The house is empty.
Everything inside was given away.
My only possessions are books, music, art and clothing. My car has been
sold. Only my footsteps and public
transportation can get me there.
One step at a time, I’m searching for friends to say
goodbye.
The urge to cry hit me again as I approached Ninth Street.
Memories of conversations with friends came to me as my steps brought me closer
to the coffeehouse known as my office. I
looked inside in search of Sydney before opening the door. My urge to hug my friend quickened my steps.
She wasn’t there.
The list in my mind exposed a roll call: Owen, Laura, Sarah,
Tony, Dave, Lillie, Hillary, Hannah, Charlotte, Pam, Allison. Names kept coming like graduation day. More tears.
Will I be able to say goodbye to all my friends?
I paused to catalogue the list by location. A list of friends at the Beyu Caffe, a list
of members of my Saturday Breakfast Club that meets at Parker & Otis, and
another list of friends from the Blue Coffee Café. A list of friends I met in
Church, and a group of activist friends.
I formed another list of friends who are musicians, poets and visual
artist.
Too many friends to count.
Will I be able to say goodbye to all my friends?
I considered days of sadness made better by the hugs of
friends. Each friend holds a place made
special by a keen awareness that something was needed in those moments. Each friend offered a place for me to expose
the bitter pain of brokenness.
Glenda, Janice and Betty – they were there the day I wept
too hard to preach. Compassion
Ministries of Durham – they prayed with me, affirmed me and allowed me to cry
when I could no longer pretend to be strong.
I felt my body quiver as the list expanded. Each name evoked
the memory of a weak moment followed by laughter. I closed my eyes as faces began to replace
the names of those with love deep enough to keep me moving.
I will say goodbye to Durham on October 5. I moved to Durham
in 1988 to attend divinity school at Duke University. Since then, I have served two churches,
written for numerous local publications and used the pen and pulpit to fight
for justice and peace.
I arrived as a champion of the black faith tradition. I saw all things colored as black and white.
I found no need to promote interfaith and interracial dialogue. I framed God and the work of the Church in
ways that limited interchange.
My friends changed me.
They continue to mold me by exposing the hypocrisy of my thinking. They help me grow by revealing the face of
God in things beyond the activity of the black church.
My sadness in leaving Durham isn’t because of the numerous
fine places to eat. It’s not the
blooming downtown district surrounded by other pockets of prosperity. It’s not the emerging jazz scene and other
cultural activity like the Art of Cool Project and the Bull Durham Blues
Festival that makes it hard to leave.
It’s the people. It’s the diversity. It’s a community
willing to grow.
I’ll take a few more steps before my column comes to an
end. Until then, I’m looking for friends
to hug one last time.
I’m headed to Columbia, MO to take care of my parents. A big
chunk of me will remain in Durham.
A love like this never goes away.
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