my dear friend. I know by now you're making them all laugh on that other plane of existence. They are happy to have you. And we all are better for having known you.

Until next week,
Feed on love; subsist on peace.

A Song For Mama

I miss my mother. Everyday I think about her at least once: her beautiful smile, the way she would laugh until tears poured down her cheeks, her fierce determination to raise a strong family. Everyday the fruit of her nurturing emerges in the essence that is me.

Sometimes her memory fills me with so much joy that my whole day is made better. Other times I pick up the phone to dial her number and then I realize there will be no one to answer it. And please don't let Boys II Men's A Song For Mama play on the radio. I'm completely done for the rest of the day. You might think my mother has been gone only a short while. It's been eight years; it feels like eight months.

My intention is not to make you sad for the rest of the week. Quite the contrary, I want you to enjoy your loved ones and bask in the glow of their love. Allow them, also, to bask in the brilliance of yours. I want you to live every moment like it is the single most important moment of your life...because it is. It is!

I learned as a young girl that giving birth is not a necessity of motherhood. A mother is a woman who dedicates her life to your care, safety, and growth. She ensures that every important need of yours is met and she will lay down her very life so that you can have one.

My mother did not give birth to me, but she loved me like I was her very own. I remember that I wanted so badly to call her "Mom," but something inside me would not let me do it. I used to think that it was some misguided loyalty to my birth mother that prevented my actual mother her rightful place in my heart. I now know that wasn't the truth, not the whole truth.

I couldn't call her "Mom" because I associated that word with hurt. Moms leave you alone for days a time, forcing you to beg a neighbor for a few slices of bread to feed your younger siblings and yourself. Moms give you away to relatives and never bother to call and ask if you're okay. Moms never come back to get you. Moms don't love you. Oh, they say they do, but they don't. Not really. So, you see, if I called her "Mom," she would then have to live up to the image I held in my head and heart. But as long as she was just "Grandma," she would love me for the rest of my life.

And she did. Even though she's not here now, I can still feel her love residing inside me everyday. She didn't have to love me; she chose to love me and I am such a better person for it.

If your mom is still alive, cherish every second you have with her. She may drive you crazy, she may criticize your every decision, she may be absolutely insufferable, but she's the only mother you have. She dedicated her life to your care, safety, and growth. She would lay down her life to save yours. She loves you exactly how you need to be loved. Pay attention to what I just said. I didn't say she criticizes exactly how you should be criticized. I didn't say she judges exactly how you need to be judged.  The word I used was love. Sometimes we're so angry at what someone says or does to us that we forget that what they're really trying to do is express their love. Do you know what I would give to have my mother criticize me one more time? I don't have that option, but some of you still do.

Pick up the phone and call her. Buy her a beautiful "Thinking of You" card and mail it to her. Spend some time with her. And when she inquires as to when you're planning to dump that no-good boyfriend of yours, hug her and say, "Oh, Mom! Thank you so much for loving me!"

Until next week,

Feed on love; subsist on peace.

"Mama...Mama, you know I love you.
Ooooo, you know I love you, Mama.
Mama, you're the queen of my heart.
Your love is like tears from the stars.
Mama, I just want you to know
Loving you is like food to my soul."

It's Personal

When I started this blog a little over a month ago, my goal was to present it as a forum where people could log on and get meaningful, heartfelt answers to life's questions. An advice blog, if you will. But not actually advice; I wanted to offer what I hoped to be a fresh perspective to problems that we may or may not have in common. Since then, however, the blog has consisted of me speaking about whatever falls upon my heart.

Not today.

Today, we have a question about a hurt that many know, but few, if any, understand. It's about the aftermath of a miscarriage. Please listen with empathy and offer your own fresh perspective if you can.


"Dear Well-Fed Spirit,
I don't know if you can even help me with this, but I don't know what else to do. I feel so lost. About two weeks ago, I had a miscarriage. I feel like I should be over it by now, but I can't seem to move on. My heart hurts so much. I can't stop thinking about the moment that my doctor told me there was no baby. She was so nonchalant. She said sometimes when all the tests show that you're pregnant, you're still not. She said that there was an amniotic sac, but no baby. I had never heard of anything like that. In all the baby books I've read and all the crap I've read online, they never ONCE said anything about how you could be pregnant, but not really. WTF is that about?  


And now I feel like I can't even grieve, because people are looking at me like I shouldn't be sad because there was never really a baby. But I THOUGHT there was! I loved and nurtured that "baby" for three whole months. I thought about baby names and what color I was going to paint the nursery. I made room in my heart for it and now there's just an empty space where my baby should be. I feel empty. But then I feel guilty because I have a living, breathing daughter that needs me and all I want to do is cry and sleep.


I don't want to deal with people right now because people can say some stupid shit sometimes. I know that's probably unfair because they're just trying to help, but that's how I feel. I wish they would shut up and leave me alone to deal."

First, I want to say I'm sorry for your loss. The death of a loved one is always heartbreaking. The loss of a child is so unspeakable that parents shudder to even think of it. A miscarriage, though, is something that is so incredibly personal that, if you haven't experienced it, there's no way to fully understand it. I have experienced it, twice in fact, so I will share with you what I have since learned from my loss. I pray that it helps.

There is no time limit on grief. I don't care if your miscarriage was two weeks ago or two years, you take as much time to grieve your child's death as you need. As long as you do actually allow yourself to grieve. Numbing yourself so you won't feel the pain or pretending it didn't happen only prolongs the grieving process. It won't make the pain go away. You have every right to mourn the loss of your baby and I encourage you to do so.

I also encourage you to talk to someone. I know that people will sometimes say awkward or even stupid things when someone they love is hurting. Realize that your grief is difficult for the people around you as well. They want to help you, but they don't know how. Tell them how to help you. If they can help you by taking your child to the park so that you can scream at God for an hour, tell them. If they can help by just sitting beside you while you stare silently at the walls, tell them. They love you and they sincerely want to be there for you. Please allow them to do so. The worst possible thing you can do is shut people out right now. I know you don't want them, but you need them now more than ever. If there isn't anyone whom you trust with these sacred emotions, please talk to a professional. Everyone needs help sometimes; there is no shame in it.

The type of miscarriage you experienced is called a blighted ovum. Your body develops the amniotic sac in anticipation of a baby, your period stops, you have all the symptoms of pregnancy, but for some reason the baby doesn't grow. That isn't an official medical description of it. My first miscarriage was also a blighted ovum and I found information online because my doctors didn't tell me much. There may not have "technically" been a baby growing inside your womb, but your heart didn't know that. Your heart, your mind, your soul, and your body were making room for your baby. Everyday, your spirit connected with that of your unborn child a little more; everyday your bond grew stronger. You lost your baby and it is okay to mourn accordingly.

Talk to your daughter about it. You may not realize she's hurting, but she lost the baby, too. She may have kissed your belly as a way to show her future baby brother or sister affection. She probably imagined what it would be like to be a big sister and planned all the things she would teach him/her. She may have told her friends how excited she was. She had a bond with the baby, too and she needs help dealing with the fact that he/she isn't coming now. Helping her cope with her grief will help you cope as well. There are books specifically written to help children understand miscarriage and you could read one together. My daughter and I would draw pictures of how we were feeling. One of her pictures was of a baby with wings flying happily in the sky.

Soon you will find that it gets a little easier each day. One day you may even understand why it happened to you. I like to think that it happened to me so that I could help another woman when it happened to her. I pray that you find peace.

To those of you who may know a woman grieving a miscarriage, I'm going to give you a list of things NOT to say to her. I don't want to be negative, but when a person is dealing with this, there are things you just shouldn't say. You may be surprised by some of them. And that's exactly why I'm going to tell you.

1. Nothing. If you say nothing, it may come across as uncaring or unfeeling. A simple "I'm so sorry" will suffice.
2. "It was God's will." No mother wants to hear that God's will was for her child to die.
3. "Maybe it was for the best." There is no scenario you could think of that would make this true in the mind of a grieving mother.
4. "I know how you feel." Again, this pain is so personal that, even if you've miscarried also, you can't know how that mother felt about that baby. You don't know the hopes and dreams she had. You don't know what being pregnant meant to her. You don't know her pain; you know yours. What you could say is "I know how I felt when I miscarried. There's no pain in the world like it." And then give her a big hug.


Until next week...

Feed on love; subsist on peace.