REST EASY, EARL

From the get go, it didn't look good and it ended the way I feared it would. Despite my prayers, I harbored the feeling that he had been stripped to the studs and that it was only a matter of time before his body--and its functionings-- just gave up the ghost. Or perhaps his loved ones--in consultation with his physcians-- would tearily come to the conclusion that all further efforts were futile, and that that terrifying time had finally come. Time to pull the plug. That the clock had run out.

That Earl's time was up.

But here's the thing: It doesn't hit until it hits. You can prepare yourself for it all you want, you can pack your spine with boatloads of spiritual steel, you can steep yourself in all the clinical language you want--but when it happens, when that fateful hour comes, it still packs a potent punch. And so, many of us find ourselves reeling from the blow. Even those of us who saw the punch coming.

Over the last couple of days, I've asked myself why I mourn the death of DMX so much. So intensely. Why a punch that I saw coming still left me doubled up. Why does X's death hurt so much?

It hurts becasue his life and music reminds us of the hopes and struggles of so many Black men. Our fathers. Brothers. Sons. Some out here trying to make a way out in an economy that treats so many of us like radioactive waste. Some trying to build or rebuild bonds with our own sons. Some who, despite the ways in which society monsterizes Black men, still manage to laugh and find time to party-up. Some who feel like they're bout to lose their mind. Some finding laughter amidst sorrow. Some chasing dreams that seem increasingly elusive. Some trying to break free for a minute and breath. Some who, in the midst of their struggles, are crying out, "Lord, give me a sign." Some experiencing suicidal ideation. Some stuggling with the trauma from being abused as kids. Some whose parent beat the snot out of them "to save them from the police."

We know him. And we love and mourn him because he is us, and we are him. Sketched on his body --and embdied in so much of his music-- are traces of our own struggles. And when Earl took his last breath, a piece of Black men took flight with him.

When we rooted for him, we rooted for ourselves. When we loved on him, we loved on ourselves. We wanted him to win because a win for him was a win for us. Period

We rooted for him because we're tired of tired of seeing Black men dying prematurely. Nothing is more painful than to hear a Black man talk about he how doesn't expect to live a long and full life. It's a powerful statement about the hills we have to climb and obstacles we have to scale. It's as much an indictment of society that monsterizes Black men as much as it is a personal statement of gloom. We watched X age, and he lived much longer than he ever thought he would. But it was far too short for us. Societal and personal trauma places far too many of us on a life trajectory that comes up woefully short.

Over the last couple of days Earl's ending brought back many memories of my baby brother who, like X, battled demons and wrestled with God. Like DMX, my baby brother was simultaneously beautiful and flawed. And, like Earl, he left here way too soon. Like X, he fell down and got back up--until he didn't and couldn't. Sometimes the weight and trauma of the past chases us brothers down and our clock runs out on us. Sometimes the cumulative weight of social evils become so burdensome that our bodies and our spirits just collapse.

Come Sunday, I suspect that Earl's name will be mentioned in a number of churches. And that'll be good. As long as you don't reduce this flawed but beautiful brother to a prop in some type of morality tale. As long as you don't objectify him and thereby reduce the richness and complexity of his life. As long as you don't try to force fit him into some script in your back pocket. Take him as he is. Take his powerful prayers. Take his tears. Take his laments, and his hope. See him in all of his transparency. Reflect on the ways in which trauma--both personal and social-- haunts so many Black men. And if you can't do that, then do us all a favor: Save it. We've had our fill of portraying Black men as monsters who are soley responsible for our fate.

DMX deserves better than that. Black men deserve better than that.

Love on the DMX's in your life. He was a gift.

I love the brother. Intensely.

Rest easy, Earl.

Rest easy,

Doc Greene