MOVA Speech 06/24/2021

 This Morning, I had the honor of being a featured speaker at MOVA (Mass Office of Victim Assistance) For National Gun Violence Month. As it was not recorded or streamed, I'm posting my speech for my Mum Sara-Elisebeth Finley who is unable to attend zooms and webinars, due to profound hearing loss

Good Morning. My name is Lisa Robinson. I live in Mattapan, Massachusetts, having returned here in March of 2017; after living in Columbia, South Carolina for 9 years.

I am a mother, a grandmother, a longtime community activist and volunteer, a writer and a podcaster. Sadly, as of the morning of June 13, 2014.. I am also known as the mother of a murdered child.

My daughter Aja Dawn Robinson was born on February 9, 1991. For all of her younger years, she was just an itty bitty thing. I called her my bony macaroni. She was always very much on the verge of failure to thrive size wise, although you couldn’t tell by her appetite!

By the time she had turned 23, Aja was a beautiful, vivacious young woman. She was quite literally living her best life. She was working 2 jobs that she loved, she was surrounded by an abundance of friends who absolutely adored her, she had a small Goddaughter that she was in love with, she had just gotten her first car and she was happily shopping and preparing to move into her very first apartment. Life was wonderful in Aja’s world.

All of these dreams were shattered in the early morning hours of Friday, June 13, 2014, when she was followed as she left her boyfriend's house and was heading to work. When she pulled over to speak to the person from her past, she was shot and killed. He then died by suicide.

A few months after Aja’s death, I created Angels For Aja. I use this platform to share Aja’s story and to do my part to spread awareness about the distressing numbers of men, women and children who are killed and injured each year in acts of domestic violence. I’m speaking out because I do not want another loved one to ever have to feel this pain again. Our communities have lost too many already.

We need to pass common sense gun laws. Across the board. Across the US. No grey areas, no grey states or cities. It’s not too much to ask. Lets think about it this way. You would have to wait a lot less time to purchase and take home a gun legally, than it would take me to wait to go pick up and bring home my deceased child in her new Urn. Or to then have to stop and pick up her final possessions from the Police Department.

Thank You for Having Me here today.

June 8, 2015

June 8, 2015

I have finally reached the week that I have been dreading for the last few months…the week approaching the 1 year marker of Aja’s murder.  It still hurts to connect that word to Aja.  Murder.  It doesn’t feel right.  Murder is harsh.  Ugly.  Aja wasn’t any of those things.  She was a gentle being.  A free spirit.  My black butterfly.  Just like the Deniece Williams song *Black Butterfly*

“Now you’re free, and the world has come to see….Just how proud and beautiful you are”

Rationally, I can tell myself that I will simply put one foot in front of the other and get through that day much the same as I have gotten through every other painful day.   But man, when I tell you…EVERY fiber of my being is crying out, every beat of my heart wants to be the last beat. I close my eyes to shelter myself from the images in my head, but they just become more vivid.  I block my ears, but I can’t stop hearing Aja crying out for me. 

I think about and already miss the grandbabies that will never be born of Aja, or the husband she will never marry, the college she will never graduate from, the first house she will never get a chance to celebrate.  I think about the holidays that I will never have a chance to celebrate with her and her family, or the visits I will never get to look forward to as I get older..eagerly looking forward to having ALL of my children together with me for the holidays.  

I will still eagerly look forward to seeing my son, daughter and grandchildren; but there will always be a piece of me that keeps glancing at the door, praying that this nightmare will finally come to an end and she will come bopping through the door, arms bursting because she was carrying way too much of everything, ( because she always went overboard with gifts and decorations on holidays).. *hey Mummyyyyy!!!!  I missed you so much!!!* with that sweet smile that lit up a room.  

I miss the girly giggles between Aja, Michelle and Mani late at night.  The relentless teasing poor Aaron had to put up with from his sisters, and even worse if Kia , Jauhara and April were there too!  I miss Aja climbing her big adult self up into my bed to snuggle with me; or when I’d walk into my room to find Aja with all of her nail supplies..announcing she was doing my nails.  Even her walking in and demanding that I lay down so she could *clean up these ugly ass eyebrows* as she sang along to her favorite songs, with that sweet voice of hers.  It was always so pretty, but she didn’t believe so.  

I looked forward to those times that we spent together; I enjoyed her company so much in such an organic way.  I was so proud of the woman that she was growing into and I loved to just sit there and sort of observe her in her element, and watch how everyone responded to her..she was kind, thoughtful, hardworking, humble...and oh so funny.

Everyone says all of this will lessen with time.  I don’t know how that can be possible.  I don’t think the pain will go anywhere.  I just find different ways to navigate it and to accept the pain, welcome it home like an old friend and to understand…that the depth of my pain is simply a reflection of the depth of the love that I had and continue to have for Aja.

Heavy Is My Grief

                                 Heavy Is My Grief

Weighing down my arms and legs

My eyes, feeling too heavy to open

Grief making each breath feel trapped

Halfway between my stomach and my throat

Where it would catch

And then each time, I would come back in a panic

To the future that I didn’t want to be a part of

And I’d remember to inhale            exhale             inhale

Just to start the process all over again

I started to talk to you, and tell you

How life has been going

But I stopped

Because this time I couldn’t.

So heavy is my grief

This time, I don’t want to imagine what your life would be like now

The what if’s don’t matter anymore

They’ve been taken away and now you are just GONE

Just gone.  Never to be held, touched, hugged, caressed, kissed again.

I’ll never get to listen to your silly jokes, or hear that laugh, so full of joy 

Who will I make whole bowls of potato salad for now?

Or watch, amazed as you hit the buffet 3-4 times before you stuff food into your cheeks and gums “for later”

My silly, beautiful, greedy, kind, funny, generous, forgiving girl is just GONE

And right now, I’m just feeling real heavy and real angry in my grief.  Not healed at all.  I feel like I need to start my healing journey all over again, yet I know that this is actually a part of the journey.  We go back and forth.  But right now.  Heavy is my grief.

The Place She Used To Hide Out

The Place She Used To Hide Out

There used to be a time when her bedroom was the the place where she used to hide out.  It was her sanctuary, her reading nook, her place to regroup and to escape all of the bullshit that life had thrown her way throughout the day, the week, the month.  She knew that no matter how hard work was that day, when she got home; she could count on going upstairs, kicking off her heels, shedding her bra, putting on her most comfortable muumuu and closing the door to her inner sanctum.

There used to be a time when she could enter her room on a Friday night, and not leave it for the whole weekend.  She had an attached bathroom, so there was no need for her to leave.  She could order food to be delivered, or have someone just bring her a plate from downstairs.  That was a benefit of having older children.  Sometimes, her room would even be the place where her children chose to hide out.  And she didn’t mind that.  Her children seemed to love the peace that the room brought them just as much as she did.  She could be laying in bed, and one or both of them would come in, light an incense and just curl up on the bed with her.  Content to wrap an arm around her leg, or rest the head on her arm.  Or they would meet her at the door after she got home from work, with mischievous smiles on their faces, holding a giant Walmart bag of junk food...letting her know it was going to be “Girls night in Mummy’s bed”.   And they would all curl up in their pajamas, eating their favorite ice cream out of the cartons, watching trash tv and eating ridiculous amounts of candy until they all fell asleep still laughing. 

After the tragedy, the bed became the place she hid out for different reasons.  She didn’t want to face the world.  Couldn’t face them.  She hid out in her room, hoping to disappear forever.  But her friends wouldn’t allow her to do that.  Tiffany and Tee would sit quietly by the side of her bed, watching over her.  Nobody spoke the words, but they didn’t have to.  They wanted to make sure that she didn’t hurt herself.  She said no words.  Just rocked herself in between fits of crying.  Eventually, days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months.  Tiffany and Tee turned into Michelle and Mani.  Michelle became the Mother she had so needed her own to be in her life.   She dedicated herself to being a daughter and a sister.  And then…..tragedy.

And after tragedy, heartache, anger, hurt, confusion.  And then a new life.  And suddenly, the place she used to hang out became a place for new life.  There was no way to hide out anymore.  There was this beautiful new life that needed her and smiled when she was tired and ready to give up.  And then there were two new lives.  And the place that she used to hide out was no longer her place anymore.  Now the two new lives had taken over the place.  Now there were some nights, she would actually get up and go to sleep in the living room, just to have a few moments of quiet time to herself.

And then the final straw.  She was finally happy again.  Living in a brand new place.  Loving the new space that she could call her place to hide out.  And then she was attacked.  In that space.  Violated in the space that she needed to feel like she could go to be in her sanctuary.  And she was destroyed all over again.  But this time, it was temporary.  She worked through it, reclaimed her space, rearranged spaces and renamed it.  And now it is “The Place She Calls Her Sanctuary” and “A Place of Love”.

 

Heartbreak

Today marks the first day I have been back to "social media" this week.  I'd taken a break this week.  Not quite sure if I'm yet ready to come fully back yet either.  This blog may be my only little bit of return.  Not even sure if i'm ready to be quite fully transparent about this whole situation yet.  But we know I have never been anything less than transparent about my life.  It's been a rough week for me emotionally.  A rough, rough week.  Extremely painful.  Extremely triggering emotionally.  

I guess I should start it off by saying last year I started noticing a little change in my daughter when she got a promotion at her new job.  I started noticing her attitude toward me sort of shifted and she began to give me a really condescending tone and making these little snide remarks to me.  I honestly felt like she felt like was better than me, or looked down on me because she was bringing in more money than me.   And each time I would mention it to her, she would speak down to me even more and say that I was being too sensitive, or that I wasn't watching how I spoke to her, so why should she watch how she spoke to me (?? I don't speak to her or anybody else disrespectfully, so I'm not sure where that came from)  So this has just been ongoing for the last year.  Sometimes small remarks, sometimes a little more disrespectful to where it will piss me off for a few hours or a day, but never too much.

So, Saturday morning, she said one of these little snide remarks to me and it annoyed me, but it didn't piss me off..it just irked me.  I went in my room and closed the door to work on a project on my laptop,  Nothing more, nothing less.   A little while later, the baby started banging on the door and wanted to come in, and the next thing I hear is "Na'eem..leave Nana alone.  She doesn't want you around her!  She doesn't want to see you.  She's mad at Mommy"  Ya'll..when I tell you...at that moment, my heart BROKE.  That she would say something so CRUEL to a small child...to say nothing of the fact that it was absolutely untrue..but it was just freaking CRUEL...you just don't say say shit like that to a small child.  And just because she wanted to hurt me.  I unplugged my laptop and packed it and the cord, plus my phone charger and a few other things and just got ready to roll out for the day.  I knew I needed to leave the house for the day.

So, I'm getting ready to leave and as I got to the front door, she is sitting on the couch just looking pissed off, looking at the floor...tv..anything but me.  So I said.."You don't have to look at me, but just know..what you just said to that little boy...that was cruel..and that shit was not cool..I need.." and that's as much as I was able to get out because homegirl just went to the LEFT on me.  But the thing is...it came out so calm and so ....I don't even know the word.  I can only explain her face...there was so much HATRED in her face when she turned and looked at me.  There was no anger, there was no sadness...it was like a smirk and absolute hatred.  And her voice was calm and collected and she just said "As far as I'm concerned, You can just pack your shit and move out.  Go to Aunt Steph's house"  And I truly think I felt my heart shatter at that moment.  But then it got worse..as if it could get worse.  Then she says "I'm sick of raising 3 kids" "I've been raising you since Aja was killed.  I never even had a childhood.  When was the last time you even asked me how I was feeling?"  And my heart truly was shattered.  It wasn't the childhood part....all of that was bullshit.  She had been spoiled and entitled her entire life as the baby of the family.  But to say that she had been RAISING me..and to say that she had been doing it since Aja had been killed.  She knew exactly where to stick that knife and twist it fatally.  She knew I've often felt guilt over the times when I've been sick and hospitalized or times when my grief has overwhelmed me since Aja was killed, and for her to essentially call me a useless child...it devastated me.

Maybe I have been spoiled, but I truly have gone thru my parenting experience being blessed with children who had never disrespected me.  Who had never disrespected each other.  We have clung to each other because we were all we had.  It was like the 4 Amigos.  Literally.  Aaron and Aja were always best friends, Aja and Imani were best friends, as Imani got older, she and I became best friends...but growing up, we were just the 4 best friends.  And then Aja was murdered and we were just 3,  And Aaron was living separately with his wife..so it was just me and her.  And then Michelle came down and it was 3 of us again....and then Michelle had her tragedy...and left us...and its the two of us again...and April came to SC, but she moved out quickly.  And to add hurt on top of hurt on top of hurt...after everything she says to me...Imani tells Aaron that he is cut out of her life and breaks HIS heart.  So now, not only is my heart shattered, but so is Aaron's.  She has also blocked everyone that associated with me, the family or friends from contacting her.  Except for the one person who she is close to that I have had to now step away from just so I don't feel resentful.

And the only way that Aaron and I can compare it is...we are now grieving the loss of the last of the girls.  And we are all that we have left.  Yes, she is still alive..but like Michelle, she is no longer in our life.  And my heart is completely broken and lost right now.   And I don't know how to console my son on the loss of a sister who is not gone physically, but has removed herself by choice when he has done nothing at all to deserve that.  Everyone is like..give it time, she will come around.  But can those words she spoke...can those ever be unheard?  I don't know that they can.  I will hear those words in my head and in my heart until the day I die.  She is my child and I will love her until the day I die, but those words will forever hurt me, even if she does decide to make her way back. 

I think this may be one of those blogs that I post, but don't actually share to the usual spots.  If you subscribe, you will read it and that's fine...like I said..I'm a transparent person.  I dunno.  I'm all over the place right now. 

Who Am I - Searching For And Reclaiming a Voice

 I was going to make this a podcast entry, but remembered that my Mom is unable to listen to my podcasts due to her hearing loss...so I thought...I'll do a double posting.  Ill type it out as a blog and then also record on the podcast (so for those who read the blog...no need to go listen it unless ya just the soothing tones of Lisa )

I've been speaking to a good friend the last few days, discussing life and our places in it.  As well as the footprints that we leave in this life.  I know that some people wonder (including one of my children, who mentions it VERY often in a not so polite manner...maybe some day she will TRY to understand ME and my WHY with a little bit more compassion) why I take and post so may photos and videos of my family and events..some important to me...but most just everyday laughter and smiles and doing random things.  It is because....digital footprints...at some point become..*wiping tears now* they become the sounds of laughter, the voice that you will never again get to hear, you get to see a hand movement that has become so familiar and that you are scared to forget.  I'm sure its all just a component of my grief process...to lose a child to violence...is unlike losing an elder.  You cannot prepare.  You don't take the time to study faces and try to memorize all of the little nuances that you find so beautiful.  You just assume.  You assume that you will wake up tomorrow and the world and your child will be just as beautiful as they were when you went to sleep the night before.  So now...I'm terrified of missing a nuance...of missing a beautiful moment.  So I take pictures..lots of pictures. And lots of video.  Because I want to hear voices..so many videos of voices.  I want to hear my loves ones talking, singing, laughing, cracking up, giggling, I want to see them smiling....I want to be able to look at them...ALIVE.  I want memories of them.

Okay, I totally got off track of what this blog what going to be about, lol.  I was talking about searching for and reclaiming your voice.  Years ago, I wrote this poem...and it spoke to how I, as a woman had become lost.  I had lost my identity after so many years of becoming everyone else's identity.  You know, we go from being somebody's child, or sister, to someone woman...to maybe somebodys mother...Nana...Auntie...it goes on and on.  I no longer know what it is that I like to eat, because I have been cooking what YOU like for so long.  I watch what YOU like to watch on tv.  I travel to this place for vacation...because this is where you thought we would like...I am...So and so's wife...so and so's mother, auntie, cousin, sister, friend, ex, coworker....I have been so many people somebody, that I had forgotten who LISA is and how to reclaim her.  And so then a few years back, I did the work and I did reclaim her.  I became more selfish.  I went back to school.  I got active again in the Columbia BLM and POMC community and I felt ALIVE.

And now, here it is...4 years later...back in Boston.  And I feel as though I am losing sight of Lisa again and I need to push to reclaim her.  I think this is why I am so committed to being so INTENTIONAL about this blog and podcast.  I have found something that is just for me and MY voice.  I am able to be heard.  I am able to introduce people to LISA from my perspective, my voice alone.   So..without further ado, Introducing Lisa Robinson

Who Am I ?

Who am I? You asked me that today. I told you what I thought you’d like to hear. I gave the easy answers…. Who am I? Hmm……

I’m Sara’s daughter, Bee and Steph’s lil Sis.  With the BIG lil brothers, haha.  I said I’m divorced.  A single mom of 3 I used to be married to _____ I started to speak again; but you stopped me, “No…who are YOU?”

So, I searched a little deeper “Who am I?” Hmmm…well… I’m that chick from around the way.  You know…that redbone who lives up at #687. The one with them bad ass little boys…and the son who draws so well, I’m the one whose daughter was killed.  Yeah…that was my daughter…Thanks.  I’m that chick that’s always cookin’ ; anytime you visit, there’s always something on the stove. I’m that chick that’s always reading. Trying to find the next thing to learn If pain in our lives teaches us…by now, I should be a scholar. I’ve seen sooo damn much. I’m that chick that all your boys talk about, “Damn..you got a good woman.” But you still treat me like some IG Thot.. Running in and out, coming as you please.

But as soon as I turn my back to leave…here YOU GO...fallin on your knees. I’m that chick you hear on the mic..singing loud and strong, Longing for the times when I can be heard as clearly …OFF stage I’m that chick …who still fights to go forward. Even when life seems to keep Pushing me back. Who tries to “KEEP HOPE ALIVE” when all along, my heart and hope has died.

So, when you ask me, “Who am I?” I’m that chick.. I’m that chick.. I’m THAT chick.. Stressin’, fightin’, lovin’, laughing, struggling, singing, sexin’, feelin’, growing, living, maintaining and screaming’

All of these words describe me. I can’t tell you who “I” am Every day I am someone new..so let me ask..”Who are YOU?

*taps the mic* Is This Thing On?

So one of my friends suggested that I write, and it reminded me that I actually do have this blog...I've just become lazy about updating it.  But I realize that writing really does bring me pleasure, and it helps me to clear a lot of sh.... junk out of my head space...so it wouldn't be such a bad idea to start back up.  Because lately...my head space has been a bit janky.

I guess I should do a sort of intro, even though I've had this blog for like ugh...10 years or so now (if you scroll back, you can read old posts) I know there may be some new readers who are new to me, new to my crazy life...and the crazy stories I tend to tell.

I'm Lisa...Lis...LiLi...all of the above.  52 years old.  I live in Boston.  Born and raised here, but I spent the years of 2008-2017 in South Carolina (mainly in Columbia) and also consider that home.  I moved back to Boston to be closer to my family and support system, as my health was getting worse (severe asthmatic, congestive heart failure and spinal stenosis)

I'm Mama to 3.. Aaron is 32.  Happily married to Laura.  Aaron was born with 2 types of malignant cancer and a syndrome called Epidermal Nevus Syndrome (where the body reproduces different types of cancer).  He also has Asperger's, which is on the Autism spectrum.  He was also born with some congenital birth defects.  His first years were basically one big hospital visit, between specialists, chemotherapy,  surgeries and emergency visits.  But he is doing awesomely now.

Next up is Aja Dawn.  Aja is forever 23.  Her life was taken at the age of 23 on June 13, 2014 in an act of Domestic Violence.  She was an amazing young woman, and I'll probably share a million stories about her.

The last of my biologicals is Imani.  She is 20.  We were told when was 2 that she would diagnosed as bipolar by the time she was 7.  Unfortunately, it presented so severely that by the time she was 5, we already had that diagnosis by one of the top children's psychiatry units in Mass.  She's had her ups and downs.  As I'm sure those who love someone living with bipolar disorder know, you have your good and bad days.

And lastly...we have Thing 1 (Bryson- 3 y/o) and Thing 2 (Na'eem 2 y/o).  They are the grandsons that I am raising.  Both have some health challenges that keep me pretty busy.  Bryson was born prematurely with gastroschisis (his intestines were outside of his body) He spent approximately 6 weeks in the NICU, where he had surgery to insert the intestines.  But as a result of the birth defect, he has short bowel syndrome.  He is also non verbal autistic.  In the last 6 months, he has learned SOOO many words though!!  And he uses them. A LOT.  Na'eem is my lil Mr Personality.  He loves to entertain.  Severely asthmatic since about 6 months old, he has spent a lot of time in the hospital, but it doesnt slow him down at all.

Whoooo... that's a lot of reading huh??  Warning...I'm wordy asf.  Oh yeah, and I cuss.  I'll try to ease up on the cussing in the blog though.  But I definitely talk alot.  I just wanted to give ya'll a backstory into who I am as a person and where I'm coming from as a woman, as a writer and as a human being though.  Some entries may be wordy like this..some may be short n simple.  

I still have to write an intro about my "forever kids".  They are not mine by birth, but I claim em as mine and I love them like my own, so I talk about them a lot.  Anyway....deuces for now.....✊🏼✌🏼

I Release You. Rest In Peace Jeremy Mickens

I'll never understand how you could take away the air I breathe and one of the only loves of my life Jeremy.  But I forgive you babe.  Because I know the love that Aja had for you as a person and she would be sad if I didnt forgive you.  My family and friends may never understand my forgiveness, but if Allah can forgive me, I can forgive you.  Insha Allah, I  pray that you rest with the Angels and your heart is no longer hurting Jeremy Mickens.  Be at Peace now #RestinParadise #TryingtoHeal #Ireleaseyou #JeremyMickens #AngelsforAja #AjaDawnRobinson #June13