Don't Let It Be About Me

Larrie R. Noble Jr. and Elliott Jemar Noble (8.19.1985-11.19.2005)



I’d just arrived at the office.  Much to my surprise, I lifted the receiver of the telephone to call my second ex-husband.  I hadn’t spoken to him for two years, and that was merely because he’d called to tell me Happy Birthday.   As I dialed the number, I pondered the quote that I thought was ludicrous the night of my son’s murder November 19, 2005. He lamented, “God don’t let this be about me.” How the heck could something like a drive by shooter rolling up to my childrens’ vehicle fatally wounding one, and maiming the other be about him.

It had strictly been the worst night of my life.  Though the eminent pain of losing a child remains with me, it isn’t as grim as it has been in the past.  To be certain, I am reminded in some form daily, of my baby boy’s demise.  There is a deep pain that resonates with me each time I hear of another youthful flame extinguished by means of gunfire.

I grieve for my son every day.  I have been ridiculed for what some consider prolonged and complicated grief.  The truth is, I don’t grief for Eliiott, as much as I did initially and subsequent to his transition to heaven.  I grief more for the child that remains, his brother Larrie.  I grief because I feel his pain.  I could never imagine what it must have been like for him to experience the remnants of his brother’s brain splattered on him. He lost his left eye and so much of his soul.  It hurts to see the results of his anguish.

At thirty years of age, he’s still my baby.  His struggles make it difficult for me to face him at times.  I reflect on the what my ex affirmed.  Hmmm, has any of it been about me?  Did I blame him for insisting that his baby brother go with him that fateful day?  Did I blame myself for moving my children into a ‘hood’ that would ultimately contribute to them becoming involved in a life that I did not envision for them?  Afterall, a parent can only influence their children so much.

There I sat as the phone chimed.  I prepared to leave a message.  I was surprised when the familiar inane sound of his voice answered. “Hello.” I called his name, but I won’t do that here.  He imitated me with an animated cartoon voice.  I laughed.  Just as I was about to clarify the reason for my call, a female voice chimed in.  It appeared to be a ploy to stake her claim.  She did not have to worry about marking her territory.  I was not the moth drawn back to the fire.

After I hung up, I ruminated once again, “Was my son’s death about me?”  If it was not about me, then who was it about?  Was it about the baby sister that he’d left behind, months after her high school graduation?  Was it about the divorce after twenty-five long and tedious years of faux partnership?  There were so many questions of who to hold responsible. The truth is, it is the fault of the sinful and moraless person who felt the need to pull a trigger and change my family’s life eternally.

There have been so many times in which regret has rocked the very foundation of my life. After eight years, I realize that my life can not be about my son’s death.  Prior to him leaving me, my sweet baby boy, my life was engulfed by my work as a Social Worker and Activist.  I’d lived through losing my nephew, his first cousin.  I’d survived the loss of my anchor, my Grandmother, but it is still not about me.

Elliott Jemar Noble lived and completed his task is this life after only twenty years.  It’s my turn, though I have outlasted his existence, to make his demise and the demise of so many young folks in my community matter.   Last Sunday I heard my Pastor lament that we all need to become outraged about the murders in our streets.   As the motto of our street ministry Soldiers Against Violence Everywhere (S.A.V.E.) poignantly states, we have got to “Say Something!”

I am finally strong enough do just that!  I am using these blogs and completing my book and other avenues so that I can “Say Something.”   I know for sure, it ain’t all about me!

Yours Endearingly,

Zuhura