June 24, 2025

It Takes a Village:

• The phrase is often attributed to an African proverb, according to the Beaver Water District, and signifies that it takes a community to nurture and support a child’s development. 
• It means that a child’s growth and well-being are influenced by the interactions and guidance they receive from various members of their community, including family, friends, neighbors, teachers, and other adults. 
• Beyond child-rearing, the concept can be applied to any situation where collective effort and collaboration are essential for success. 

I was blessed and fortunate enough to be raised by a loving and generous village.

I’ve mentioned before that my mother was a single mom, working and going to school full time. Not to mention (and I think she’ll forgive me for saying) just a little bit self-absorbed. She was fighting her own demons and wasn’t exactly a “natural” born mom. Please don’t get me wrong. She loved me with all her heart and still does to this day. And I never doubted that. But she wasn’t exactly what you would call maternal.

Thankfully, for both of us, she had a village.

I’m not going to go into all the details of that village, who they were and what they meant to me, or how they contributed to making me into who I am today. But each of them played such a major role in my life and I am eternally grateful to each and every one of them.

But two of them left too soon. And with their passing, I found myself reeling, out of control. Two women that were so important to me and who I am.

I know the stages of grief. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and finally acceptance. And I’m sure anyone that experiences loss goes through each of those stages in their own way.

My Aunt Janice left us on Nov. 14, 2023. She was the sunshine that gave our scattered family light, warmth and unconditional love. By her example, I learned to find joy in every day and how to laugh when I feel like crying.  And when she died, I skipped everything but the anger. I lived in that anger, every day. I couldn’t find my way out of it. I couldn’t even help her daughters, my cousins, the sisters of my heart, and my friends, go through her personal effects. I couldn’t pull myself out of that anger to help them, or console them in their grief and I will regret that every day of my life. And I can only hope that she, and they, can forgive me for my absence and my distance in their time of need.

A few short months later, I lost my God Mother, Sharla. The mother of my heart. The person I could go to anytime, for any reason. The woman who taught me how to be a good person. The woman who, by her example taught me to be of service. To show compassion and love to those who are hard to love. To give to those who have less, to fight for causes that impact not just me but people who need to be fought for. She left us on March 3, 2024. And I was floored. It felt like every breath I took was filled with every one of those stages of grief. I went through each one every day.  The denial, the anger, the bargaining, the depression, the pain.

A few days after Sharla left us, I woke up in the middle of the night with a story in my head. I couldn’t go back to sleep, and I couldn’t let go of the story. Each day, that story kept playing in my brain. I couldn’t stop it. I could see the characters, hear their voices and I began understanding what they were fighting for. I pulled out my little laptop notebook and started writing. A few weeks later, when the pieces of my story started falling into place, I called my mom. “I think I’m writing a book.” I told her. And started reading it to her.

Every night, I’d call her and read her what I wrote. And to her credit she kept up. Even though I didn’t write in order. I wrote what I felt that day. One day it may have been chapters 8, 9 and 10, and the next it was chapters 22, 23 and 6. I just wrote what I felt and finally tied it all together at the end.

I will never forget the night I called her and told her that I had finished the book. We both cried. And after I read her the ending, she told me, “It’s really good, Denise. You MUST publish this book! The world needs to hear this story!”

I just smiled. I didn’t know about that. It felt like a good story, and I promised to pursue publication. I still don’t know if the “world” needed this story, but I know without a doubt, I needed it! Throughout this writing, I started healing. And I will forever believe that it was sent to me, to let me know that “The Center” really does exist. It’s the place where dreams come true. It’s the place where our lost loved ones live. It’s the place where those loved ones can reach out and let us know that everything will be ok. Even if it’s just in dreams… For now.