Kimmi 💔

When I look in the mirror, nearly 7 years later… the first thing I always see is the emptiness in my eyes from the loss of you.

Over the years, I have tried and tried to internally embrace that your features of DNA are becoming more prevalent—it’s not enough.

The pain I feel, the pain I felt when I heard the words “it’s your mom, it’s Kim… call Phillip” from the mouth of your distraught mother let me know immediately that what I had always feared had happened.

I didn’t need to call Phillip. I felt that part of me die. I’ll never forget that exact moment, where I was and how disoriented I felt. Who sits on the floor of a NYC train at 8:10am? … me. I couldn’t feel my spirit inside me, it had left. I was in a complete trance.

When I finally got to a safe space to actually process the words, I let out a cry I hadn’t heard since Papito died in my arms. At twenty-nine I no longer had either of my parents. I was truly alone now. My origins, my roots, my core was gone.

I don’t think I’ll ever successfully be able to place an analogy to that feeling. I’m still living in that feeling everyday something hurts me deeply. It’s a wound that NEVER stays closed up no matter how you try to doctor it.

To some, they may feel I should be in a better space with it by now, but I’m still grieving. I can’t call you for advice, I don’t hear your encouragement, I don’t get to lay on your bosom and cry things out while in your warm embrace, I don’t get to look in your eyes and tell you the truth before we “handle it”. I don’t get any of those things anymore. How can anyone be ok after that?

In the beginning, I remember every smile, every head rub, every hug, every time you licked your finger and got crud off my face, every time you got me ready for school playing ConFunkShun and dancing. I remember that Kim. I yearn for her like I did during my whole life of you being someone else while you were sick from your addiction.

In the middle, I remember your demons trying to dim your light. But they didn’t win. Your light was so strong that you still fought to the end and you beat them. I remember when we made a pact when I was 16 years old. To this day, I’ve never revealed what it was to anyone. YOU LIVED TO PROVE TO ME YOU COULD DO IT.

Now, I’m here trying to find solitude in that… I remember the ending, when you were on the other side and you were secretly making plans to face your fears and leave Indianapolis. I discovered your chips of sobriety, your Greyhound ticket to Port-Authority NYC on June 19, 2017 to arrive to me on the anniversary of Papito’s death. You were coming to me…

I remember the organization of your home, your blood on the floor and me laying where they found you just so I could be connected with some form of life of you.

That pain… it will never leave and nobody around me seems to care or understand the depths of it reoccurring when they hurt me. The trauma that arises when they abandon me in a low emotional and mental state.

The absence of your unconditional love makes me chase love in any form. Just as a child, I’m too understanding, too forgiving, too sentimental, too vulnerable to people and things I shouldn’t be. I’m an adult now and it’s dangerous… I teeter the line of rationality and childlike emotions.

Yes, I have grown up so much, and you would be proud of me… but this is not I how saw it—you mothering me as a spirit guide. I NEED YOU HERE!!! NOW MORE THAN EVER. I love God, but I need you. I need Papito.

So, on your birthday today, I decided to be honest with myself and the world:

Mommi, I don’t got it. I don’t have the energy. I don’t have the time. I don’t have the strength. I don’t have the will to fight anymore. I’m treading water and I just keep getting taken under. I need help. I want help. I just can’t figure it out alone anymore. I just don’t got it this time.

Where do I even begin to fix it all without you? Without a mother’s love.