A Perfect Lover

My Great-Grandmother was born on Valentine's Day, which is fitting if you've ever met her. She was a loving woman that everyone in the community turned to whenever they needed help or advice.

She was also a fierce protector. She kept her gun nearby and her knife even closer. She would dare anyone, man or woman, to try her or anyone connected to her. No matter what was going on in the neighborhood, everyone knew to leave her home out of it or expect hell.

Her room was in the back of the house down a long dark hallway. If you pushed her cracked door open she'd welcome you into a bright space filled with natural light. She had a bed pushed against the wall. Next to it, a small table with a landline phone and a black book filled with numbers and notes. Most days, she sat in the chair next to her bed and made phone calls to family and friends all day long.

Growing up people were always stopping by to visit her. I would sit in the front of the house and watch them make the journey back to her room. Sometimes their heads hung as they carried the heaviness of their truth down the hallway that seemed to go on forever.

As they reached her door there was usually a pause.

Inhale.

When people left her room they almost seemed to float out of the house. I always noticed that the heaviness didn't seem to weigh them down anymore.

Exhale.

As I sit here and reflect on her birthday, I'm realizing how much my Great-Grandmother taught me about love and community. As I remember her stories I see all the many ways she loved her community.

She listened. She gave people a space to unload their pain without judgment. She always found ways to laugh and cry with someone. She always went the extra mile to uplift people while delivering tough truths. She sat with people and shared meals with them when the words were too painful to speak.

She was an imperfect person but a perfect lover.

Happy Birthday to the woman who taught me everything I know about loving.