When my brother was killed on December 3^rd, 2016 I had two choices: I could roll up into a ball, throw a blanket over my head and crawl into bed or I could learn to live life for him without him. I chose option B — but it wasn’t easy. The first few weeks were the worst. The absolutely worst. During the planning of the arrangements and during the homegoing service — you have a village. A village right there to hug you, a village right there to comfort you and a village right there to cry with you. But then that village disappears. Yes people are still near but they go home. They go home and they go on and you — you are left to grieve. To sit in your silence and grieve, and your 9 to 5 never seems to give you enough time to do either one of these.

I got three days for bereavement. Three short days. How on Earth, and in space, can someone grieve in three short days? They can’t. And the additional three PTO days I took weren’t enough time either. I returned to work one week after my brother passed. One week. But I was only there physically. I wasn’t there mentally. The next seven days I just sat at my desk as the days passed me by. I just sat at my desk with tears in my eyes. Just sitting and wondering why. Why my brother, why my tears and why was he killed after only 37 years? Why? And why oh and why was I here? Here at this desk shedding tears of not joy but tears of pain. Sitting at this desk not living — just existing.

How on Earth, and in space, can someone grieve in three short days?

But I’m glad I sat. I’m glad I cried and I’m glad I gave myself permission to do both instead of listening to the words of non-grieving folk. Folk would say, “Keisha, you’re so strong you’ll be okay.” But I will never be okay. And although they were saying these things to comfort me – by saying these things they were discomforting me. Because by saying these things they were telling me that I was too strong to grieve. Too strong to cry and too strong to have tears in my eyes. I was too strong and so I started to apologize.

I started to apologize for my "moments”. I started to apologize for my weakness. I started to apologize but then I got wise. Grief was now a part of me. It wasn’t something I was going to magically get through, over or under. It wasn’t something that had an end date because from that moment on my life was forever changed. Changed forever and I wasn’t strong and I wasn’t weak – I, Keisha Mabry, was grieving. But my grief had an option and I chose option B. I chose option B but option B wasn’t easy. 

Learning to live without my brother was the first step. It’s a new normal. It’s a new life. It’s like sitting in a three-legged chair for the rest of your life. You always feel unbalanced and something always feels off. Good doesn’t feel as good, happiness doesn’t feel as happy and right doesn’t feel as right. It’s like everything is just ok with this thing we call life. Yes, you learn to adjust. Yes, you learn to cope. And yes, you learn to grieve but things are never what they seem. Like for me, it feels like my brother has just gone on a long journey. A long journey overseas and one day when he returns he is going to call or send a text my way. One day. Just not today.

That’s what it feels like but I know that ain’t right. And at night when I’m all alone in my home I cry because I realize that my brother will never call or send a text my way. He will never call just to say ‘hey sis have a nice day.’ He will never call. And it hurts. The pain is so unreal. The pain is so surreal but it’s real. It’s real and it’s a process day by day, moment by moment and step by step. It’s a process and some days I don’t deal with it very well. But I deal. And I deal by knowing that I have to keep on going. I deal by knowing that by living for him I can still keep him alive. By living for him I give purpose to this pain inside and that’s how I survive.

I survive and find solace by finding ways to keep him alive. I engraved his name in my engagement ring, I dedicated my book to his memory, I’m walking down the wedding aisle with a piece of his jewelry and I’m forming a foundation called The Don Fund to help felons go to school. Helping felons was something he always tried to do. Something he always wanted to do and so my mother and I plan to honor his memory by carrying out this dream. His dream.

We are living life for him without him every day in every way and when we have moments we no longer apologize. We have them at home alone, at work with co-workers, in the grocery store and out to eat. We have them all the time and having them doesn’t mean defeat. Having them just means memories of him are rolling down our eyes and that is fine. It’s completely and utterly 100% fine.

And if you yourself are grieving – do grieve and get the counseling that you need. But know that grief doesn’t mean you stop living…grief means you live differently. Today, I am sending hugs and love your way and these five steps I use daily to live and work with grief. Five steps I use daily to choose option B. Five steps that ain’t easy but necessary to keep living and to keep working. Five steps that I hope can help:

• Step 1: Give yourself permission to grieve. Grieving doesn’t mean you’re weak. Grieving means you are hurting and pain is not a sign of weakness.
• Step 2: Don’t apologize for your moments. Grief is now a part of you. It’s not something you get over under or through.
• Step 3: Find ways to live life for them. Find ways to honor them. Find ways to give purpose to the pain you are feeling inside. If you don’t — you will be tempted to run and hide. Tempted to throw a blanket over your head and crawl into bed. Tempted to not live but exist and life is too precious to live life like this.
• Step 4: Journal. Journaling helped me grieve. Journaling helped me process my feelings and journaling helped me feel connected to my brother. By journaling I was able to write letters to him, I was able to write letters to God and I was able to write letters to grief.
• Step 5: Utilize your village. They are near and dear, they are a call and text away and sometimes they go silent to give you your space.

So yes GRIEF — I hate thee — but now GRIEF is a part of me.