When A Purge Becomes Larger Than Life

Purge black girl

Purge. A 5-letter, one syllable word which I thought of as my world fell apart around me. I was completely numb. So numb that I could no longer feel the tears run down my cheeks when I reflected on losing my Daddy. I, simply, closed my eyes and they fell. This must be grief.

I have never wanted to die in my life. But the days..then weeks passing made death a welcomed sight over the overwhelming sadness which rocked me. The fire which my father breathed in me at birth was fading quickly and I wasn’t resistant to the flame dimming forever. I’m positive that this is how it feels to have God snatch your soul from your body. Limp. Empty. Cold.

If not for receiving that text message from my prima, I would have withered away.


Inhale. Exhale. Close My Eyes. Purge.

So many women asked if that moment where I referenced my Daddy speaking to me and then me smelling him in my car was real. It was not poetic license. That instance was as real as me writing this piece now. My Daddy resuscitated me. His spirit filled me. I was taller, stronger with a louder voice. I screamed. It was the same scream I heard the night my sister told me my Mufasa left this earth. It was the scream of my ancestors fortifying me right along with the spirit of my father.

From that moment forward, I had all the strength I needed. I had the strength to see my husband and smile knowing I was fully aware of his affair.  Purposefully, I plotted out my response to his infidelity. I gave him the opportunity to tell the me the truth. Real talk- we could’ve ended our union with a kiss and a handshake. 17 years of history should have warranted that, no? 40-something Keka had become a contrastive metamorphosis of 20/30-something Keka. I loved Albert but it wasn’t the same. He was still the same person. I mean THE EXACT SAME PERSON I met at 26.  I get it. Some people aren’t meant to do anything more than just exist.  Things that seemed like common sense to me were still foreign to him. And I, no longer, guarded my words when I spoke to him. You know the way you are supposed to when you want to protect the person whom you love. I didn’t show him grace. Hell, I’m not even saying he deserved it. I didn’t have any to offer him.

We have always been different. Different backgrounds. Different priorities. Different outlooks on life. Different.

Somehow, we managed to make it work for a while anyway. And then, WE stopped working.  In a purge letter, there’s no way that I could give a full historical account of our love affair. I can recall moments where I felt electrified from his love. Love was in our smiles, our eyes and in our body language. We were even teased about looking like brother and sister. There was a closeness that could be felt even by strangers.

Those moments came and went.

Relationships/ marriages end everyday, B. When my Daddy died, it gave me an entirely distinct outlook on him. Losing my father magnified my ex’s inadequacies. I , ALWAYS, had my Daddy to lean on for the extra shit like life lessons, business ideas, my fears and goals. With him not being physically here, who was going to be my shield? Certainly NOT Albert. He couldn’t even get certain women in his family to stay in their fucking lanes so I know he didn’t have this covered. He, always, made mention of his “family” and it drove me nuts because there was no ACTUAL BLOOD RELATION. So I was always at a loss for this misplaced loyalty for “regular ass muthafuckas” especially when they gave no fucks about hurting him to get to me.

Needless to say, my husband’s weakness also took a toll on our marriage. I know that I am all over the place. I started this last night ( the second month anniversary of my dad’s death). I just need to get it out. We will make sense of it later.

Back to this letter though. At the moment my Dad died, any tension, hurt or misunderstandings should have ceased to exist. Albert should have been there ready to rock with Yemi and me. He was overtly absent. That bothered me more than anything. He knew the pain I felt. His  mother died in 2005 and I was there. According to him, he loved my Dad like a father and given that his father was never present in his life…the very least he should have done was be present.  Even his “love” for my Daddy couldn’t make him be honest though. Yeah, that makes him even shittier and I’m pissy all over again.


Upon the recognition of Al’s blatant disrespect for us when we asked him about this “girlfriend”, I had made up in my mind that I was going to write about it. Not for people’s entertainment. Not to be petty. Hell, I blog about my life, feelings and thoughts. This wasn’t any different. And had he told the truth, there would be no letter of which to speak.

So I began crafting the letter and the more my father’s spirit filled me, the more brazen the letter became. It was meant to annihilate him. It was a gut punch, a stab and a slap all in one. He didn’t wait to cheat when I was ok. He took my lowest moment and tried to end me emotionally. Somehow, I should have taken that “L”.  Nobody expected me to talk about it. From some responses, many would rather have me suffer and lose it in silence. I yelled to keep from losing it. From losing myself. I am not the scores of women who will fight and cry for lost loves even when those “loves” no longer love them back. It was important as a black woman and mother to STAND AND YELL. SO I FUCKING DID.

If he needed a way out, all that was needed was a conversation. He doesn’t get to do this openly and think that I will retreat. I am Moe’s daughter. I will take you head on and I will not stop until there’s nothing left but dust. This wasn’t about love. There was no love in anything that he did. This was purely about accountability. Public or private. No shame. I’ve loved and lost. I, NEVER, imagined losing my Daddy so soon and he took away from me honoring my Mufasa. I was not here to offer forgiveness or understanding. I came to wreak havoc. Period. We’ve even discussed it. Yes, he and I discussed it. Al said it was brilliant and that every word was true.  Except the part about my Daddy not liking him… he took that shit hard. As in tears. *shrugs* That’s not my burden to bear though.

I am not easily shamed. I’ve been a thief, a liar and an infidel according to the Saints. I’ve also accepted all of those things to become a better person. A better woman. A better mother. It’s a trait people love or hate about me. I am not afraid of many things and I’m facing the biggest of those fears right now. I have lost a parent and a stepparent. Writing that letter has helped me begin the grieving process. I have finally been able to cry without becoming numb. My Daddy sends me signals to let me know that he has never left my side. I smell him in my kitchen A LOT. And yesterday, as I wept not realizing that this is my 2nd month without him- I smelled him again.

I can’t say that I wouldn’t do it again if I had  the chance to change this. This isn’t everybody’s way but it was, surely, cathartic.  And sometimes a full disclosure purge is needed.

Purge. A 5-letter, one syllable word which I thought of as my world fell apart around me will now be the reason why I am able to stand again.

Thank you for helping me get through this.









K. Araújo, a native Detroiter, is a cross between Claire Huxtable, Rosie Pérez and Millie Jackson. Widow, professional dragger of filth and Mami to the dopest Ethiopian EVER, she is the Editor in Chief of “Negra With Tumbao” and a Staff Writer for “The Urban Twist”. Keka has been known to shake what her mama gave her, is the hell and high water, an expert salsera and cussologist with a penchant for the finer things in life and is and forever shall be- unapologetically black.

  • Sili

    Thanks for the follow up and thank you for continuing to stay true to yourself and the memory of your father. <3

  • Love Heals

    Sis, so here’s a confession: yesterday I read your post about your father’s love giving you a false sense of security and I wept.I don’t mean a couple of teardrops. I mean copious tears and my body shaking even though I was quiet. Yours is indeed a hell of a loss. I wept for you because I can only imagine what it’s like to have had that kind of support. I’m grateful to The Divine that you know your father’s still got you. My “sensitivity” isn’t as pronounced as yours, but I’ve experienced smelling presence(s) from the other side. Modupe, Baba, for returning so K knew that despite this seismic shift, you’re with her still. Eshe, Sah/Sir. My father is alive, my folks are together, but he withdrew his love when I was a teen. It’s a loss I’ve yet to stop grieving. I adored my father and he treated me as though I was a little sun. His mercurial reaction to my trying to live as an autonomous human being has at times threatened my will to live. I’ve FINALLY realized that this is not love, though what he showed in my early childhood, was. Those years informed the good aspects of who I am in wonderful ways. So, thinking of you having had a father who REALLY was (and IS) your protector and support for over 4 decades is awe inspiring. This is a superlative heartbreak. Please be gentle with yourself as you forge ahead. The ancestors, along with their newest arrival are clearing your path.

    • To even call my Daddy, Eggun, is so surreal. Yesterday and today have not been very good for me. I miss him so very much. Thank you for reading!! 😍😍😍❤

    • I have had a chance to revisit this comment. WOW! I didn’t realize that other people could feel my Daddy’s love for us from my writing. My parents’ love is something I can’t describe in words… It’s a love that I wish others could know. Your entire comment is making my heart smile and cry at the same time. I’ve never tried to replace my Daddy because nothing was missing but when I got married, I thought that he could at least be my secondary rock… I don’t think there is a man on this earth whom I could love that would measure up to my father. That’s real talk.

      • Love Heals

        The love is apparent. I’m grateful that your parents give (yes, present tense for both) you indescribable love. I trust there is an additional joy that you’re bequeathing to your beloved daughter this same “knowing” of her worth as well as your support. (I love your retelling of her pledge of allegiance experience.) She is the entity The Divine ordained her to be, born to you-her chosen parents,and a continuation of this journey into the love of who and what we, (our people) naturally are. (I) Give thanks for the generations who, Creator willing, will descend from her and reintroduce you to familiar facial expressions from your dear dad (damirifa due) and uncanny sounds from your dear mom (Viva la Senora)…in addition to recognition of yourself and Yemi in them.

  • NonyaB🎯

    {{{HUG}}} Hang in there, NWT. Wishing you and your daughter inner peace and fortitude. One day at a time, one day at a time.

  • PinkRose

    I have a feeling that this entire experience is going to open up new people and opportunities in ways you NEVER expected or imagined!!

    Just get your affairs in order ASAP so you don’t have to spit a d@mn dime with that sorry m*thaf**ka!

  • Val

    As you go through this process, a painful one, you are helping a lot of people. Including me. Be strong, be weak, be who you need to be. *eHUG*