DIJA'S SECOND ACT

Dear Mum, I was so busy mourning you that I didn't have time to fully acknowledge the loss of my relationship with Cap.  It's finally hitting me now. I can accept the fact that he doesn't want me anymore and I have with as much grace as I can. I asked him to fall back in August 2024 and he has done so. But I still hear from him almost daily. Mostly through text messages on a group chat he created with me and Fareeda.  This is how he keeps in touch. It's how he holds on. I usually don't reply to his political rantings and unfunny reels but he knows that I read them. And we Marco Polo about once a week.  All neutral topics. The kids, our jobs, how much we loathe Trump.  No mention of us. Who we were. What we lost. Who we have to pretend to be now in order to remain in each other's lives. He doesn't want to have those conversations. He doesn't do difficult which means he obviously can't be in a relationship. At least not with me. So though I'm mour...

Dear Mum, I'm starting to be okay again. I'm starting to accept that you're gone. Today is Day 4.  I haven't smoked weed in four days and... I've been completely fine. Your diagnosis was really hard. The last three years of your life were really hard to watch much less to try and manage. Smoking helped with all of the anxiety but the thing is... Now that you're gone... I'm sad a lot but... I no longer have to worry about how I'm going to pay for your care. I no longer have to worry about whether or not you'd recognize Amira if I brought her to visit you. I no longer have to worry about you falling out of bed at the rehab facility that was your last home on this Earth. I miss you, I love you but... The anxiety was awful. So... I'm grateful that I'm healing. I'm grateful that it's been 4 days without weed and I've been just fine. I'm hopeful that maybe now, we can BOTH find peace wherever we may be.

Dear Mum, It's 1:06 a.m. Sunday morning and I've been awake for the past few hours. After a long day that included my virtual weight watchers meeting, an hour workout, dog walking, laundry, and cleaning the kitchen, I fell into a deep, coma-like sleep while watching the Detroiters on Netflix at around 7 p.m. I woke up at 11:15 p.m. to a Marco Polo from Cap. He's in New Orleans this week, working the Superbowl (lucky bastard) and complaining about...well, his usual, every day complaints. After about 10 minutes of chatting he ended his polo by saying, "And speaking of disgusting, I was thinking of doing some disgusting things to you. .." And THIS was the moment I began to tune him out.  We "broke up" two years ago for reasons I'm still not 100% sure of but after ONE fight, our relationship was never the same.  And here's the worst part.  WE STILL HAVEN'T TALKED ABOUT THAT FIGHT. He doesn't want to discuss it. So.... I did what you taught m...

Dear Mum, There are very few ways in which I'd describe myself that are not somehow related to you. I am Merle Brewington's oldest daughter. Her health care proxy. Her accountant. Her maid. Her literal voice when she could no longer speak.  Alzheimer's changed all of our lives forever. With one diagnosis our increasing concerns for you had been confirmed. You went from being my always in control, BOSS BITCH mother to someone who no longer knew how to answer her ringing doorbell. And I went from being a woman who was finally moving past the death of her partner to a nervous wreck who jumped every time the phone rang. I haven't felt like Khadija Brewington, just plain Dij, in so very long. I really want to get to know myself again. To rediscover old dreams. And to create new hopes and opportunities. I can't do that until I stop smoking weed.  As you know, weed is a coping tool for me. While I don't smoke a lot at once, I do smoke daily to deal with the constant a...

Dear Mom, I suppose that the act of writing this letter means I'm starting to accept that you're gone. I don't know how I'm supposed to live without my mother. You didn't prepare me for this. I've spent my entire life worrying about you in some form or fashion. Worrying about what you'd think of whatever rash decision I was certain to be on the precipice of making. Worrying about your ever-worsening health. Worrying about whether or not you'd notice the weight I'd either lost or gained since we'd seen each other last.  (Spoiler Alert: You always noticed. Carefully worded reprimands if I'd gained, exuberant congratulations for a loss, unfortunately it's taken me years to rid myself of the habit of worrying about my weight before a trip home. But one good thing has come from this experience. I've made damn sure that my daughter knows I will ALWAYS welcome her home with open arms, and will never, EVER comment, or give a flying fuck, abou...

Dear Lorenzo, It's 11:27 p.m. and I'm up, drinking a mug of lemon ginger tea and re-listening to my latest video message from Cap. Again. But not responding. Yet. He called me to apologize back in December. I'd dreamed about him the previous evening.  Had texted Michele about "getting back out there" and dating again come Spring. And a few hours later he called.  We've seen each other a few times since and talk almost daily but... I want so very little from my man.  I don't want to live with him. I don't want to see him every day. But... I don't want to feel like an afterthought either. I'm an afterthought to Cap. And as you damn well know, I'm worth so much more than that.