​When the COVID Virus began to plague the world, I knew that the experiences of the black population would be profoundly different, especially for black women.  We were informed about symptoms, statistical data, job loss, educational impact, and social distancing; but the grief of COVID wasn’t something the was emphasized enough. The reports that I watched had an underlying urgency, the masses wanting to know when life would return to normal.

​My grandma used to tell me that darkness makes the light brighter. As I have grown through life, the principles taught to me by my grandmother make so much sense. Like my beloved grandmother, I understand that I am an educator because I have endured hard times. I don’t think anything in life has taught me gratitude like grief. To have and lose in the blink of an eye is a phenomenon that continues to astonish me. My sister’s death broke me. 

​We have all heard the saying, “good grief,” especially those of us who grew up watching Charlie Brown. I never understood how something that was so seemingly painful could be described as good, what an outrageous oxymoron. To think that anything as dreadful as the result of death or loss could be considered favorable, baffled my mind well into adulthood, until February 29, 2016. 

​March 26, 2012, my life would forever change.  That was the day that I heard the words, there is no heartbeat.  At 36 weeks and only 1 week away from our scheduled delivery date, I did not understand how that could be possible.  March 27, 2012, our beautiful baby girl was born sleeping.