Love Lives On

Folks you'd better stop and think.
Everybody knows we're on the brink.
What will happen now that the King is dead? - Nina Simone, Why (The King of Love Is Dead)

It was the first day of Spring semester, and my first day of college. My 8am class had absolutely worn me out so I went back to my dorm to take a nap until my next class. Though I was the new girl on campus, I felt comfortable enough to leave my room unlocked, just as my roommate had. I had drifted into a nice slumber when the door flung open. I immediately jumped up and exchanged a confused stare with this guy, that I had never met before. Seconds later I broke the stare, and politely demanded an explanation. He revealed that he was looking for my roommate, and he made an awkward exit.

Later that night, while talking with my roommate, the same guy came back to formally introduce himself as Kenneth Love, but his friends called him Ahmad. He apologized to me for interrupting my nap and barging in on me.  I had no hard feelings about it but I definitely questioned why my roommate was friends with him. I didn't understand the culture of those already in the dorm and certainly did not grasp who Ahmad was as a person yet. As he and I engaged in conversation that night, I became enveloped in his welcoming spirit. I was so comforted by his presence and his ability to make me feel like he and I had known each other since the beginning of time. That’s how everyone, I believed, found their way into Ahmad’s love.

One day while we were hanging out in my dorm room, he randomly expressed to me why he was apprehensive to develop a friendship with me when we first met. I thought that he was going to tell me that I looked crazy with a scarf on my head or that I looked like I hadn't slept all night. I was very unprepared when he revealed his disdain for seeing women in cornrows. I have never forgotten how much we laughed in that moment and how I could never find it in me to take offense. He had the innate ability to put anyone at ease with his authenticity of love. He understood how I could be insulted in that moment and when he saw the shock on my face, he tried to console me. It was shocking to me that he would say that because I had been wrestling inwardly with letting go of cornrows. I wasn't shocked by what he said, I was shocked that he said it. Though I appreciated his opinion, I didn't really care what he thought of my hairstyle choices. I valued his honesty and was overjoyed by the comfortability that he felt with me. In that moment, I knew that we would be great friends. Ahmad and I shared a lot of moments as friends and we shared a lot of love. Truthfully, he was the embodiment of love made in God's like image. He was like church because you could find solace in his arms. Ahmad was special. God spoke through him, as God did Martin Luther King, Jr. They were both sent to show us a new love and a new light. Their lights were dimmed far too soon, and we are left here amongst hate. We are left here to try as best we can, in our imperfection, to show that same love and provide that same light.

I had never experienced the impact of grief caused by the death of a close friend, so I had no idea what to expect when I lost Ahmad. No idea that I would have to deal with emotions that I'd likely have no control over. No idea that my memories of love lost would keep me up at night. No idea that nothing could prepare me for the emptiness and longing for one last time, for one last goodbye. No idea that murder left no room for closure but only room for speculation and recollection. The only thing I still carried was the knowledge that Ahmad was made in God's like image and carried church in the solace of his arms.

"What will happen now that the King is dead?"

A warning could not have prepared my heart for its ache. I didn’t know to look to Nina Simone for the answers. She had tried to give comfort in her song speaking of Martin Luther King Jr.’s plight, but I still had no knowledge of the responsibility that I'd be given to tell the story of love, so that the legacy lives on. I imagine in the wake of Martin Luther King Jr.'s untimely murder, the responsibility she'd felt to aid in reminding the world of what he'd left behind. I imagine Nina, a woman much like myself, not akin to loving in a way that made all feel deserving of it, feeling lost in wanting to fight fire with fire, hate with more hate. I imagine the world's feelings of defeat because a man that preached the value of loving one's neighbor, had succumbed to death by the hands of hatred, through a neighbor. I imagine their feelings of sorrow, hurt, anger and obligation to press through, because the world needed to see the value of a man sent to earth to love. I have felt all of those feelings as I have recalled the king that I had the pleasure of knowing. Ahmad was my King of Love and his legacy is not one unlike Martin Luther King Jr’s. He is most known for his ability to show unconditional love, especially in times where it seemed most unwarranted. It saddens me most to think that the same reason that I valued him, and most valued MLK, could be the same reason that others hated them.

In the wake of remembering Ahmad, I am forced to dig past the sorrow. I am forced to see past the violence that forcefully took his life. I have, for my own heart's sake, decided that I am not in need of closure. All I know of Ahmad’s death is that his life was taken in the heat of an argument. I know that there have been many speculations as to why his life was taken but none would ease my pain. Maybe years from now the truth will surface, as did in Martin Luther King's death. Until then, I am forced to move past the noise and recall the times that he made me forget my many problems. His love was just so overbearing that if ever he was around, there was no room for sadness or grief. If he ever sensed it from me, he would grab me and hug me back to happy. I imagined one of those hugs followed by his big, sloppy kisses on the cheek. He always had the ability to talk to me in a way that calmed me down and I appreciated his empathetic nature. I imagined the comfort that he'd try to offer to me in that moment, so I tried to extend the same to other friends that were mourning his death. I felt honored to honor him and fought my need to be angry. There were only a couple of times that I can recall being completely inconsolable and immune to Ahmad’s bear hugs. Those moments came about because there has always been a part of me that hated that he continued to love people that tried to humiliate and hurt him. I wanted so much for him to react or retaliate but he never did. I remember one day asking him why he felt the need to do so and I can not recall his exact words but I do remember that he had felt like it was his job to love them, so he could never stop. In that moment of recollection, I was reminded that Love was not only his name but who he was. I could not allow myself to be angry but I did wonder:

What will happen now that the King of Love is dead?

I, like Nina, know the answer to that question. Love lives on because the spirit of love can never die. The world will remember what the Kings taught us and try to follow in their footsteps. Knowing the answer to that question does not make the loss easier to deal with, it makes it harder. In a world where hate reigns supreme, it is hard for some individuals to recognize a being that embodies love and accept them. Some of us recognize and value that love so we hold it close, in hopes of it never leaving. As I walk through the earth, I will have to find Ahmad in what is still here. A fragrance may remind me of his hugs. A photograph may remind me of his smile. A kind gesture may remind me of his heavenly attributes. A song may remind me that I am still here and how he only lives in memories. When such an embodiment of love is forcefully taken away, we question and we recall. We recall their strength to love, despite other’s hatred toward them. We carry that with us and tell about it to all those who will listen. We write about it, so the future of history will never forget that love lives on.