Good Grief: Life After Losing a Child
It has been seven months since my youngest son, Taye unexpectedly passed and I’m still not okay. The huge hole in my heart is still there, and I doubt that it will ever close. There are days that I still don’t want to get out of bed or I just sit in front of my television and aimlessly watch YouTube or Netflix. Then there are the emotionally challenging moments when I want to hug him, or sit down and discuss with him the movie American Fiction, or the writings of S. A. Crosby. Then I remember that I can’t. That’s when I am hit with the reality that a part of my life no longer exists, and that’s when the tears start to fall and it becomes very hard to breathe.
Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not a total basket case. I like to think of myself as a functioning griever. I still work with a few clients. I am still conducting research studies, and severing as a speaker/workshop facilitator when called. But most days, I honestly don’t know how I am doing anything at all.
This week has been especially hard, because March 16th would have been Taye’s 23rd birthday. Like clock work, he would have bounced down the staircase and requested some type of equipment that would have helped to enhance his music performances, and I would have obliged like I always did. This year I knew there would be no requests, but I still wanted to honor his memory. Good grief.
A few months ago I started the Taye Yazeed Arts Foundation, and next week we are hosting our first event; Believe! A Music Showcase for Young Adult Artists. Starting the foundation was the easy part and honestly, it has given me a new purpose in life, but planning a music showcase is HARD!!!! But I hung in there and guess what, this functioning griever did it! Next Saturday 3 rappers, 2 singers, and 2 bands between the ages of 16 and 25 will perform their hearts out at the MidCity Ballroom in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. At the end of the showcase, each will receive a cash award that they can use for beats, vocal lessons, to get a microphone out of layaway, and to purchase a trailer to haul their equipment around.
I am excited, because for me, this is good grief. I am still honoring the birthday wishes of my late son, and in the process, believing and supporting the dreams of some dynamic young musicians in South Louisiana.
But like I said…planning a music showcase is hard, and getting people to support your vision is even harder. I am still trying to convince people to buy a ticket, and come out and support these talented kids. So far, only 3 people have believed in my vision and purchased a $10 ticket. But I’m not giving up, because I’ve heard their mixtapes, watched their YouTube videos, and listened to their stories of how no one has ever given them a chance, how they are seen as outcasts because of their life choices, and how they work so hard, but feel like they are getting nowhere. And they all remind me of my Taye.
So on the eve of what would have been Taye’s 23rd birthday, I am asking you to believe in these young adults the way that I do.
Click Here to purchase a ticket for the music showcase
Click Here to make a donation to the foundation
Dr. Carey Yazeed is a Behavioral Scientist, speaker, and the creator of safe spaces for professional Black women to exhale. Her new workbook, Unbreak My Soul was developed to help Black women navigate through their healing journeys from workplace trauma.
Dr. Yazeed, please accept my condolences. I love the concept of "good grief." Creating this showcase for your late son, Taye, is beautiful. I'm too far away to make it, but I'm buying a ticket because I believe in this work, Taye, and your spirit. Sharing this in hopes that others can pour in, whether it be in spirit or in person.
Thank you for sharing Taye with me. I am glad that you have found a "good" way to grieve for him and to honour his birthday requests and his love of music. But the pain and sorrow that you can't share this with Taye is there, isnt it. It's hard to fathom how somebody can be so gone and can take a part of you with them. I am sending you love and hugs, as you make magic in Tate's name but also, as you grieve and cry and fall apart, in his love and memory. As a functioning bereaved mother, life does go on, because it has to. But there is a Taye shaped gap for you, like I have a Neve shaped gap. A gap that sadly stretches, as time moves on. xxxx