Browsing Category Friendship

Grief can roll over you like a dump truck driven by a drunk driver. That’s what happened to me last night. The assault was sudden and unexpected.

While sitting at my computer, I decided to reach out to a long-time friend, LaVerne Gill. She was also a former employer. I first searched for her on Facebook and discovered her last entry was in August 2018. We had corresponded online a few years before that, but until then, it had been decades since we touched base. I did a Google search.

There is an adage that says, “Be careful what you ask for because you might get it.” A parallel principle can apply when looking for something or someone – be careful what you search for because you may not get what you anticipated.

In hindsight, I’d have been better off if I’d left well enough alone because what my Google search brought was the last thing I expected:  a YouTube video depicting a full-screen portrait of my friend beneath the title, Rev. LaVerne Gill Memorial Service.

To say that I was shocked is an understatement. My immediate thought was that it couldn’t be. Perhaps it was someone else with the same name, but the accompanying photo dispelled that notion.

I stared at the screen for the longest time, my hand cliching the mouse and my index finger hovering over the clicker. I felt compelled to click the arrow to start playing the two-hour video, but I dared not. How could I virtually attend her memorial service when it was just moments earlier that I learned she died three years ago? Had I not been sitting down, I would have fallen to my knees, covered my face with both hands, and wailed. Instead, I sat there, staring in disbelief at the screen until I suddenly began crying uncontrollably as my mind reeled back 36 years.

It was the summer of 1988. I had been searching for a part-time job to supplement the salary from my full-time position and came across an ad from the classified section in a newspaper. The editor was seeking a journalist for a local Weekly. I was not a journalist, but I knew I could write. My confidence was bolstered by my previous writing for various publications.

I called the listed number, and the editor was accommodating enough to schedule my interview during my lunch break the following day. The next day, I caught a cab to the office of the Metro Chronicle at the National Press Building.

I will always believe that my first assignment was a test to see if I could cut the muster. Following the interview and as I was preparing to leave to return to my “day” job, LaVerne asked if I’d like to review a play. Of course, I said I would.

She handed me two tickets and a press kit and told me to attend the play at The Studio Theater that night (Tonight! Say what? That was my first thought.). Then, she told me she needed me to turn in the assignment by noon the next day. (My second thought was, HUH? Tomorrow!)

“Can you do that?” She asked.

“Sure, I can,” I said, hoping that my voice would not reveal my sense of trepidation.

After getting off work, I hurried home, grabbed a bite to eat, and headed to the theater. I recruited my teenage daughter to accompany me. Reminding me she had school the next day did not save my reluctant companion.

The play The Mystery of Irma Vep was a Gothic melodrama.

We returned home around 10 or 11 p.m.; I don’t remember exactly. I do remember being dog-tired after a long workday. And I remember staying up all night pecking on my IMB Correcting Selectric III typewriter while working on that assignment. (I didn’t have a computer then.) I don’t remember how many unsatisfactory pages I ripped from the typewriter and tossed in the wastebasket. I finally completed the article at 6 a.m. Then, I showered, got dressed, and went to work. I couldn’t drink enough coffee that day to thwart a sleepless night. I was wired. And 5 o’clock couldn’t come soon enough.

LaVerne became a dear friend and mentor. My quasi-reporter job allowed me to meet and interview numerous people, from everyday citizens to an Emmy award winner with a national TV station and various local politicians, including one whom I most admired and still do, DC’s Congresswoman Eleanor Holmes Norton.

During my three and a half years with the Metro Chronicle, I went from freelancing and having op-ed pieces and some articles published in The Washington Post, The Washington Afro-American, and a few other newspapers to being a regular contributor to the Metro Chronicle.

LaVerne was a kind, gentle, beautiful black woman. Her laughter and smile were contagious. Her philosophy was, “Remember you can do whatever you want to do. Just help someone along the way.”

She eventually ceased publication of the paper and told me that she was going to pursue a degree in theology. In addition to her numerous skills, LaVerne was a brilliant writer. Before she left town, she gave me a signed copy of her book African American Women in Congress, which I will always treasure.

After reminiscing about my time with LaVerne, I watched the video. I listened as she received numerous accolades from those who arrived at the podium. A silver urn with bright red roses around it was on a pedestal before the stage.

Speaking through tears and sniffles, her sister-in-law spoke on behalf of the family, sharing LaVerne’s passions and travels to Europe, Africa, Coast Rica, Guana, and numerous other places. One minister, referencing LaVerne’s four master’s degrees and books she authored, including one she worked on in her last days, described the Howard University graduate as “An accomplished second career woman.” Indeed, she was.

Next Friday would have been my friend’s 76 birthday. She died during the pandemic, but I don’t know if COVID-19 was the cause of her death.

As the saying goes, “God works in mysterious ways.” I wonder why yesterday was the day I decided to contact her. And I believe God intended for me to discover that video. Although time and distance do not destroy true friendship, periodically reaching out is always a good idea because we don’t know when that friend will be gone forever.

This post is my belated tribute to publisher, author, humanitarian, radio talk show host, world traveler, and theologian Reverend LaVerne McCain Gill. (A photo and full biography are available on Amazon.)

I feel blessed to have known her.

The longer we live, the more friends we lose. Nearly three weeks ago, Leslie, the daughter of one of my longest living best friends, told me that she had placed her mom, my friend, Beverly, in a nursing home. Beverly had dementia. This morning, before dawn, Leslie notified me that Beverly died.

I was introduced to Bev, as I called her, in 1978, by a member of a self-help group. At the time, Bev was an active participant with the group that offered guidance counseling and emotional support for parents, mostly young mothers, but some dads, who found themselves in what they considered a hopeless situation.

During her time with the support group, Bev periodically traveled to various places throughout the city, speaking to parents on behalf of the group. As we bonded, I learned of her personal struggles and shared mine with her. Bev became my confidant and dearest friend, or as the younger generation likes to say, “My bestie.” Little did we know that the friendship we formed would last 42 years.

I was divorced when I met Bev. She was 14 years my senior, yet we were both struggling single parents of young children and we would often commiserate about the difficulty of being a single parent. When will these kids ever grow up, we’d sometimes ask during a moment of frustration?

When we were struggling to earn a living, we didn’t have the time to visit with each other as often as we liked, but we talked on the phone nearly every day. Our conversations sometimes began in the early evening and lasted well past midnight. We discussed everything from our current beaus, to the trials of single parenthood, to when, if ever, we’d be able to retire from the grueling workforce.

Throughout the years, we laughed together. Sometimes we cried together like when her son, Kenneth, was shot and killed by a jealous rival over a young lady. Kenneth, a bright young man, was in his twenties.

Our age gap did not hinder our occasionally hanging out together and when we could manage, we set aside money to do fun things like attending house parties or concerts at Constitution Hall to see our fave, Millie Jackson.

Years later, after our children grew up, married, and made us grandparents, we’d ponder over how fast time had passed and laugh about how it didn’t seem to move at all when they were youngsters.

Bev endured more troubles in her lifetime than I ever have, yet she persevered. I used to tell her that she was the rock, and I was the pebble, and she would say to me, “Girl, you too are a rock. You just haven’t realized it. You are stronger than you know.” Years later, after getting over my own hurdles, when she asked how things were going, and I’d reply that life is good, she would remind me, “I told you so.”

Then, today arrived. We both knew that this day would come. It was only about six months ago when Bev and I discussed how we would cope when one of us died. We promised each other that we would tell a family member to notify whoever survived of the passing of the other. The promise was kept this morning when upon awakening, I saw the disturbing message on my phone from Leslie.

Over the past few weeks, while recalling distant memories of times that Bev and I shared, I have fluctuated between joy and sadness. A best friend represents so many things — a confidant, a shoulder to lean on, and sometimes a relationship that is closer than a sibling. And at any time there may be a reversal of roles between the rock and the pebble.

“A rock, a large piece of rock weathers off a cliff and dives deep into a pool of gushing water. Back washed, it journeys roughly and knocks off other rocks, smashing through the waves as it loses itself in scattered pieces except for its core. That core travels far and wide, it coarsely gets ground by gravel pieces smaller than itself and bullied by boulders all of which it bears up as it withstands the pressure of a distant journey off the shore. At some point, it gets dry and it encounters mud, it gets smeared dirty but the mud doesn’t stick, the rain washes off the mud and it rolls into the sand. It dances in the sand and dives into the bottom of the waves. Rising like a phoenix through the ashes, it emerges polished, looking more beautiful than it did when it got edged of the cliff. It rises a pebble, smooth and sleek. Coveted by rocks starting their dive. To be a pebble you have to run the turbulent tidal race.”  Quote by Victor Manan Nyambala