> October 11th marks the 2nd anniversary of my daughter Kendi's death. A nurse's mistake took her life at the age of 20. The job of this father was to protect her [she was severely handicapped] and I failed. Oh, how I miss her.
 

Weighty Issues

[October 24th] -- These two photographs of me were taken on my birthday one year apart. The image on the left was taken in 1967, at the age of 11. The one on the right was taken on my 12th birthday one year later. In 12 months, I went from pudgy and portly to slim and svelte. I didn't lose the weight on purpose. There was no diet or exercise regimen in place. I just stopped eating.

My mother was diagnosed as having the flue in early February, 1967. She became so ill that her doctor admitted her into the hospital for a few days of rest and recuperation. She died three days later when a blood clot broke off in her leg and lodged in her lungs. She leaped out of her bed and whispered, "Tell Rasem [my Dad] and the kids I love them" and fell onto the bed dead. Her death took away from me the will to live. Oh, I wouldn't have killed myself, but neither did I have any desire to interact with life. I stopped eating. I stopped playing with my friends. I sat in front of the television set all day and thought of my mother.

In mid 1968, my father moved us from the house I grew up in into a modern, high rise apartment. My dad bought some new furniture and got me some new clothes, and finally, a year after her death, I began to recognize the world around me again.

Although the sharp, hopeless pain has long since faded, I still miss my mom today. She was a very special person who guided me through love and compassion rather than the anger that so many parent's use. She was 40 when she died, and I, at 49, feel so very guilty that I have outlived her.

I love you Mom.


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