151.

I need a minute.

I received an email today, twenty-four minutes ago, a general email mind you, to the parents of seniors who have yet to pay for and/or pick-up the cap and gown of their respective young person…, teenager.., young adult.., heart-walking-outside-of-their-collective-bodies…



(Sineca's singing phase)

151.

Hold on a second.

I mean, admitting to long-windedness is like second nature to me, so just give me a minute. I need this moment. I swear to you, it won’t be as long as the other moments because quite honestly, I don’t know if I can hold back the barrage of tears behind these desperately mesmerizing dark chocolate orbs (I mean, I’m all emotion-filled but that writer in me, though…)

I mean. Good grief. I am literally just trying to keep my composure.

And so I write. And write. And write.

Until spent.

Until that emotion is under control.

Until then...

#Breathe. I keep telling myself.

Just. Breathe.

Shall we take it from the top?

151.

So, twelve minutes ago, I was in the ladies room at my office, bawling my face off. Luckily, I am not the full-on warrior face-paint sort of individual, because that would have been SUPER duper FUBAR (effed-up beyond all repair). Not that I have any issue with those of us that choose to care enough about presenting a put-together face-time, every time. You must warrior face-off on these “Why you so mad, Mah. Smile, Sweetheart.” types:

-Reading is fundamental. Why *are you so mad. And that should be a question not a statement.

- I am not mad. I don’t know you and I am NOT your Sweet anything.

                and;

- DON’T you statement at me (*insert angry emoji)!  Don't you tell me what to do. You don't know my life!

Well I told him. *Brushes shoulder off.

Anyway, to wrap that point up, I commend those of us who are able to accomplish this daily regimen actually because Lord knows the way my mental time-acumen is set up…

151.

As I was saying, I received this notice from Sineca’s (1) community leader at school. Sin handled it with ease, as per usual, and handed off the receipt information and the purchase date, which proved the glitch was firmly in their matrix.

The issue was resolved in less than a minute, so that's not the thing...the thing is, I all of a sudden had this rush of relief wash all the way over my entire existence.

Compared only to the moment I first laid eyes on his tiny little cocoa-infused fingers and toes.

He. Did. It. 

*Heart Chakra to Crown Chakra - Overload of endorphins - Flood Warning

He made it through.

Oh Em Flipping Gee, I'm like really bawling. Again.

The Last Little Mohican.

151.

And because you don’t know my heart, you have no idea why I am bawling-out or what exactly I’m blubbering about. But, as a retort, I will say that your thoughts are really hurtful. First of all. Second of all, Who hurt you, Misery? And, at any juncture, all the way at the beginning, I did ask for a moment and we all know how much I can talk an ear plum off...! And the writing is absolutely no different, if not exponentially worse, lengthwise and especially about the people that I love deeply.

Soulfully.

This day was never meant to happen. That’s what the nurses and doctors believed, but Are you even kidding me, God? Graduating from high school, for the most part, is an awesome accomplishment, a rite of passage, if you will. Not like the Oh- My-Word-Clutching-Our-Pearls moments of yesteryear, like before Brown V. Board (Side-eyeing Mississippi like…) when young men of color graduating from high school would literally change the entire make-up of his family and the dynamic within. No, the graduations of today are more like the You did it! moment of a young person's existence, the very precipice of adulthood.

But just a tiny bit sweeter for my Choo-Choo Bears, my Sin-Sinna-Who-Got-The-Keys-To-My-Beamer, My Gator Boots (OMG, if you know why I call him these ridiculous names, just stop reading now, otherwise you'll be bawling right along with me!)...for my SinnaMiniBuns, for my BooBear, ya know the Boo Bear to my Yogi Bear...

Well, let me be clear, lol. Sineca is much more cerebral than celebratory. This elation is not from Young Master Howell, himself. He pretty much takes everything in stride. Being an Aquarian, he's just so cool on all active and inactive fronts (unless we're talking Call of Duty, where he is extremely UN-in-stride, hollering at folk to just never ask him to let them join his Mission, like ever, in the history). On so many beautiful levels, he's just never considered failure, despite the complications, and neither did I. I knew the risks, and I knew his humble health beginnings and more importantly I knew from his fiery competitive nature that he was blessed from birth and not only would he survive; he would THRIVE!

#BeWaterMyFriend - Bruce Lee

He isn't into basketball, although his genetic make-up and his cousin Julian would belie this thought. He isn't very much into football, although his on-field technique and his Dad would belie this thought. He is, however, into Muay Thai Kickboxing, could quite easily kick a hole into someone's chest actually and loves to spar with said Dad. I have NO IDEA (2) where this fighting spirit came from but thankfully it was honed in, regulated (insert smirking Emoji here) and put to good use.

Children who are loved by both parents benefit immensely. (6th Birthday)

151.

That's how many days I watched him fight for his life, and my life. Watched him lay in an incubator hearing the nurse whisper the unlikelihood of Sineca making it through the night having been born at a 23-week gestation, as if he could not hear them. They told me to prepare myself for what could be a really rough but ultimately peaceful evening. I laughed at her then because I knew his life was meant to be. She didn't know the power I knew of, she didn't know his sister was a 23-week preemie and she was as close to perfect as any person breathing could ever be, she didn't know his brother was gifted in untold categories, she didn't know how desperately his father prayed for him; a chip on and off the old block. 

I watched him that night, breathe in and out. Trying to keep every eye open, even though I had just given birth and had been heavily sedated; I willed him to live, to hold on to this life. Promising its beauty and my word to never leave his side.

And I did not.

And still to this day: I do not.

I keep my promises.

He has been the Prince of peace ever since he took his very first breath, bringing nothing but his calm nature. He went from an incubator the size of a bread box, to a crib so gigantic that it swallowed up both of us. His tiny little 2 pound 5 ounce frame and mine just slightly larger, in a crib that the two of us could simultaneously fit in with room to grow. Me, Sineca and his innumerable tubes, tines, and toys made that space all our own. Back and forth, from one test to another, incubator, operating table, head bleeds, stomach ulcers, lungs filling with mucus, and blood and other foreign fluids, failing from over work, incubator, crib, back to 80% oxygen, reminding him to breathe because he kept forgetting, like literally, even though it was NOT his job to remember but mine to do so. I was supposed to breathe for him, in my big ole belly. But nooooo, somebody just had to be born early. 

...151 days.

We watched families in despair. Saw them come in and bowed our heads when they had to leave for the very last time, without their bundle of joy, as I sat willing him to rest but also forcing by sheer osmosis for his soul to be strong. Epitome of the strong silent type, Sineca enjoys his life day by day and I don't know why he was spared; that is not for me to know. What I needed to know was faith.



Why he is here is between he and The Almighty One and somehow that email reminded me of that and that: We. Are. Here...

Right now. And this is where a brand new journey begins.

And.

I thought I'd be ready but I am so not ready.

My Sineca was the onliest (3) one. 

BIDMC

And people always laugh at me when I speak of him and then they see him, because they expect him to be this small church-mouse quiet individual.

He:

• Speaks his mind ceremoniously
• Is witty and comical and acerbic
• Has grown so much over the last year
• Laughs at most of my jokes, even the ones that I mess up
• Logically makes assessments far beyond his years
• Thinks he know EeevveRryyThing
• Has great taste in movies, if not music (#Goodgrief)

But quiet...? Uhm...No. Lol. 

Young Master Howell

I speak of all my children in the most coddled emotion because where else would a man have such uncharacteristically unconditional love, respect and understanding, in his growth from atom to adult, if not from his mother, where he incubated, for like eons? My children are all such awesomely upstanding people that my praises of them seem foreign to mothers and others who are unable to express themselves. Use your words. Some people feel that to love them this way spoils them, that they wouldn't be ready for the world. The world is harsh, there is no reason for a mother to be. A mother should be grateful for the gifts of life, to be handed a child of God and given the opportunity to show Him how much you love Him, thankful to be chosen the caregiver of His most precious cargo.

Y'all got me preaching up in here this afternoon and I am the least religious person on earth. Lol.

Anyway.

My beautiful baby wasn't supposed to make it through that first night. *Cue tears* Every day was touch and go. My past, his dad's...we begged The Almighty One not to make him suffer for our misgivings, misfortunes, and misdeeds. Give me his pain. Give me his ailments. He was never expected to walk and talk on his own, let alone master subjects like algebra where one must compute precisely, history where one must recall and regurgitate logically, and computer science where one must…uhm...master the science of computers, scientifically?

Obvs.

Because Math.

#Duhhhhhh.

I mean, I'm a law school graduate (4) for goodness sake, not a medical student. I don't do mathematical computations.

And.

Anyway.


Look at God.

I am so happy.

And proud.

I am so proud that he has proven to himself just how beautiful life is, how our lives have been further enriched because the Almighty One knew I could handle that little life, that I'd be the best vessel for his growth and I that when this day came, I'd be ever grateful for the opportunity and the challenge.

(Sineca at his first concert as an adult; Future and his Purple Reign tour. His first ever concert was his brother's show in Philadelphia.)

(Peter Parker phase. It took Sineca a full 9 years and 11 months before he acquiesced to NOT believing he was Spider-Man.)

(1) Meaning of Sineca: Still waters, elevate. They do and he did. Oh hell, I’m going to need more tissues.

(2) Have we even met? Lol
(3) *When cult leader Jim Jones had his followers drink that drink (Hence the phrase, Don't drink the Kool-Aid), there was one woman, Catherine Hyacinth Edwards Thrash, who was hiding herself from a minor infraction deserving punishment, subsequently falling asleep, under a bed, and missing the command to drink that drink and when interviewed, her words above have always haunted me. She said, out of all these dead people, it's just me left, I was the onliest one…
*Onliest is obviously not a word, but neither were Bootylicious or Gigantinormous until they were. #Sheeple (insert rolling eyes emoji). I'on't see y'all telling Bey she made up a ridiculous word. And what Bey got on ya girl, but money? (Smirking Emoji. Obvs.)
(4) Well not yet, but in a few days ;)~...but go on and holla atcha girl!        

It. Is. Done.

           I am more than a conqueror.