Funeral

Dear Masculinity,

Why couldn't I grieve at my own father's funeral?

Why did I have to be "the rock?" Huh? The one time it was unquestionably ok to do so, I didn't...truth is, I'm still paying for it till this day.

I still remember that day like it was yesterday. I was walking home from a gospel choir practice, when I checked Facebook and saw a post on my wall that read, “Sorry for your lost…praying for your family during this time of grief.” Facebook of all places. I called my sister and asked, what was going on. “Hold on,” she says. About a minute on hold and my mother answers the phone, “It’s your dad. He passed away today. We were going to come to Madison tomorrow to tell you. Try to find a friend to keep you company. I love you,” she says.

Oh masculinity, did you know that what I wanted to do most was drop to my knees in the middle of that Sellery basketball court and cry my heart out like a baby? I was exposed, weak, sucker punched. Who was to hold me? Who was to provide a shoulder to lean on? Why was I taught all my life that crying was weakness? Why did you tell me, “Dantrell, wipe your eye. Be strong. You have to be one of the men of the house now?” I felt as vulnerable as a new born child entering this new and unfamiliar world. My tear-filled eyes struggled to adjust to normality. Like a mother holding her newborn, I just needed to be held unconditionally.

Masculinity, did you know that I was forced to cry myself to sleep, for a week straight? You told to hush so no one would hear me. You told me that if I made a noise and showed the aftereffects, it would hurt more. You told me to lock my broken heart deep within the closet of unfortunate events, quickly close the door and move on. And that’s what I did. Countless times I wanted to cry and feel my father. Instead, I had to bite and squeeze my pillow so my roommate wouldn’t hear me…wouldn’t worry…wouldn’t help. You told me that I had to fend for myself.

Dear Masculinity, who knew that when SWV said, “I get so weak in the knees I can hardly speak. I lose all control and something takes over me,” it would refer to grief?

Dear Masculinity, did you know that when I chose not to grieve, I also started to forget the very memory of my father. Oh masculinity, did you know that I cried profusely because I actually forgot it was his birthday, this past year? You made me forget his birthday.

Dear Masculinity, why have you made me dread the effects of grief. When I see it, I run the other way. When it stirs deep within my soul, I rush to spit it out like a ruined appetite.

Dear Masculinity, the inability to grieve ends here. For myself, my future marriage, my future children. For the memory of my father.