.366 day 342

her favorite place to be.

i hope to one day look over at a teenage her, and remember these moments, like they're happening right in front of me.

"and when the angels ask me of my fondest memory, i'll say 'i remember...you'"

ron austin

.310 father's day

the idea started out simple enough. but take a busy toddler in need of a nap and hopped up off of homemade banana ice-cream and chocolate and it becomes a task greater than i had the energy for today. i didn't get the image(s) i desired, but the sentiment is still the same...

happy father's day, daddy. you're missed. you're loved. you're here. and, we honor you.

.215 day 191

(today hurt more than i thought it would)

eyes, blurred and blinded, i drove, alone, in 'clutch fists to chest, swallow hard' type pain. 

i went to his home (occupied by another now) and sat on his steps. remembered the last time we sat there together, in 100+ heat, me, fat and bald, him lovingly making jokes about how i am my brother's twin now without hair, and toots, 5 months old and giggling while being carted back and forth from neighbor to neighbor by a grand-father who adored her, so. 

i scribbled out sloppy, painful, pleading messages to him on a white candle...lit it...then left it there. no miracle weight lifted, i walked down his stairs (no longer his) feeling no more at peace than whence i came. 

a bitter-sweetness.

his home. his address. now belonging to someone else. the porch roof that my uncle restored two summers ago and the huge tree he loved (only tree on the block) in front of his home, flashing memories in fallen leaves and perfectly placed wooden splinters. remembering how sad he was when he thought he would need to chop it down to keep the local teen dealers from stashing their "work" at the base of it's roots or making deals in it's shadows.

(le sigh)

if i don't leave philly...i fear i'll be back, year after year, ritualistically, replaying every moment of every moment that i had with him here.

.166 day 143

two man made birds • on flights of death

two man made eyes • take one last breath

two thousand plus • are laid to rest

two worldly wars • two valves of peace

two million souls • to say the least

two million shrouds • drape those deceased

two paths in life • one road to take

forever two choices • never two fates

too close to now • too near to wait

maybe tomorrow • maybe too late

(written by my father)

khalid muhammad 

march 19, 1953 - january 26, 2012

he wore this hat religiously.

his pisces pendant that hangs in my car

his lock. his scent. frozen in time.

(happy day of transitioning, daddy)

.040 day 30

he didn't believe in technology. wrote all his works by hand. shunned my offer to buy him a computer. he'd only been behind the wheel once in his lifetime. a bike, his feet, his wings taking him here or there and back again. played tennis practically daily, and sweetly sung peace to anyone who passed him. every summer he'd buy bushels of crabs for his entire block while blasting reggae loud enough to make it a party. and most importantly, he never, ever, stopped listening to vinyl. his record collection, large and diverse, taking hours for me to go through, dissecting every album cover when i was a little girl. on the weekends, we'd listen to gregory isaacs, gil-scot heron and teena marie into the wee hours of the night, the smell of oils and his "special cigarettes, our ambiance.

this record player is the last thing i bought him. and now it sits in the garage, along with his record collection, his bike and a dark, rare picture of a disheveled billie holiday awaiting to make it's home where ever i finally decide to make mines. 

.037 day 27

daddy. 

his hat. his keffiyeh (tied around my body). his lock. his scent. his humor. his love. his spirit. his everything. now lives in me, too. he brought back my art. brought back the self that lived pre-lost, pre-aneurysms and life going left. vulnerability and fearlessness. the staple of my me'ness. it's there. it's coming. it's here. it's showing. dear daddy, i hear you. i feel you. i am you. i honor you. goddammit, i cry for you. i ache for you. i heal for you. and i'm going to show the world, how a daughter raised by you, loved by you, unabashedly praised by you, will be EVERYTHING i'm meant to be...because of you.

starting...with...my heart.

.027 day 17

we didn’t venture far today. in fact, so close were we to home that panties and pampers the only clothing needed at all. the house, so dark and peaceful. the only sound, the howl of wind passing by an open window. the curtain in my room, flapping, fleeting, flying high, while toots chorused squeals of amazement. i grabbed my phone to first record, then snap, a quick shot of our fabric's dramatic flight, but was halted by the eerily feel of raggedy ann peeking between each take-off. a gift from my father, to his grand-daughter, i know it's of good energy. but being so old and touched by so many different hands and energies along the way, i couldn't help but think she spoke an even greater story. past my daddy spotting her in a thrift store when toots was still cradled on my shoulder blade, past sitting in his home awaiting to be washed, and found again only after he transitioned. 

after posting it on instagram, i decided i wanted an actual photo and scooped my camera from besides my bed (it sits there now as i add photos from it daily for this challenge) and snapped an almost similar photo. the curtains paused their soaring, and up close raggedy ann looked less like a horror story. and more like my father simply saying good morning to his babies...and i silently whispered back "good morning, daddy", while swallowing back the urge to drop to the floor. but toots was clapping and giggling and ooh and aahing so much, i calmly chose to giggle, too.

but - i cried while taking this

and i'm crying while posting it.