“Legacy, Legacy, Legacy…” - Jay-Z
On Christmas Eve 2020, Kimberly Washington - a friend for over 25 years - passed away from a brief battle with cancer. She had just turned 52 that December 7th. Her death has struck me in more ways than I can adequately explain. But one thing Kim’s death has really got me thinking about is legacy - not so much in terms of a financial gift or bequest, but what we leave behind that means the most to those we love, and the ones who love us.
Kim’s legacy is as a loving mom, partner, sister, daughter, music curator, DJ, massage therapist, purveyor of DC’s cultural scene, and dear friend. She was LOVED by so many. Perhaps that’s in part because she had a huge presence in DC in variety of roles, not the least of which was as DJ and curator of her own visionary radio show, Soul Conversations. I also believe that the love that keeps pouring out on Kim’s memorial Facebook page, and through the tributes to her that keep showing up in my newsfeed, is a testament to the kind of person she was: kind, wise, loving, caring, enduring, funny and fun loving. If this country were not living through a raging pandemic, I’m sure that any funeral or memorial service for Kim would be packed to the rafters with people of all kinds, from all walks of life, wanting to pay their respects - pay tribute to this singular soul - and offer love.
I think the best legacies are like what Kim left - precious memories to enjoy and celebrate; the depositing of a lasting cultural thumbprint; reminders of the shortness and sweetness of life; the loving imprint and impact of a life well spent on those we love best.
When I was 18, I lost a dear friend who might have become more if he had lived. Ricky Williams was an early crush when I was a newly minted high schooler growing up in Chicago. We dated for a bit, even though we attended rivalry high schools - he went to Latin, I went to Francis W. Parker. We later found each other after he went off to college, and I was heading there myself. It was the summer after my senior year in high school, and Ricky and his best friend, Eric Lassiter, just happened to show up at the restaurant in Water Tower Place where I was working. It was a sweet but brief reunion as I served Ricky and Eric their fries and burgers. But Ricky promised to be in touch, and that he was. I remember hanging with Ricky and Eric that whole summer of ‘87 - attending Run DMC/Beastie Boys concerts, chilling on Eric’s balcony, enjoying the summer, and each other’s company. And then one day I stopped by Ricky’s to drop off some music - Art of Noise’s Moments in Love - and his dad told me he was in the hospital. Hold up - Ricky? In the hospital? For what? Turns out it was sickle cell anemia, which I had never known Ricky was battling. So I didn’t believe his dad. I mean, I literally was like nah, you must be tricking me. Because the Ricky I knew was too full of life to be sick, let alone in the hospital. I left Ricky’s house convinced I’d hear from him soon. And I did receive a phone call, except it wasn’t from Ricky. The call was from his friend Eric to tell me that Ricky had passed away. At age 20. From complications during treatment for sickle cell anemia. I was devastated.
For me, Ricky’s legacy is ever present through my love of Moments in Love, and the enduring relationships I have with Ricky’s best friends - Eric, and Ed, Ricky’s bestie and roommate from college whom I met at Ricky’s memorial. I’ve known these two for 32 plus years, and regardless of the drama, distance, or time between us, what I know is that we are inextricably bound together by our shared love for Ricky, and the experience of having such an ultra light beam flash through our lives. The older I get, the more I cherish our trio, and often thank Ricky, quietly, for connecting us, even as he left us.
Legacy…
When I was 26, another person I cared about passed away. I met Peter Muldrow almost as soon as I arrived in DC to attend Howard University for graduate film school. Pete was an excellent hairdresser, and in the year before I arrived at Howard, I had undergone the big chop, and needed a barber badly to keep me lined up. My new neighbor, Eric Easter, recommended Pete, and the rest is history. Pete - who was very charming with his gap toothed grin and his NYC, cowboy-boot-wearing, swagger - became a brief lover, but mainly a friend. One March evening, at the end of our friend Rudy’s glorious wedding in the Howard Law School chapel, Eric gently broke to me that Pete had died of a heart attack. He was in his late 30’s. I remember falling apart in Eric’s arms, then stumbling through the dark, sobbing, on my way home. Pete had been beset by his own personal demons, and could be moody, even cold. He was a bit of a curmudgeon. Regardless - Pete was loved, and his untimely death was painful.
For me, Pete’s legacy is my love of cowboy boots, our shared love for HU, and a b/w postcard featuring the tennis great Althea Gibson that I gave Pete during one of his moods. It simply let him know I was thinking of him, and hoping that he would resolve whatever kept him brooding. After Pete died, Eric found the postcard while helping to clean out Pete’s room. The fact that Pete had kept the postcard meant so much.
Legacy…
As an undergrad at Northwestern University, one of the first places I worked on campus was at the Cone Zone, a fun place for ice cream located in the Norris Student Center. I worked at the Cone Zone my freshman year, and the people I remember the most from that experience are Deb, the manager, and Mark Anderegg, who was a year older than I, and such a great and supportive co-worker. The details are a little blurry for me now, but through Mark I met his sister Donna, who was my year. Northwestern is a huge school, so I didn’t see Mark or Donna consistently, but whenever I did happen to run into them, it was all love. Fast forward 30 plus years later, and who should I run into in Raleigh, NC but Mark. He had become a doctor - an anesthesiologist - and had cultivated a love for long distance biking. He had also come out years before we reunited, and had gotten married to the love of his life, Jason Belk, in a civil ceremony in DC. But when marriage equality became legal nationally, Mark and Jason had a ceremony for all of their friends and family in their ginormous house in Raleigh, and I had the pleasure of attending. I remember that day in 2016 fondly - Mark and Jason almost giddy with love for each other, and everyone in attendance so happy for them. It was a beautiful evening wedding, honoring and celebrating a beautiful couple. Mark and I continued to develop a sweet, caring friendship, and I fell completely in love with his French bulldog, Jack. I loved spending time with both of them. And then one day, Mark invited me to meet him for coffee after having moved to live on the west coast for a time. He shared with a trembling voice that he had been diagnosed with lung cancer. This had to be late summer 2017. By November, Mark was gone. Because I had been on a brief Facebook hiatus, I missed Jason’s DM with his phone number, inviting me to come visit Mark in his final days.
It hurt so much to have missed the opportunity to say goodbye to my sweet friend. For me, Mark’s legacy is my fondness for his sister Donna, FB relationships with Jason and a few Northwestern alumni I met at the wedding, and most of all, unconditional love for Mark. He taught me something about celebrating love where you find it, and being true to yourself. That last lesson is priceless.
Legacy…
And so what will my legacy be? What will I leave to my loved ones, and the world even, when my time in this physical realm is done?
I hope that those I love will know it deep within them; that there will be no doubt that I carried a love for them that will never die.
I pray my children will be wrapped in the love of a mother who adores and delights in them; that they will recognize that nothing they could ever do or say will diminish that love.
I want it to be known that I cared for the vulnerable, those in pain and hurting, those with very little; that I tried to be generous with my resources in order to help more than just me and mine.
I hope that my light will shine through my writings, the films I work on, the students I reach and teach, and most of all, the way my children show up in the world. It is my sincere desire that my legacy be seen not in what I owned, but in how I invested my time, and in what I gave.
Although I plan to live a long, healthy life, one never knows (does one?) when their time of transitioning will be. Whenever my time, I pray my life will be one lived increasingly on purpose, and that I will touch those around me with a touch that is forever felt, and that ripples out.
Rest in peace and power Ricky, Pete, Mark and Kim. You are loved and celebrated today and always. Thank you for the legacies you left.