Yeah, I know what you’re thinking, “How can he be reflecting on a day that has barely started?” Well, I have had an eventful and (reasonably) blogworthy morning, so I decided to share. Actually, I’m not gonna share what happened this morning (because it is a bit embarrassing) but I want to share what’s on my mind as a result of this morning’s events.
Like usual, I woke up at 6am. I’m still trying to figure out why I get up that early. I haven’t had a reason to do so in almost 12 years! As I stated above, my morning got off to a quick and crazy start. Once all the insanity had died down, I was left staring at a decision that I have never fully explained. Here is that explanation…
I have been asked by several people on multiple occasions why I decided to move to Atlanta, GA when the vast majority of my family still resides in Missouri. The topic of my relocation has always been a sensitive subject for me and usually leads to me deflecting with humor or flat out changing the subject. But today, I was asked by a person that I couldn’t easily dodge, myself. I know you’re probably saying, “Why ask yourself something that you already know the answer to?” but its not that easy. Nothing usually is when it comes to me. As I said before, I tend to find ways to deflect seriously and honestly answering questions about my decision to live in Atlanta, and I’m especially horrible about doing that to myself. I have been known to flat out lie to myself about why I did it. So this dissertation about the reasons that led to my exodus from the midwest is not just for everyone else’s benefit, but my own as well.
First and foremost, there’s the “Elephant in the Room” when it comes to this topic, my father’s death. Most people don’t understand why my father’s passing has affected me in such a way. The reason for that is because you would need an understanding of our relationship in order to even attempt to grasp how him dying impacted me. I’ll try my best to explain it. Willis Jerry Coleman was the one constant in my life from age 6 until he died in 2007 (that’s almost 21 years for those don’t wanna do the math). My father was the one person in my life that pretty much place any tag, label or title on and it would make perfect sense. He was my best friend and my worst enemy at times. He was the one person I loved more than myself but also the one person that I couldn’t stand to be around. We finished each other’s sentences and could sense when the other one wasn’t feeling well. To make a long story short, we were connected to each other in a way that is rare. Hell, I sometimes think that being that intertwined with another person is unhealthy. So naturally, when you lose someone that has meant (and still means) so much to you for so long, you’re bound to want to remove yourself from anything that has the potential to remind you of that person. The closest thing I can compare my feelings to is someone that loses their spouse or significant other after a lengthy marriage, and even that isn’t a fair comparison because a widow/widower has some semblence of a life without their loved one. I didn’t. My dad was there for EVERYTHING. Just about every memory of every major event in my life up until his death includes him.
Secondly and just as monumental, is my relationship with my family. Actually, I think a better way of saying that is my lack of a relationship with my family. Let me explain that for you. For as much as I love the members of my family, I’m not especially close to any of them. I can actually count on my hands the number of family members that I communicate with, and none of that communication occurs on a regular basis. There are reasons for the rift between me and my family, but it seems like no one is willing to admit fault. So I guess I will. I went to live with my father in 1985. For reasons that have yet to be explained to me, the relationship between myself and my mother became estranged. And to this day, we have never really sat down to try and repair that and that really bothers me as I’m looking to move into the next stage of life, which is marriage and parenthood. My father and I moved from Kansas City, MO to Denver, CO in the fall of 1993. Over the course of the next 3+ years, I only went back to visit my family a couple of times. In 1996, we moved to St. Louis, MO. You would think that my visits would be more frequent since I was mch closer. That’s not really the case. In the summer of 1998, my father and I had a falling out. I don’t really recall what it was about nor do I think I want to try, but the end result of this friction was him sending me to live with my mother. Naturally, the idea of going to live with my mother was not well recieved by me. This was a woman that I had not lived with in over 10 years and had barely spoken to over that period of time. But what say so did I have, right? Upon arriving at my mother’s house, the self-destructive behavior that had landed me there quickly escalated, thanks in small part to her boyfriend at the time. Add that to my rapidly growing feelings of hatred I had for her newborn baby, we all know where that lead. I was back in St. Louis within a month. That experience spurred me to further detach from my family and entrench myself in the loner/nomad lifestyle that me and my father had been cultivating for the better part of the decade. In 1999, we once again relocated to Indianapolis, IN and that is when I lost all communication with my family. Most peopler would have some feelings about that, I barely even noticed. When I would take vacations and trips to go visit loved ones, I never even thought about Kansas City. It was as if the time I spent living in that city no longer existed, as well as anybody connected to it. In the summer of 2001, my father was diagnosed with luekemia. This once again served as a catalyst for me to push everyone out of my life draw closer to my dad. In the summer of 2002, I relocated to Atlanta, GA to rejoin my father who had moved to the city in the preceding winter/spring. Once I was in ATL, I realized how lonely my life was. I was missing that connection to people that were tied to me by blood. But, because I had spent the better part of the last 9 years distancing myself from my family, I had no way to get in contact with them. God intervened in 2005, when he touched the hearts of 2 of my cousins and made them go about the process of searching for me. But I guess, that was too little, too late. The damage was already done. So when the time came for me to decide where my life would take me after the death of my father, my family didn’t seem like a viable choice. I did attempt to reconnect with my family immediately following my father’s death, but I think there was too much emotional baggage in my life for that to be successful at the time.
The third reason that led me to flee to the Peach State is so cliche, but it is still relevant. My relationship with a certain young lady at the time had left a horrible taste in my mouth, and because St. Louis is so small, I felt the best thing I could do for my sanity was to flee. Also, my (other) best friend was going through a bit of a tumultous time in her life and it hurt my spirit that I wasn’t there for her. There are several other factors that led to my decision to move back to Atlanta, but those are the ones that had the most influence.
So here I am, standing at another fork in the road and I’m not sure which way I want to go. On one side, I have the city of Atlanta which, for the most part, has embraced me. I’ve started to write a book of poetry, I’m working on music, I’m (somewhat) on the road to opening my own business. But, I am currently struggling to stay afloat. On the other, I have the place of my birth and the uncertainty of returning there presents me with. While, the majority of my family is there, I’m not sure who I could go to in my time of need. I liken my situation to what LeBron James went through this summer with his whole “The Decision” fiasco. It seems like whichever path I choose, someone or something is gonna suffer. But unlike LeBron, I’m not leaving a NBA franchise and a city full of fans in my wake, I’m leaving dreams, aspirations and loved ones to pick up the pieces and move on…
In My Own Words... 