The Grim Always Reaps.


Shalekiah Barton, Staff Writer

I guess it is really true, that death has no Ears, Eyes or Emotions.

It cant hear families weep, for their loved ones.
It cant see families in pain and distress.
And it cant feel, the anguish, confusion and hurt that one does after losing a mother, father, daughter, son, wife or husband.

In a lot of ways, I envy death.

It would be a lot easier not to experience those kinds of hurt, let alone inflict it.

I really miss my grandmother.

Bessie Barber, born November 11th, 1940 in Columbia, South Carolina.

Witty, brutally honest and what a woman.

She was the only person who could make Banana Pudding, that puts gourmet bakers and cooks to shame.

She valued school, family and most importantly God.

My grandmother had the closest relationship to God than some preachers and pastors, I know.

She believed every thing happens for a reason and that faith, and obedience is the best thing for a good life.

When she was a teen, she had my mother who is the first born of 6 children. She struggled with depression, alcoholism, and anxiety but when she grew older she began going to church and renewed herself.

No one is perfect and just because she is gone, I won’t paint her as an angel who was sent on earth, like most people do.

All I can say is, my grandmother is vital in the story telling of my life, because she birthed and raised my mother.

We all knew something was up, in December 2013 when she called all of us down to South Carolina, to spend time with her. It was different, she was never the type of person to say what she needed because she would somehow make a way for what ever she needed. When we got down there, she was different.

She was miserable.

If we watched television, she thought we should read.

If we read, she thought we were too quiet.

It got to the point where no one wanted to be around her.

It wasn’t until we all got back home to New York that we found out why my grandma was acting moody.

She was dying and it was nothing she could do.

She beat breast cancer, 5 years before and the doctors did not see any sign of it coming back.

The universe had other plans, there was a tumor in her stomach and it had began eating everything inside of her.

On her death bed, everything was failing in her body, except her heart.

Her heart pumped, strong and loud, I think it was her way of still fighting and showing she was still brave.

My last memories of her was the end of August 2014.
My mother and aunt were going to drive down and check on her.
Little did they know, I heard them talking about her health failing and my bags were packed.Something in me, just told me I had to go.

As fine as she wanted all of us to think she was, I know she was angry.

My grandmother never wanted anyone else to dictate her life, or movements.

So I know that having her body shut down, against her will. She was frustrated and had a dagger going stright toward her pride.

Even at her last hours, she maintained control.

My mother was in New York, rushing down south to be with her.

Doctors did not think she would make it through the night, but she did. My grandma kept peeking to see if my mom had gotten there yet and every time she did not see her, she would close her eyes again.

When my mother finally arrived, she rushed to my grandmothers side, kissed her and began to tell her how much she loved her and wanted her to be at peace.

Mid-sentence, my grandmother’s eyes began to roll in the back of her head.

The room stood still, and at that very moment, you could hear the air flow through the room.

My grandfather, aunt and mother looked at each other.

My grandfather knew he no longer had his wife.

My mom and aunt, no longer had a mother.

She was officially gone.

My grandmother died while my mother was talking to her.

Coincidence, I think not.

My grandmother was dramatic in that way, she knew how to make grand entrances and exits.

Minutes after my mom arrived and minutes before my uncle could, she made her final exit.

She waited, for her first born, my mother to arrive.

She died on my mother’s best friend, uncle Robert’s, birthday.

We’re all still trying to figure out the significance their, not sure we ever will.

One thing is for sure, my grandmother was faithful untill death.

Most people are unfaithful until, but not her.

Even in pain, my grandmother would ask us if we were okay, if we needed anything as if we were the ones on a hospital bed.

She was a victim and survivor of cancer at the same time.

Before her, I only had 3 other people who I’ve truly loved who died.

My uncle Mike, in 2005, my mentor Mr. Burns in 2011 and my uncle Robert in 2012.

No death is more important than the other, because I still wish they all were here but my grandmother’s passing was something that will never sit right with me.

Her death is a constant reminder that any one of the people I see everyday can disappear too.

One thing I’ve realized is no matter how many people you know pass away, it is nothing compared to losing your grandmother.

She was the truly the jam that held my family together, when she prayed for me I felt like I was intruding on a personal conversation with God.

My grandmother was the person who named me and saw the world for me, before I did.

She created me, because a name is who you become.

When she called me Sha, shalom, she made me a peaceful person, Le, a Levite, I became a servant of God and Kiah, she saw me as a legend or folktale.

Seeing my grandfather cry for the first time, was the biggest reminder that life will never be the same.

I am 21, and I have never seen that man do anything but laugh.

So watching tears fall from his face and the pain in his eyes, I will never look at life the same.

I don’t think any of us, will ever be the same.

I know if she were here, she would tell us all not to cry and not to worry.

However, she is not and sometimes crying is the best thing to do.

Crying keeps me from being angry.

Crying keeps me calm.

Lord knows, we dont need another grim in this world.

One is enough.

He doesn’t care who he hurts, how many hearts he breaks.

The Grim always Reaps.