Day 56: Four days until the circle of life is complete.
Due to reasons that surpass my understanding, this season of grief has been the least turbulent in all the five years we've spent without her. It's years like this where I understand just how powerful and how deep the peace of God is. I've only wailed and cried once this season. Yesterday at work, I did have a minor instance that almost broke my composure, but it was short lived. I leave one of her special (to me) bottles of perfume on my shelf at work. It's a very comforting smell and takes me back to when everything was all right and the future was all bright, 2004 —Donna Karen’s,“Be Delicious”. I forgot that I took it home and when I got to work and went to get it and it wasn't there my heart shook a little. This was right before class was about to start. I took myself to the bathroom calmed myself down with breathing, let one tear fall, reassured myself that it wasn't lost or stolen and kept it pushing. The one full on breakdown I had was induced by heavy stress from work and feeling overwhelmed. Those are usually the feelings that bring about laborious grief for me. Moments when I feel alone, moments when I know her presence would make a difference. But in that moment God gave me a friend so that I wouldn't have to go through it alone, thank you Deja. She just sat there with me and gave me the space to let it out as I clutched her little black box of ashes for dear life.
Considering the nature of my proximity away from all that I know and those who have been a comfort to me, one would think that it is in a time such as this that I would be met with my undoing—quite the opposite. My home is my home. My home is a place of peace, its my spiritual fortress and humble dwelling space. I have had friends check in on me and even visit (thank you Erada) and I couldn't ask for more. I've kept in constant communication with my Granny, just to have someone to reminisce with and to bring her comfort. Mark is doing well and we are in a similar space. Theres just no room for overt sadness this year. This is my first year spending her birthday completely alone, but there's just nothing to be sad about. She prepared us well in the womb for a time such as this…Also look at the world right now. Do you really think we're gonna be here much longer? I've always said that I would've rather lost my mother the way that I did rather then to Covid. That's just the truth. Her passing was such a sacred and pivotal point in my life, and I would have it no other way. Transitioning on your birthday is some divine G shit. I wouldn't even have her back on this rapidly deteriorating planet if I had the choice. But the amount of love I have received — not measured by the amount of people, but the sincerity of those who have reached out to me is priceless. This morning I got a text message from Alayah who was there with me through the dark hours five years ago and there after. She remembers like I do. She was changed by that moment like I was. Her presence there was a matter of life and death for me. And we are bonded by that time forever. I will tell you the story, but not today.
Now we will continue with my mother story…
“I've always seen the world from a different vantage point than most. Never held captive by time or space, I lived a life at my own pace. My gifts and knack for interior design were no secret. When I was 12, I painted my first furniture set and often rearrange the furniture in the living room. My love of all things creative later found an outlet in master floral and interior design. However, conceived of my union to Mark Bouldes in 1990, my greatest masterpieces came in the forms of Morgan Chandler and Mark Steven.
Morgan is like an eagle. She always told me that although I was letting her fly, I was still holding onto her wings. I held on for the enjoyment of the ride. I held on so that I could see what she sees and learn what she learns. I still close in case she lost her breath. I held on for her and for me! She is more brave, more powerful, more resilient, more adventurous and smarter than I've ever been.
I dreamed about Mark before he was ever conceived. He is the piece to my carrots. He's the one who hears my heart when I have no words. He's always reaching for my face and searching my eyes to gauge my being. He is kind, smart, charming, selling and thoughtful. There is no distance that keeps my heart from loving him – my little inspiration.
My passion for people could be seen through the bonds forest with those I helped through my social work. I never like the idea of an abuse victim not having a friend to lean on when they finally decide to take that first step. Who would have the broken child and remind them that they were special, pour into them, and create a safe haven while navigating foster care? It was his heart – felt tugging that led me to obtain a bachelors degree in science and psychology with honors from Indiana Tech in 2011.”
To be continued…
Day 55: Five Days until Inger Day
Today my granny called me twice. She never does that. She'll call once, and if she doesn't get you she'll leave a voice message and just wait for your return. Earlier she called me while I was at work and I couldn't reach her, naturally I forgot about it. And she called me again around 8:30 or so. She said she just couldn't go to sleep without hearing my voice. Then as soon as I said hey Gran, she said "oh no I just didn't wanna go to bed without hearing your voice, all right good night. You know I can yup and I don't wanna keep you." All that tells me is that she's missing my mama right now. I ignored her and we talked for the next hour and a half. She told me that, "do you really realize that every time you talk about your mom you always have something good to say about her? It always makes me feel better to hear you talk about her. There's always a good memory.” I didn't realize that that was the case, but God bless me with an amazing mom. Whether or not the physical relationship was supposed to last the amount of time that I was given with her as a privilege. I had an amazing mother. I am continuing to quote directly from her obituary. We did my mother right and honored her in her own fashion— her obituary is written in first person…
Long may she reign.
We were all cordially invited here today to a celebration of the extraordinary life of Inger Dionne Bouldes. Months ago, she began planning her birthday party that was to be an event of the live time. End of March 1, 2017, she accomplished it in true Inger–style, celebrating her 47th birthday on the streets of gold! Her family thought it would be best to allow Inger to tell you about her life, laughter, and in her own words:
“My story began on March 1, 1970 – in the most spectacular way – as a third child gifted to Marvin and Grace McQuitty. It wouldn't be until years later that I knew I was special because God gave Grace Celeste McQuitty to me. She is EVERYTHING! She walks with God and can pray for mountain removed. She is wise and powerful. She is meek and humble. She is brilliant and kind. She is loyal and loyal. She is my mother and my friend. She is my mama!
Growing up, I did the things that most young people did. I went to school with family and friends, graduating from William Memorial high school in 1988. But unlike most young people I had to hide pants in my backpack only to arrive at school and change in the bathroom. "Why?", You ask.. Because Mama failed to understand that most kids believe we were Amish since we were only allowed to wear dresses and skirts. Although it was our Pentecostal upbringing that dictated our sense of style, my fashion-forward, innovative mind was not prohibited by my traditional upbringing. So much so that even before the era of leggings, I wore long johns under my floor-length denim skirts. In junior high, my love of hair–styling became apparent when every month of the amount of hair hidden in my dresser drawers multiplied as the hair on my head became progressively shorter. So after high school, I obtained my cosmetology license from Virginia Farrell Cosmetology School.
Mama raised April, Marvin, Desiree and I to love the Lord. We grew up faithful members of international gospel center, under the leadership of the Lay apostle Charles with Myles and then Pastor Marvin and Myles. And 2015, I was just an essential member of the Cora launch team of the arc Detroit, the church plant led by Boyd and Kyra White.”
To be continued…
Day 54: Six days until Mommy Day
Yesterday was my father's birthday and in six days is my mothers. In six days it will be five years since I've seen her, touched, kissed her, smelled her. For the next six days I'm going going to give her my platform to speak…. Introducing, my mother, Inger Dionne Bouldes.
I am Inger
named heroes daughter
peace making, breath taking
fish basking in deep Still water
I am
African, Irish Indian descent
hearts content
I am
God-fearing and faith believing
student and teacher
words of knowledge speaker
a sentimental fool
discerner of truth
I am Inger.
Who are you?
It is so important to know who you are and who you are. You were created in the image of Him and a product of your people. When you know who you are, labels on to find you. We are fearfully and wonderfully made.
Written By Inger D. Bouldes Copyright © 2012
Day 52: The fight for self acceptance
This is from yesterday, but the pain in my hands was too much to post so here we are a day late and a dollar short….
I have been craving chocolate cake with chocolate frosting. Funny thing is I used to hate chocolate. This distain is also applicable to any type of nut, melon or lope (Yes, I hate watermelon). But as I've grown I've discovered the decadence that is chocolate and the less that it induces. Simultaneously, I have wanted to stick to a workout regimen this year.. I had plans. I told myself if you can write every day, then why can't you work out for at least 15 minutes every day. I've had a vision. I'm coming back to Cranbrook in the spring for the girls graduation and Thesis exhibition, and I wanted to look like,*takes a full body scan* .."Oh, she looks good". I was doing well and feeling good and my body with my workout regimen, then I got stressed out with work. Then I remembered I was grieving. Then I start feeling sorry for myself…And then come the excuses. But also, who said that the way my body is right now doesn't look good?
That's a good question to ask, why I believe it was you (Morgan). There's always been a bit of fat phobia within me. Which is ironic because I've literally always been thick to some degree. Thick is the brand, thick is the mantra, thick is me. And I've always fought against it. I come from a thick ass family. But I've never appreciated it. I was never taught to appreciate it. If first thing you say to each other is how good they look because they lost weight, why would you feel good about being thicker? Since the word fat has been reclaimed, my mother was fat. She was the most beautiful woman I've ever known. She had the confidence and self-esteem of Jill Scott and Erykah Badu. And the fat phobia in me, planted whilst amongst the white children in Carmel Indiana, always marveled at the existence of both. How can you be confident and fat? …Damn shame.. Damn shame… If I knew then what I know now. I don't think I've ever complimented my mother on her body. I might have told her she looked nice, or it was beautiful, but she possessed something that only now i’m striving to achieve. The year she passed I was my largest, I weighed in about 255 pounds. If you saw pictures from back then, you might not recognize me. It's been said that it looks like I had on a “fat suit”. And I wasn't offended by that because, because the weight I was carrying was the the weight of somebody suffering from a deep loss and self-medicating with comfort foods. When I got a noticeable amount off I was about 200 (and still am). There was a a shift in my self confidence level. I felt great about myself. Felt confident in myself. Wasn't exactly where I wanted to be but I got most of the grieving weight off..even if the scale still indicated that I was technically still "obese“. That was an accomplishment for me. While everyone else in the world was potentially gaining weight over quarantine, I put in that work and said early on that I was not going to get any bigger during this pandemic. The constraints and the limited options for how one could spend their time worked completely in my favor. There was nothing else to do. But today, I lasted a week.
Yesterday I Instacarted a chocolate cake with my groceries. One of those little shitty $5.00 ready-made ones from the Pick N Save (Wisconsin’s Kroger).. (they ran out of the “Rich’s Double chocolate with decadent buttercream”). I'm looking forward to enjoying some when I'm done writing this.. While unpacking the groceries I had the cake open with my spoon still sitting in it with a hunk missing out side of it. I grabbed the spinach to put in the fridge and when I came back and there was one piece of spinach on top of the cake. A hidden message? An indication? Cosmic shade?.. Not sure. But I thought it was funny. Did I work out today? No. The motivation is just not the same, I'm not uncomfortable in my body. I like my body. I am comfortable with my body, but there's parameters to it. For example, I could enjoy the company of a man without any concerns or hesitation to reveal myself. I know I have what they want. But ask me to wear shorts outside. Or, a mini dress, where my legs are completely exposed. The confidence I have within the domestic space and being outside in the sunlight are incomparable. Ask me to wear a bikini at the beach. Right now I'm sitting here writing, it would be a whole thing. I do it, but not without a cover up that would be worn majority of the time. But say I would wear a sheer cover-up. It doesn't make any sense… I would be uncomfortable. In fact I was very uncomfortable the night of my graduation. I had this adorable miniskirt from Hanifa and my legs were completely exposed. I was super confident until our plans changed, eliminating our ability to slip into a sexy and sleek nighttime environment, with intentionally dimmed lighting. We ended up Shipping Company which contains nothing but bright cafeteria tungsten lighting. My false confidence was completely exposed and my insecurities were being made clear. I remember looking around and noticing that no men were looking at me.. And I felt unattractive. Now, isn't that telling? I'm hearing myself now and wow, what does that say? To feel unattractive because the vultures aren't swarming? Makes me question who I do it for in the first damn place. It's normal but it ain't right.
I've told a few of my friends how I wish I could dress the way that I want. But why can't I? What is it that is keeping me from achieving Lizzo like confidence and embracing every dimple. Because because that's really what it is, I hate cellulite. I think it's unattractive. There I said it. I would love my body and flaunt it and being naked in public if I had no cellulite but managed to keep my exact shape. Now ask me if I think cellulite is unattractive on someone else.. I'd say she's a bad bitch no matter what dimples and curves and stretch mark she has. But why is there such a double standard for myself? Where does that come from? Wherever it came from its gotta go. I'm trying to find the motivation to strive for a daily workout regimen. It used to be rooted in disgust. It was easy for me to draw that line because I pushed my body to the point of unrecognizability in order to fill a hole that cannot be filled. So what is my motivation today?.. Still trying to figure that out. What's it gonna take for me to put on the skirt? Still trying to figure that out..Confidence really is key. If you don't have it then nobody's gonna believe you. But first I need to convince myself to have it. Because guess what baby girl.. The arms you hate so much or generational. The cellulite you can't stand is biological. The tummy you wish would go away was inherited. So I think I'm going to challenge myself. Not to get the weight off, not to tone up before summer (unless I feel like working out) but to pick out something that I would usually deny myself the pleasure of wearing and to just wear the fucking dress. And if you see me out in the street, and you notice my cellulite before you notice me.. that's fine, because it's all mine.
Day 51: Reality
Isolation changes you. You become so used to just living in your head that when someone else is actually in your physical presence, you don't know how to acclimate to it. I'm starting to understand why prisoners dread going to the shu. You have to develop a new sense of reality when you're alone, otherwise you won't be able to survive. Ane the world you used to exist in seems to drift further and further away. My time alone has led me to dig deeper into myself. Dig deeper into my thoughts. Dig deeper into my faith. Dig deeper into the yearning of understanding of who God is—But I forgot how to be a host. Once upon a time, LeChateau de Chandler was once a raving with business.. I host, it’s what I was raised to do well. Something I used to define myself both literally and figuratively. At Lady of the House I was Head Host. That wasn't even my official title, but one day, Chef referred to me as such when introducing me to the well off white parents of her best friend and I took it and I claimed it for myself—Head Host. Maître d’.. HBIC…—?
And that's remain the safe is vain for me to navigate. The easiest way to find myself. How I could be of service, or how I can be accommodating. Acclimating to another's needs and taking the time to figure out what those needs are is a love language of mine. The study of someone is a love language of mine. To analyze and to spend mental space, performing delicate surgeries on thoughts, patterns and ideas of who they are as a person—circumnavigating their planet in your solar system. That's how I know I love you. Friendships and lovers all the same. So by the time my full thought analysis has been conducted, I've learned how to apply the right amount of pressure at the right time to induce the perfect emotion for that time. I call being the healing aid.. Just by seeing someone. Healing is a love language.
But what happens when all that the access to time spent analyzing and looking within other people to see what can be healed is removed. What happens when you have nothing left to do but return it all back to yourself. And when it's time to get back around other people, you’re not sure where to start. Not sure what to do. Feels like a fish out of water. But now things are different. I didn't have boundaries back then. None at all. What's mine was yours, whatever you need I got it, even if I don't have it for real. If I had it at all, you have it… all of those things sound nice… But when your private reality is that if you spent the last of your money and you alone will endure the consequences of your irresponsibility, somethings gotta give.. So I've learned how to be there and show up for myself, my survival depended on it. When I go back to Michigan it's easy to acclimate to other climates. It's also business as usual. Everyone right where I left them. But bringing someone into my climate, into my atmosphere, I don't know why it was so difficult in the moment. And it all goes back to the ability to set a boundary. I wasn't raised that boundaries were good, indirectly I learned that they were barriers and your family should always be able to have endless access to you. Setting a boundary weather in inadvertently communicate that there was a conflict, because why else would you shut me out. By now I have learned the sacredness of having personal space. Space that is yours and yours alone. There is a reason why animals piss on things to claim it. I don't wanna smell any other animal on my things. I get it. And so now where is the balance.? For so long Mi casa Su Casa, but now my house is my house and where I used to be able to host for days on end – actually I remember not being able to spend much time at all alone alone by myself. There was always someone there– Now I don't see company staying past the weekend. Like a Tigers in the wild I need at least 500 mi.² to myself to feel free. It's not the proximity but the actual controlled space. I'm learning that I'm particular. I'm learning that that's OK.
Having Erada here.. just like the existence of any of my other friends in my life… It's just like looking in a mirror. I genuinely feel like those around me, those placed not by accident but on purpose (blood and not). Those who have came and stayed…They're all just meant to be mirrors for me to reflect and learn from and experience new ways of love together. I've learned that my friendships are just as sacred as my relationships to men and when we sign up and say that we're doing this, we're doing this for life. My true friend group is not that large. Within the mirror you don't just see the things that you share, you see the things about yourself that need examining, informing and evolving. And that's the beauty of lifelong friends, you learn how to water each other and grow together. Patience is a virtue and there's a reason why it's the first attribute when describing the love. It even comes before kindness. It's important for someone to be able to just let you go through it. And this is not to say that my weekend was overly complicated and complex to the point of a loss of fluidity. But a lot of our conversations evolved around my current state. I felt so feral, having someone else in my space. Every hair on my body is fully grown out, I haven't re-twisted my hair, I haven't been concerned with maintaining a very specific face regimen. I just use Cetaphil and throw lotion on my face. I spritz the perfume that I get my hands on, if I remember. I look together every time I leave the house, but all the money and time I spent in my younger years doing the extra things for myself were not rooted in doing them for just myself. I've learned how to survive and adapt to being able to be content at no matter at whatever level of luxury I am able to indulge myself in at the moment. And that has been my reality. I've learned to be very comfortable with my existence at all capacities, privately. I've been a complete shut in shut in I don't go anywhere but work. I don't hang out with anybody but myself. There's no one to look nice for. And I see myself so much that looking nice for myself isn't on the forefront of my mind. I've had to learn how to just feel nice about myself at every capacity. But seeing my friends come shining and glimmering, ready to go out into the world was daunting for me. I remember when maintaining my nails, getting my hair done, and restocking the products that made me feel whole was a priority. Those days are gone, or at least put on pause. But in the reflection of another person all the work I've done to build up his confidence enough to just let myself exist had a come to question in the face of another. Negating the fact that this person loves you and is here for you, and doesn't see you the same way you see yourself in the reflection, there's still the comparison. And that is it's just one of the ways in which isolation affects you—you embrace the new normal and the new normal embraces you.
Day is 49 and 50 work out her via audio. They are still being filtered through, and will be released soon.
Day 48: Just what the doctor ordered
Erada is here. I’m going to allow myself the space to actually enjoy the moment. Often I’ve spent so much time trying to immortalize the moment before it’s gone. Trying to gather all the visuals I can, but what about the feeling? My sister is here. She showed up for me. I’m having to readjust to another person in my intimate space. My body doesn’t want to believe that someone is actually here. But she is. She came out here for me. She is my sister from another world. She is my friend who is my bridge between what was and what has always been and will be. Her family gave me my Nigerian name. Olgne Oke, means God‘s gift. Tonight we reunite, this time roles reversed. Every time I’m in her house she feeds me, looks after me, make sure I have what I mean need. And it’s finally time for me to offer the same in return. She feeds me a African Gospel and tonight I shared with her with Southern classic — Greens, fried chicken, rice, yeast rolls. Oh and don’t forget the honey butter— amazing. I looked up and the moon is just as bright and full as ever and full as ever. I look to my right and my sister is here. My friend who lets me be myself. My friend I was unapologetically her self. My friend who showed up for me.
Day 47: Answered Prayers
Today I received confirmation,
Confirmation that I have been heard.
Confirmation that someone is listening.
Confirmation that my hearts desires are taken note of
Confirmation that I will be met where my faith is
Confirmation that good things come to those who wait
Confirmation that a little compromise goes a long way
Confirmation to not stop knocking
Confirmation to not stop seeking
Confirmation that I am not alone
Confirmation that I am seen
Confirmation that my cries are logged
Confirmation that I can have
Confirmation that I do deserve
Confirmation that I am cared for
Confirmation that my biggest weapons are my praises
Confirmation that faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.
Confirmation that my expectations will be surpassed
Confirmation that my well being is considered
Confirmation that trouble don’t last always
Confirmation that the impossible doesn’t exist.
Confirmation that my daddy owns cattle on a 1000 hills
Confirmation that we are really in this together
Confirmation that I’ll never leave his side.
Confirmation. Answered prayers.
Thank you Papa. I love you forever more.
Amen.
Day 46: Victory
I haven't slept on my own bed in two plus years. I went away to Cranbrook in 2019, there I slept on a dorm bed — far too firm, springy, and all around unpleasant. In 2020 the case was the same. Even during the pandemic when we were all sent home. By that time I had moved my cousin into my loft to take my place as a roommate. She had already gotten settled. I gave her my room and she’d already made it her own, there was no way I was going to take that from her. Throughout the whole pandemic I slept on an air mattress. Midway through summer our apartment contracted a bedbug infestation from our hoarding neighbors across the hall. I lost so much. All of my bedroom furniture, my mattress, my couch, mom's furniture – so much. I started to Go Fund Me when it was time for me to move out to Milwaukee. Many people generously donated but I did not hit my goal. However, I had just enough to get me here, I knew that God would provide the rest.
I don’t prefer my pay schedule, it's bi-monthly, something I'm not used to. Its made my adjustment period very rough. It has made getting out my resource hole a very slow process. I was really starting over. I was able to salvage some of my furniture but most of it was lost. For months it was just me on an air mattress as my only place to casually sit and rest. This is excluding the kitchen table, but those seats always gave my back issues. After the accident last spring I haven't been the same, and I haven’t had the resting place to really recover. To this day, even as I speak to you this instance— I'm on an air mattress. Thankfully I have a full body pregnancy pillow that makes things a little bit easier, but two years without a solid mattress your body starts to adjust — in the worst kind of way. But today, in this moment I am joyfully celebrating a victory. I haven't had the money for a mattress, it's one of those expenses that are just too expensive to tackle at once and I was denied to finance one. But all praises be to the Lord, my tax return was just accepted by the IRS.
Y'all, I'm getting off the floor!
Day 45: The First Goodbye
I will never forget the day I really lost my mother— it weeks before she passed, around this time. By then Mark and I had our routine down. Ma was in the hospital full time now. Our late auntie Karen had transformed into an angel and stayed at the hospital 3-4 nights a week (if not more) with her. Gran would stay when she could. But we still had school, Mark was enrolled at Cass Tech and I was pushing through my junior year at Wayne State. Every day it was the same thing.. Early rise, get mark to school, I go to class, wait for him to come out and then we do our nightly drive to Ann Arbor to spend time with Ma before driving back to Detroit. Then we do it all over again.
One day, I was headed to the hospital during the day and before I got there I got a call from Auntie Karen. She told me that at some point through the night, “there was a dramatic shift in her communication.” What does that mean? Upon getting to her room she looked as if she was sleeping. My auntie told me that she’ll be coherent enough to ask for water and have small dialog for only about 10 minutes at a time. I didn’t know how to take that. It crushed me. She was actually slipping away. She wasn’t actually supposed to slip away, God was supposed to turn it around before it got to be too late. Too late was approaching. The cancer spread to her brain. Reality starts to kick in. I waited for her next upturn and I had to introduce myself to her. All I could say was “I love you.” There was nothing else to say. I remember afterward finding a corner in the hallway and wailing on the phone with Auntie D. I got a taste of what its like to have a parent with dementia. What an awful experience that must be.
Theres not much of a resolve here with this story. Just a memory passing through. This year will mark 5 years… 5 YEARS. Oh, how I have grown. I look at Mark and it moves me to tears, I look at him for her through her eyes. Our baby grew up, and he’s perfect. He turned out just how she would have wanted him to. I look at myself and I am certainly not perfect but I see a solider in the mirror, like my grandfather. I’m proud of who I am, proud of the parts of herself she poured into me. I try not to think too heavily upon those moments. I think that the death of Jesus content so much about how to process the loss of someone who suffered greatly. It's so easy to get lost in the suffering, they suffered so you suffer even more. It's easy to get caught up in the memories. I watched my mother get attached to opioids because her pain was so high. I hear her voice begging me for more because her pain was so high. All the little nuances that can go wrong in the human body. One medication helps those both dismantles another function in your body. End it becomes an endless cycle of medicating trying to find the right balance, but there is none, you always lose something with Western medication pushed by Western doctors. But I try not to think about that. I think about how deeply Jesus suffered. He suffered so many different ways, it was psychological it was emotional not just physical. I would dare say he suffered one of the most painful ways to go, being crucified really means you suffocate to death. This plus his flesh having been shredded, arm dislocated, nails hammered through his feet and wrists. We are taught to never forget that suffering but also to remember what happened just three days later — transcendence. “When Jesus had cried out again in a loud voice, He yielded up the ghost.” He's not suffering anymore. She's not suffering anymore.