I’m a Black woman. That is more than a statement; it’s a whole mood and often it’s a muzzle. We as Black women are placed in boxes; made out to be caricatures of womanhood and not real women. These boxes are so confining that we hardly fit and dare not breathe. They are the stereotypes we know so well: the Angry Black Woman, Welfare Queen, Mamie or Sex Goddess. They are rarely three dimensional leaving us unfamiliar with ourselves. Black women bear the weight of the world, nurture and care for our families, work places and communities yet we hide our grief; our needs; our desires from ourselves in addition to the world.
“Little Black girl who cares about your tears? Dry those eyes, lift your chin and continue to fight.” We have become ashamed of our tears; of our vulnerability. I remember my mother telling me as a child; “tears are a form of weakness”. She knew I could not afford to be seen as weak. I had to be strong and fight for my place in the world. But who fights for us?
Well, I can say that I had a little brother; he was only three years younger than me. However, from the second he could stand, he raised his little fists and he would fight for me. He would advocate for me. He wanted great things for me. The feeling was mutual as I wanted the same for him. My little superhero in tiny chocolate form. I didn’t know how to appreciate it when I was younger. It felt like he was switching roles trying to be the older sibling when it was my responsibility. As we became adults and our lives ventured into independent form; the deep love and appreciation for one another didn’t separate us. We were knit even closer by our shared memories and experiences as the only two children in our family. We didn’t always see eye to eye but we always had each other’s back. My big little brother that ethereal soul, my special gift was returned to his Owner on January 31, 2021. He’s gone to a place where he can rest and be restored from the limitations of his body. He fought a courageous fight against his Limb and Girdle Muscular Dystrophy. It did not best him God just saw fit to allow him rest.