It’s December again, the time to come together with people we care about and inevitably, be reminded of those we have lost. I am learning to somehow make it through the holidays, only sometimes I am doing it on my knees.

I made plans early in the year to attend my dad and stepmom’s annual Christmas party. My dad had invited me for years, but I never went and if I were honest, I’d tell you that I never made it a priority.

Years ago, someone suggested that rather than saying, “I’m sorry I didn’t _______ fill-in-the-blank,” to instead say, “I didn’t make it a priority.” And boy, did that practice really help clarify my intentions.

Losing my mother earlier this year drove home once again that the time I have to share with my loved ones is limited, so I asked my boyfriend, Brian, if he’d like to fly to the south for a Christmas party. I was very happy when he quickly replied with a yes.

I was excited to bring him to a place that was so familiar to me, to fill in the blanks of my own stories that had been told and retold over the time that we have been together. A trip to the South would mean beignets in the French Quarter and time spent in my dad’s Mississippi home. If you were to ask me if I am from New Orleans, I would be tempted to tell you no, but the truth is, many of my early childhood memories took place in or around the Crescent City.

It was time for my life to swallow Brian whole like his very large life had done to me.

My mom and dad were from Louisiana, having met in a very small town, located near dead center of the state. They attended the same high school, Pineville High, Home of the Rebels, graduating four years apart. After my parents moved away, my paternal grandmother continued to live in Pineville in the crackerbox house she had built after my grandfather died in a freak accident in 1952, leaving her and his two boys behind while they were still in elementary school.

My grandmother, “Mom” as we oddly called her, lived in that house behind wire rimmed glasses with her little poodle-like dog named Bitsy. My memories of her are painted with homemade floral housecoats and small styrofoam cups full of Folgers coffee which we drank while watching tv shows that did not interest me. I didn’t like coffee, but I knew she liked it when I drank it and from what I remember, she was not always easy to please. 

As soon as we touched down in what had once been my home state, at precisely 4:07 pm, while the force of the brakes pushed us firmly back in our seats and the rumble of the runway vibrated beneath us, I texted my dad to excitedly declare, “We just landed!”

And just one minute later, at 4:08 pm, the Bureau of Prisons pressed send on an email to notify me that Donovan Cloud had finally arrived at his new home, similar to the one I received regarding James Cloud. I looked down, reading the email as we taxied to the gate. I blinked multiple times, wondering if my eyes were playing tricks on me.

“Donovan Cloud is now housed in Pollock USP — in Pollock, Louisiana.”

“Welcome to Louisiana,” they seemed to say, “Donovan is now here, too.”

“Where the hell is Pollock, Louisiana?” I thought, knowing that Google could answer my question. 

I quickly discovered that Pollock USP is just fifteen minutes from the Home of the Rebels.

That’s right. 15 minutes from where my mom and dad fell in love. 

It didn’t take long for me to do the math. 

One of the men responsible for Josiah’s murder — the one who excitedly entered the courtroom back in October, so full of life, animated and laughing, while we waited for his sentence to be handed down, knowing that the plea bargain he accepted in the White Swan Murders gave him immunity from ever being charged for my son’s death — is now housed just fifteen minutes from where my parents met, in a small town where I am quite sure they still drink Folgers in tiny styrofoam cups.

What are the chances of that?? And what are the chances of the BOP sending me notice at precisely the moment I arrived?

But this isn’t the only thing worth mentioning since I last wrote to all of you.

~~~

Josiah had many friends, but the most important ones to him were a core four, making a total of five in his group. Until a few weeks ago, I had not seen any of them in the flesh since 2019. Josiah’s murder struck them hard and had more devastating effects on some than others. 

Two and a half weeks before our trip, on the same day that I received the email regarding James Cloud’s new digs in Colorado, I had a surprise visit from one of Josiah’s closest friends. We had not seen one another in almost three years. He was passing through on a road trip with two months of hard earned sobriety under his belt.

Josiah’s murder hit him perhaps the hardest, sending him into a tailspin that ended in a homeless camp being narcanned back to life. In an early morning heart to heart talk, the first one we’d had since Josiah’s death, he shared with me that while laying there, halfway between here and there, he heard Josiah yelling at him, “Get up! Get up! Get up!” adding, “Josiah didn’t sound happy. He was really angry!”

“I felt like Josiah’s death was my fault,” he shared with me.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Yeah, but maybe if I had done something differently, he’d still be alive.”

“I have had the same thoughts and what I’ve learned is feeling that — thinking that — is a very normal part of grief. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault except for the people who killed him.”

“I don’t think I realized until recently how much losing him affected me,” he confessed.

“I knew it was really hard on you. I could see it, but I didn’t know what to do. I’m so glad that you survived and are still here.”

It seemed as though Josiah was still with us, watching out for one of his very best friends. 

~~~

Exactly one week later, I looked down at my phone while sitting at my desk at work. The screen lit up with an incoming call on messenger. It was a call from another of the core four. 

“It must be a pocket dial,” I thought, feeling the pressure of everything I needed to get done before my trip, but something told me to stop what I was doing and answer it. 

“Hello?” I questioned, wondering if anyone was on the other end.

“Hey Liz,” he answered, “I’m in Garberville.”

“What?” I said in disbelief, knowing he was over three hours from home. 

“I don’t really know what happened, but yesterday I got in my car and just started driving. I didn’t know where I was going or why and I didn’t expect to go so far. Something told me to get off the highway when I got to Garberville, so I did and got a hotel room for the night. I called my mom to let her know where I was and she told me you lived here.” 

“Wow, okay, well I’m working, but you’re welcome to come see me here,” I said pausing, looking at the clock, knowing I’d be meeting Brian for lunch soon.

Josiah’s death had been hard on him as well, only aggravating a burgeoning mental health issue, so I wasn’t sure what condition he would arrive in.

Moments later, there was a knock at the door. I opened it, and there he stood — healthy, strong, clean shaven and well dressed, if not a little cold in the near freezing temperatures we were experiencing. 

I invited him in and pulled up a chair next to my desk. Pretty quickly, I could tell something was amiss. There seemed to be a battle going on, somewhere deep inside.

“What can I do to help?” I asked.

“I’m not sure,” he said, “but I’m not doing well.”

We talked about what that might mean — what was missing and what might help him find his way back again. While we sat there talking, knees almost touching, I felt a presence that was not him or me. The words that came out of my mouth did not feel my own. They seemed to flow from some other place, gently encouraging him to drive back home, where he would be safe and surrounded by people who love him. He agreed.

I walked him back to his car and Brian met us there. I introduced them, we all hugged and then parted ways.

By late afternoon, he was back home, safe and sound, making changes that could better support him in getting the help he needs.

When we talked a few days later, he shared that he thought it was Josiah who told him to stop. I agreed.

That made two of Josiah’s core four in just one week.

~~~

Ten days later, Brian and I left home long before the sun rose to drive to the airport in San Francisco. We were excited about our trip to see my father and his beautiful wife. Besides the email from the Board of Prisons, our trip was smooth and uneventful. My parents picked us up just as we had planned. We went to dinner in the French Quarter, ogled the Christmas decorations at the Roosevelt Hotel and then drove to their home on the Mississippi Coast.

The next morning was spent at their kitchen island, chatting and catching up. Brian and my dad did most of the talking, while I sat there quietly, checking my email, and then suddenly blurted out, “I got a new follower on my blog!”

I still get excited every time someone signs up. 

“That’s great, honey,” Brian replied smiling, as he always does. Our small exchange then opened a broader conversation with my dad about Josiah’s book. It’s important to me to share it with them because I do so want my family’s support.

We spent the afternoon getting ready for Saturday night’s Christmas party, taking a cruise down Scenic Drive in Pass Christian and enjoying a lunch of Po Boys, gulf shrimp and sweet tea.

That evening, my parents had to go to a wedding which meant Brian and I had the night free, so we made plans to go see Anders Osborne, a New Orleans icon, at Tipitina’s. I had been there many times – every one of those times to see Anders – but it was Brian’s first. 

We arrived just after nine, making our way into the venue past the bronze bust of Professor Longhair which welcomes everyone as they come through the door. It was already packed, leaving not a single good spot to stand. We went upstairs, but couldn’t get near the rail. We went downstairs, all the way up towards the front, but found ourselves standing behind two extremely tall men.

What is up with super tall people standing in the front? There should be some social rule, a status quo, that says tall people be as aware of short people as we are forced into awareness of them.

We couldn’t see a damn thing, packed in like sardines. I knew the stage was up there – perhaps only five feet away, but it could not be seen. It was so aggravating. 

I began to think to myself, “What the hell are we even here for?”

I had attended Anders’ Holiday Spectacular many times, year after year, but that all changed after Josiah died. I wanted to share with Brian what I had experienced so many times before. I had told him all about it and there we were, smashed between people who apparently weren’t aware of my expectations and the fact that they were ruining my plans.

“I mean, don’t these people know who I am?” 

I couldn’t help but laugh at myself as we circled back around the soundboard near the bar on the side.

Brian gently grabbed my arm, positioning me, “Why don’t you stand here where we can almost see.” 

I stood there, looking towards the stage, trying to settle in, but still distracted, instead staring at two young lovers at the bar, a beautiful young woman with long brown hair and her dapper blonde beau with gold chains and nice shoes. Aaahhh, to be young again.

And wouldn’t you know it, a tall man came up and blocked my view. “My god, tall people are everywhere,” I thought, peering around him, eyes purposely avoiding him. And then finally, his facial features caught my eye. 

“Could it? No way… that can’t be him. Maybe though? He looks older. This guy is very much a man.”

Brian saw me staring and asked questioningly, “What are you doing?” 

“I don’t know,” I told him, “That is either one of Josiah’s best friends or it’s his doppelgänger.”

“Why don’t you ask him?” he said.

“But what if it isn’t him?”

“Well, maybe it’ll be uncomfortable for a minute, but that isn’t so bad.”

So, I tapped the guy’s elbow while pulling down my mask, thinking he was going to look at me like, “Who is this crazy lady bothering me??”

But instead, he turned and his face lit up as he yelled a loud and glorious, “Liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiizzzz!”, while wrapping his very long arms around me.

“Oh my god,” he bellowed, “I can’t believe it’s you! I just signed up for your blog this morning!”

“That was you?!?!” I exclaimed. 

“I haven’t been to a show in a long time,” he shouted, “but something told me to come here tonight!”

“This is crazy,” I told him, “You’re the third one I’ve seen in the past 2 1/2 weeks.”

We hugged, we danced and later, he walked Brian and I both out to say, “Goodnight.”

You just can’t make this stuff up…

There is so much going on that cannot be explained, it isn’t here or there, but somewhere in between. Our job is to just show up and keep our eyes peeled, to acknowledge our blessings and not question whether or not they are real.

Wishing you all a warm holiday filled with the presence of peace,
Liz

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