|
|
 |
By Vinette K. Pryce
For me March has always been about celebration.
For decades, some of my favorite friends consistently, annually hosted birthday bashes with coast to coast parties in California and New York.
The Soul Train Awards traditionally coincided with my March 14 birth date and my publicist and journalist friends and associates have always collaborated to engineer a pre or post gathering to flaunt my celebrated day.
Last year I was in Ghana, Africa and this year, a cruise with my mother to a few Caribbean islands was to be my focus.
While on the cruise, I received an email informing me that my father who moved from New York two years ago to live in Toledo, Ohio was ailing. I did not know the extent of his illness but considered the fact someone e-mailed me with such urgency meant I had to seriously consider traveling to where I consider, the most dreaded mid-western destination in all of the USA.
I make no apologies; I despise Ohio and recent news compounded revulsion of the entire destination.
But that aside, I did not share the brief information with my mom because it was too little details and I wanted to spare her unnecessary angst while on a fun trip.
More than ever, I thought about March the way weather forecasters annually predict the advent of spring – “March, in like a lion out like a lamb.”
They often said if snow, wind, rain were evident and the opposite when warm breezes prevailed. Therefore, when the month began with blistering snow storms throughout the mid-west, unseasonable temperatures in the south and high winds here in New York, I knew the lion would roar but was content that the gentle lamb-like conditions would close out my very favorite month.
Fortunately for me, my father, Ralph Herbert Pryce was no longer in Ohio but reportedly visiting in Schenectady, NY when he fell ill.
I was told he had not been eating and had been on the decline since his wife Agnes of more than 40 years passed in her sleep last August while I was in Ghana, Africa.
On my return to the Big Apple, recently, my son Kahlil and I took a three and a half hour train upstate and saw my dad lying frail, fragile and unlike the tower of strength I had known all my life in Jamaica and here in New York.
He smiled broadly when he saw his only grandson.
I showed him a doll made in the image of one of Jamaica’s prominent folk heroes, Louise “Miss Lou” Coverly-Bennett. The doll dressed in national fabric is unique and voice activated by touching an extended hand that made it play the imbedded recording of the folk song “dis long time gal mi neva see you…” a song all Jamaicans are well-versed.
I also showed him a gift from a friend of a doll dressed in the Excelsior High School uniform I wore at age 12 in Kingston, Jamaica.
My 83-year-old ailing father seemed pleased.
But he looked tired, pained and seemed to want quiet contemplation.
I left Ellis Hospital and returned four days later.
On Mar. 14 I was encouraged by my friend Vivian Scott Chew to really celebrate the day and try not to focus on my terminally ill father.
On the morning, I went to the flower shop purchased two dozen pink roses, a bunch of Easter lilies, and then headed to the supermarket.
I bought a large Easter bun (traditional Easter delicacy in Jamaica), four packets of Lasco drink and then took the subway up to the Bronx.
My intention was to leave the gifts before my mother returned from her poetry class and her other busy itinerary.
But I was late and when I arrived at her home she was having lunch.
Needless to say she was surprised to see me.
I separated the bouquets and placed a Happy Mother’s day card in front of one of the vases. She offered to treat me to lunch at the nearest Jamaican restaurant. I asked her to tell me about my birth day.
“After you were born at Lying-In Hospital, they gave me a big bowl of porridge and some bread….
|
 |
My mother further explained that she stayed one whole week, as that was the custom in the Kingston hospital. We laughed at what we thought were idiosyncrasies of the times. The clock ticked to the deadline I had set to beat the rush hour. When I got home, my friend, radio personality Ann Tripp waited to give me a wonderful gift, an all-day spa outing with full service treatments.
My day was perfect.
On the ides of March, I talked with friends and acquaintances and decided to revisit my father the following day in order to beat the crowds expected on the Monday train to Albany where a new governor would be sworn.
Sunday morning I left my house at 5 a.m. in order to catch a 7: 45 a.m. Amtrak train. Three friends kept me company via cell phone.
“Where are you now, has the train left? How do you feel?”
They each kept tabs from 5 a.m. on.
I planned to stay over night in my father’s room and packed a bag with toiletries, a change of clothes, digital tape recorder to talk with my dad, photographs which I knew he might not be interested in seeing but I planned to explain the occasions when they were taken.
One hour into my journey, I received a phone call “He is gone,” the crying voice blurted. “Thank you,” I said.
I looked out into the scenic upstate area and marveled at the snow-covered lakes, ponds and rivers, the ducks and ducklings making their way through the waters, and the many, many waterfalls that decorated the path that led to Montreal, Canada.
My phone rang and I broke the news to Winsome Charlton, Duane Oliver Taylor, Simo Doe, and my dear mom.
They kept me strong and before I could ponder or lament, the conductor alerted “Schenectady, in 20 minutes.”
When the train stopped at the station, I exited to a waiting car which took me to my dad. As I passed the nurse’s station, the staff seemed to divert their eyes away from me.
One individual walked me to a room saying: “take as long as you want.”
My father looked as if he was in a sleep state.
Instead of tip-toeing around his bed, I talked directly to him, thanking him for his constant love. I thanked him for being with me so long. I told him I would now rely on his protection and guidance now more than ever. And I told him that I loved him and there was noting he could do about it.
After an hour, I left my pain-free, peaceful father.
I thanked all the wonderful nurses and doctors who had cared for my often contentious father during his bout with a brain tumor.
They were very gracious.
They hugged me and wished me well.
I asked to be taken back to the train station.
The train departed at 1:30 p.m.
The next stop was Albany, NY where thousands piled on for the Penn Station, NY train.
I walked through three cars in order to find a seat I could sit alone without sharing a companion. I placed my coat on the extra seat and reclined the chair.
I wanted to complete my reading of Barack Obama’s “The Audacity of Hope,” but my phone kept ringing with friends offering consolation.
The train passed Poughkeepsie, Croton Harmon, and in Woodstock, a woman boarded. She looked about for a free seat but there were none. I removed my coat and signaled to her. Her eyes lit up when she saw my jewelry.
“That is sooo beautiful,” she said pointing to my Lalibela cross.
“Where did you get that?”
“I bought it in Ethiopia,” I responded.
“I am from Ethiopia, my name is Amabeth.”
I turned off my phone and we talked through stops in Hudson, Yonkers, and all the towns to the city. When the train neared 34th St. Amabeth apologized for not giving me space.
“I know you must want to sleep, I am sorry,” she said.
She explained that she was going to change trains in NYC because her destination was Washington D.C.
She also said she had a book to finish.
With that she reached into her bag and produced “Dreams From My Father” by Barack Obama.
I gasped a bit at the coincidence that we were reading the same author’s work and I knew my dad was already on the case.
My dad Ralph Herbert Pryce had sent me an angel to comfort me back to Brooklyn.
I was met at the station by my good friend John Crow Alexander.
When I got home I went directly to bed.
I was exhausted.
The next day, devoted to celebrating St. Patrick, I awakened unusually early but rested and felt relieved and comforted.
I logged onto my e-mail to find one from Tuff Gong Records’ Lorna Wainwright informing me that my good friend Mikey Dread passed from the same ailment that ravaged my beloved father.
I could hardly compose myself.
I cried.
I seemed to handle my father’s passing with much more control. I guess it was all too much.
The lion roared too loudly.
I was relieved my special day passed without incident to affect me negatively.
I was cautious on the ides of March, Mar. 15.
My dear friend Desta Meghoo called late that night, on a whim, “I can’t stop thinking about you, and I know it’s late, just checking” she said from Addis Ababa, Ethiopia.
How she knew I can only attest to the sisterhood we share.
It was she who had told me to tell my dad that it was O.K. to leave and I was prepared to follow her guidance.
But he knew what I wanted to verbalize and spared me a farewell.
Tuesday, my Piscean singer sister, Nadine Sutherland sent me an email in response to my wish for her happy birthday on the Ides of March. It was then that I wrote the news of my departed dad.
She immediately called from Jamaica to talk with me. We had a fantastic dialogue.
She is now fabulously 40-years-old and one of the most passionate and caring women I know.
I wish her many, many happy birthdays.
Wainwright told me to take some of her strength, and I now have.
It is hers that is helping me pen this experience.
My cup over-floweth this Easter.
I am truly blessed with friends all across the USA.
From Florida to California and states in between, so many, many caring individuals have shown me love and shared their own pain of sending off a parent.
I am an only child for both my parents and have maintained the best of sisterly and brotherly friendships with so many wonderful people that I feel privileged and extremely special.
My dear, dear long-time friend from Excelsior High School in Jamaica, Everald Hayles has been boundless. Winsome Charlton and Leroy “Dreamy” Riley in Florida, Yvette Noel-Schure, Carol Jones, Angelo Ellerbee, Ann Tripp, Peter Noel, Duane Oliver Taylor, Simo Doe, Sonia Rodney, Don Thomas, Kenton Kirby, Herman Hall, Willie Egyir, Imhotep Gary Byrd, Habte Selassie and most importantly my wonderful, mom Vena Baker and my fantastic son Kahlil have been tremendously comforting.
My friend Vivian chew was all the way in Australia with Common and at press time raced raced back to the USA in order to be with me by Wednesday. That is just the way she is for all her friends. Her support has been invaluable.
I am now looking forward to the lamb portion of the month, because the lion just stopped roaring.
The life of Ralph Herbert Pryce was celebrated on Mar. 26 at Evangelical Lutheran Church of the Epiphany, in Laurelton, Queens. He was interred at Pinelawn Cemetery in Farmingdale, New York. |
 |
Vinette, Dad, and grandson Kahlil |
PRYCELESS expressions of gratitude and emails were graciously received and appreciated from Eno Olafisoye in Dubai, Evadney Campbell in London, England, Vivian Chew in Australia, Monica Wiggan and Desta Meghoo in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, Samuel Barrad, Abraham Amihere, Charles Abakah and Edward Asomaning in Ghana, Africa; Christene King, Lorna Wainwright, Dollis Campbell, Janet Silvera, Michael Barnett, Andrea Braham, Doneisha Marley Prendergast, Paul Smith and Nadine Sutherland in Jamaica, West Indies; Granville and Enid Barrow in Colon, Panama; Christine Walwyn in St. Kitts; Copeland Forbes, Dr. Basil K. Bryan, Ajahweh Tonge, Winsome Charlton, Dreamy Riley, Leslie “Lam” Moore, Paul Walker in Florida; Colleen Ahmed, Oswald Martin, Ephraim Martin in Chicago, Illinois; Denise Chandler in Toledo, Ohio; Dawnalisa Johnson and Leah Caines in Atlanta, Georgia; Itae Eyabong, Kansas City, Kansas; Marva Herman and Michaelle LaPierre in Los Angeles, California; Wayne Morris, West Virginia; Vena W. Baker, Flo Anthony, Carol Jones, James E. Cantwell, Terrie Williams, Bob Frederick, Janie Washington, Sonia Rodney, Merle English, Avril Francis, Carol Desouza, William Collins, Darrell Hazelwood, Kenton Kirby, Willie Egyir, Karen J. Carillo, Ron West, Linda Haynes, Lem Peterkin, Ron Wright, Harold Doley, Behn Goldis, Habte Selassie, Duane Coombs, Hewitt Depass, Paul “Jah Paul” Haughton, Duane Oliver Taylor, Ann Tripp, Aubrey Campbell, John Crow Alexander, Shaun Rasmussen, Pat Henry, Selena Blake, Peter Noel, Louise Noel, Lynette Lee, Aisha Karamoko, Lauren Drummond, Adrian Worthy, Roy “Georgie” Peart, Gary Hilliard, Don Thomas, Bebeto Matthews, Angelo Ellerbee, Simo Doe, Ann Tripp, Joy Elliot, Peter Noel, Conrad Sanchez, Patricka Dallas, Leah Grammatica, Rev. Marva Jenkins, and the congregation of Epiphany Lutheran Church in New York City: Fern Gillespie, Monifa Brown, Ghanette Tonge, Yvette Noel-Shure, Everald Hayles, and Fasu Agyemang in New Jersey.
PRYCELESS BLESSING – Not in our lifetime will we ever see Easter arrive as early as it did the year Ralph H. Pryce departed (2008). According to experts the next time Palm Sunday will make the calendar as early as March 16th will be the year 2160.
SPECIAL THANKS:
To Pall Bearers -- Kahlil T. Goodwyn, Everald Hayles, Peter Noel, Duane Oliver Taylor, Don Thomas, Justin Williams (for Easton “Bunny” Hamilton).
Soloists – Ann Tripp, News reporter, WBLS-FM/WLIB-AM and Kenton Kirby, Editor in Chief, Caribbean Life.
Tribute -- Imhotep Gary Byrd, radio personality and program host
WBAI-FM, WBLS-FM, WLIB-AM.
Obit -- Aubrey Campbell, Information attaché, Jamaica Information Service.
DVD powerpoint presentation -- John Crow Alexander, host of “Caribbean Classroom.”
Prayer cards -- Leroy “Dreamy” Riley, photographer and graphic designer.
|
|
|
|
