A Procession of One

The word bitch should be used solely in conjunction with the word grief. I promise you, if I ever hear another man call a woman a bitch, I don’t care who he is, I’m going to hurt him. If I ever hear another woman call a man a bitch, I’ll release a few choice words that will touch her core, but she’ll be able to continue. Neither a man nor a woman can make you feel as sickening as grief can. I don’t care what they do to you – cheat, lie, steal or slam you to the ground and run. Grief is the only bitch I know.

Grief intruded into my life June 4th 2008 at 4:20pm. That’s when I received a call from my father’s wife informing me that my daddy, Bobby James Hudson, was gone. She said it as calmly as she could. “Niecy, we lost Bobby today.” That’s when my procession of one began.

I proceeded to cry. I proceeded to yield to the shit feeling that was ravaging my body, because I couldn’t fight back. I proceeded to collapse and let myself be gutted by grief. Grief cuts your insides and churns them at the same time, runs them over, burns them, and leaves them there expecting you to function as if oh well should be the next words you say.

The first steps of my procession were to see my daddy lying in his coffin. Simply visiting my daddy became viewing his body. I was at a wake that would never allow for sleep. This wake wanted tears and I obliged…boy did I oblige.

My procession kept going strong with then next day being more forceful than the first. The funeral told me to say goodbye. I only did so after God told me to hold onto His hand. He said that I will see my daddy later.

Next, the cemetery. Grief began to slither around my throat. It’s hold grew tighter and tighter but I still saw the coffin which held my daddy – even with my shades on and my eyes closed.

I know we all go through this but it doesn’t diminish the fact that my daddy broke my heart. I know he didn’t mean to. I know he loved his babygirl. When I was younger my father told me that he wouldn’t always be here. His words – “Babygirl, ya daddy ain’t always gone be here.” My words – “Well, where are you going to be?” Together we’d laugh. Lawd, I miss my daddy.

A father’s love for his daughter is priceless. Fellas, you all can step up your game and you still won’t measure up. My daddy made me feel SO special. His encouraging words to keep on babygirl, stick with it, success doesn’t come overnight. Man, this hurts.

I wanted my father to see me make it. To him, I already did. He saw something different in me. He saw that I stepped out on faith and did what my passion told me to. I know that he was proud of me.

Bobby James Hudson was the first black man to work at the TAM Plant in Niagara Falls NY. 1968 didn’t have a civil rights march for him – he was just being a provider for his family. Tuskegee Institute and Niagara Community College taught my daddy a few things. He took that knowledge and eventually opened his own store, Hudson Tile and Carpet in Ocala Florida. But that was after he showed others how it should be done at the Color Tile store in Niagara Falls NY.

My daddy and his ideas! I smile just thinking about them. Shaklee, Amway, Omaha Steaks and BARD (Bobby, Alice, Ronny, Denise) Security. His favorite food – fried chicken. Once my daddy told me that he could eat fried chicken every day! Why? “‘Cause I was raised on it babygirl.” Oh… I miss my daddy.

He taught my brother to keep a handkerchief in his pocket. My brother now has taught that to his sons. Something so simple. but something to be proud of still. He taught me to be me, and ain’t nuthin’ wrong with that 🙂

Golf, golf, golf. Why did I say that golf was a dumb game…that all you do is walk around hitting a ball. Lawd, did I get a LECTURE on golf! I was a teenager. I’m 42 now and I have NEVER said a bad word about the game of golf since!

I’ll hurt, I’ll cry and still talk too much about my daddy. My procession will continue with me working it out and being the woman that Bobby James Hudson knew I could be.

I love you daddy.

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Wanda D. Hudson
Wait for Love: A Black Girl’s Story
LuvMe
http://www.wandadhudson.com

I Must Be Ready

The following are thoughts that I had a few months ago, which would translate to last year. The New Year has me exuberant will all of the possibilities, that I once again have been given. The thought of a new presidential candidate, who is a few shades lighter than I, but still considered my African American brother has my heart beating with fresh blood not dervied from an outside source. Ahhh, life.

Are we ready for life? The uncertainties? The happiness? The disappointments? It’s hard to get ready for something that you don’t know the beginning to, and can only make assumptions about the end. The following words came from the incident with the women’s basketball team. With all that is going on in the world we still have to come prepared- bring the game face and do it to death.  

As a child I was told that sticks and stones may break my bones, but words would never hurt me. As an adult I know that this kiddie rhythm is wrong. Sticks and stones will kill you, and words will bury you six feet plus while you’re still breathing. It usually takes an action in order to get a reaction. Why do we always have to react? Is it any one person’s fault that we have to come to the rescue of each other when we are separated from one another? Our lives should already be at a point and a pace that is beyond comfortable with no hurtful words, sticks, or stones in view. The lyrics say a change gone come. The change came, but we either didn’t see it, or simply didn’t know how to keep it revolving in the right direction. One action makes us remember what we should think about on more than an anniversary. One action of distaste is all it takes to cause a debate of what should be done to keep our change from diminishing to less than what it takes to place a ten cent call. Wait, the cost of a call hasn’t been ten cents in years? Where do we really stand? How much change do we have left? Words. Bullets. Rape. Murder. Death. These cause us to remember.

Slaves
look
Slaves
at
Slaves
all
Strange Fruit
the
Malcolm X
african
Addie Mae Collins
niggar
Martin Luther King
colored
Carole Roberston
black
Johnnie Robinson
people
Strange Fruit
who
Medgar Evers
have
Denise McNair
died
Sean Bell
for
Cynthia Wesley
a
James Byrd Jr.
change
Strange Fruit
that
Unidentified Body (bodies)
is
James Chaney
within
Emmet Till
us

We argue over our history. We argue over our titles. This is an argument that will never be won. Other races belittle us and say it’s okay because we belittle ourselves. We get angry and try to decide to whom the blame will fall on. Every opinion is right. Each view differs. The fight continues because of this. There are only a few things that I know and I believe are certain. I know I love my family. I know that our titles, our words, have taken on a entity of their own. They are used by many, but the reason for the easy disposal by others has yet to be explained.Jesus is coming. I believe this is certain. I Mus Be Ready. 

I luv you.

Can one man bring a change that will save ourselves from us?  To vote is the answer – the question…I Mus Be Ready.

Keep it SEXY

Everybody Needs A Little Luv – get some of your’s Wanda’s Way