I FEEL LIKE FLORIDA.

I’m sure that’s a level of insensitive many won’t appreciate, but I think I can confidently say I’d prefer watching my house demolished to it’s foundation and float away opposed to the last 2 months. Whatever the highest category of hurricane exists blew in, sweeping away and devastating something irreplaceable - uprooting the foundation on which I’ve stood for 20 years.

Today marks 1/6th, 0.16666666 of a year since Nika transitioned out of a world that feels changed forever - at the very least I am. Yet holding her hand and sitting behind her, propping her up in her last hours (poorly at that), feels like minutes ago. And when my mind goes back to that day, it’s as present, altering, and tragically real as the 24 hours of letting her go were.

I told my therapist, as selfish as it is, one of the hardest parts is knowing I will never have a love like her again. I imagine it’s similar to losing a spouse young, you realize there’s a lot of years to know you’ll only have close versions of that intimacy, but nothing ever the same. I had my love story early. And it was platonically with a woman (they say kissing once in college doesn’t count).

Since August 3rd, I kissed my friend of two-decades goodbye (this one counted). I was the Maid of Honor at my sisters wedding two weeks later and my friends unexpectedly cancelled. I dealt with expected infighting that grief inevitably creates (but, holy shit). I memorialized Nika - twice; and the weekend between the two Celebrations of Life, I became the foster mom of a 16 year-old daughter; whom the first weekend we went Homecoming dress shopping - and yesterday, I did her hair and made her corsage before the dance. My 2-week old 16-year old.

I’ve been intending to post about the recent end; and beginning. I’ve found immense moments of joy, deep moments of mourning, and sheer shock at the amount of time you spend in the car when you have a teen. However, I haven’t found the words for any of it. How I made it here is a testament to the strength Nika instilled in me. The storm passed, and I’m still floating in the aftermath of the hurricane… even if the inner-tube started deflating two months ago, I’m floating. I’ve been running through the motions, but my soul has finally caught up, and we’re ready to talk about our girls now.

Most days, reality becomes surreal and unbelievable from the moment I open my eyes - which now happens to be 6am with a kid, (note: so far that has been the hardest part of having a 16 year old girl so I’ll take it). But for the most part, my mind still won’t accept it’s all real, even though core memories pop up daily when Rue and I take our main route.

The field we’d meet at to let the dogs play, the breakfast place in-between the homes we lived in closer as adults than we did as children. We pass the middle school we’d smoke weed at when our men were acting a fool, and there will forever be the ice cream spot on the corner.

The day Nika got the first call confirming the Stage III Breast Cancer they had suspected, we were walking to that ice cream spot. I still remember exactly what she was wearing - black jeans, black jean jacket, black shirt. How I knew the minute I saw her left arm lift and settle on the top of the crown of curls that would later fall out. How her shoulders fell from the air escaping her body; and each second felt like a lifetime to hear the results out loud.

What I remember most, is that she walked back to me mostly straight faced, no tears, only showing the strong resilience I’ve always known. In true Nika form, after receiving the most disruptive news of her life, we still got ice cream. We sat side-by-side in shock, making jokes about how you can’t look sad eating ice cream and the people driving by just think we’re enjoying our day.

“Well we are.” She smiled. “I have cancer, but I also have you and ice cream - they don’t.” She winked. “And if anything, they’re looking at the ice cream you dripped on your shirt. How did that even happen, we just sat down?!” There’s no direction Rue and I can walk without seeing her, though. When nearly every memory was made with someone, especially someone like her, they’re impossible to forget.

In fact, it wasn’t until we saw the interdisciplinary team about her treatment plan, when she asked if she’d lose her hair, and Dr. V., said yes, that she let it all go. Aggressive cancer at 27, chemo, radiation, no time to preserve eggs and losing the choice to ever become a mom - she’d move through them and process this new territory when the time was right. But her hair was personal.

Her hair was a love letter to the bold, fierce, immovable black woman she came to embody. Later, she wrote a literal love letter to it on the back of her Lizzo poster right before we went to get her first cut before it started falling out. She smiled, laughed, and cried when she took scissors to her perfect 3C curl to make the first cut. And yes, I do know her curl pattern - it’s whatever. From that point forward, time began to split into two - before diagnosis and after.

Two speeches later, I don’t think the right words to properly honor Nika will ever come. I could talk about and see her core memory bubbles forever, but people wouldn’t read anything that long online. If you’re considering scrolling now, at least read the thanks at the bottom for all the silent hands involved in Nika’s life - and death.

There’s a photo of my speech notes. A friend made a joke about being glad she didn’t have to stand in for me, considering I only had half a page of scribbles nobody could make sense of, but made sense of everything to me. Here are the combined words that came out of scribble, including the ones I wish I’d said.

NIKA MARIE. B. DAVIS. LOVE OF MY WHOLE LIFE.

Thank you to everyone who is here celebrating Nika’s life with us today. Whatever alchemy brought you into her orbit and her heart over the years, also brought you here. Standing in this room today, I see such a diverse collection of everything Nika was and cherished. Today, is the first time since she’s passed that I can feel her heart in one place. And I believe that’s because her soul connected with a piece of each of you gathered here, together. In a bar that her legacy packed to capacity.

The same bar that she asked me to meet her at years prior, to have the race conversation about my responsibility as a white friend to a black girl. To quote Amanda Searles, “There are white women, and then there are women who happen to be white.” Nika always told me I was the latter, but there’s always learning do.

This party was actually planned by Nika. It was intended to be a THC and Tea party when her backyard was finished. The obituary logo was actually designed by her with Lydia and I on her deck one day. It previously had Kermit the Frog smoking a joint instead of her photo. If you look close in the flowers, you’ll even see little pre-rolls and marijuana leaves. For the distinguished project and party planner she was, it’s a little rude of her to miss her own party today…

In truth, I believe the rain here was Nika’s way of saying, “y’all bitches aren’t about to have my celebration in a backyard”. Granted, it was at her very close friends’ and God Daughters’ lake house, but if Nika’s bougie enough to have two memorial’s, she’s bougie enough to be celebrated somewhere people can wear heels and dress to the 9’s. Thank you everyone for understanding the assignment.

The day Nika passed, a rain like this came in. First, it was only dark clouds, lighting, and loud booms of thunder. Never one to go quietly, the rain started falling and the sky shook when Nika transitioned; one last roar at an unfair world, a middle finger to everything that couldn’t break her. When she was leaving her home to be transported to science, the rain stopped, the clouds parted, and the sun radiated as brightly as the body that carried her as far as it could. After the van pulled out, her sister and I were able to go on a rainbow walk in the sunshine.

I heard it said that the moment someone passes, is the moment that person is with you forever. You don’t have to wait for a text back, you don’t have to leave a voicemail, wait for your schedules to match, or men to act up. And I believe that to be true now. She is in the rain. She is in the clouds. In the thunder and the lighting. In the sunshine, and in the rainbows. She is the wind, and she is the things I cannot explain around me.

Like the homeless man’s dick I saw on the way to write this speech at our favorite coffee shop. I spent the whole morning getting ready to go, played her favorite songs, put on the scented oil she used to use, and tried to get in the mindset for what I was setting out to do.

Getting off the exit to our place, BAM - dick. In the 13 years I have lived in Grand Rapids, and the 31 I have spent on earth, I have never clocked a homeless man’s penis. All I could see is her head thrown back, crying laughing, saying, “made you look,” or “you know who you look like?” And like, this kind of supernatural has Nika written all over it.

The joke is on her though - it was actually a nice dick, so…

Nika loved playing pranks, making jokes, and laughing at her own harder than anyone else. She’d make fun of my pigeon toes and wouldn’t let me wear her shoes because I, “made them crooked.”

There was a time we were on a cruise together in Jr. High, and my white ass forgot the sunscreen in the room while we were on the equator. Nika hands me her oil and says, “it’s better than nothing.”

It was not better than nothing.

To take it further, she convinced me that the lotion I was using for my 3rd degree burn was actually hers, we had the same kind, and she wanted it back. She did eventually return the lotion that I had to apply every 30 minutes for the flight home. For the next 15 years, I would continue giving everything I ever could to that girl - even if it meant a month of peeling skin.

There was also a time she said we were going to do a ‘Chinese Fire-Drill’ at a busy intersection. But the moment she parked, and I hopped out of the car to run around, she locked the door. She laughed as I walked through the entire intersection, trying the door handle repeatedly to get back in. But I could never be mad at her; she was really fucking funny, and hearing her laugh made any embarrassment worth it - every. time.

The thing is; 1. Nika is insanely convincing, 2. I trusted her with my life, and 3. I can be gullible. I’m sure many here were convinced by her a time or two. For some, it may be an unexpected experience, a cross-country road trip, or something slightly illegal. It could’ve been convincing you to take the job, make the move, or buy the purse.

And for some here, like me, it could even have been convincing you to keep going when the days were hardest and you were ready to quit. That life was messy but worth experiencing every ounce of the moments you’re given. One thing I know for certain, is if you’re here today, she convinced you of at least one thing: that you matter in all of your mess too.

In my 20 years with Nika, she rode with me until the wheels fell off - and then walked with me the rest of the way. There are so many moments and years she sat in the absolute trenches with me, ones I never believed I could get out of. And she held my 6 until I remembered who the fuck I am, that I have pigeon toes, and their angle could kind of make stairs. Conversely, she’d also tell me I need to just ask for help, and I shouldn’t be moving a sectional by myself up and down stairs. Idk, it’s a balance.

We knew each other in a way that transcended anything I’ve ever known relationships could be. After two decades, and that one shared-room chocolate massage we got in the Dominican Republic, I didn’t think it was possible to grow closer. The summary is Nika and I got rubbed down with chocolate next to each other and had to shower off 10ft. away. We laughed so hard the masseuses started giggling. I recently saw a psychic where nika came through, and talking about our friendship, she said nika was showing her it was so much more, “she keeps saying, ‘sister. sister. sister.’” She was in every way, my sister.

These last 3 years, and especially the last 16 months, our friendship transitioned through many stages; best friend to care giver, recovery buddy to care receiver, sober living and accountability buddies, and navigating experiences I didn’t fit into. Like the importance of spending intentional time surrounded by solely your culture. And I if you remember, I am a woman who happens to be white.

But in the worst of her sickness, when it came to the most deep, needing, intimate things - she always called me. I made her baths, cleaned toilets after she got sick, blended smoothies she’d bitch about cleaning the blender after, and bought her favorite peaches from Ken’s ($10.99 a jar, are you kidding me?).

I’d take her dogs to run on the days she didn’t have the energy, talk for hours at 3am when should couldn’t sleep, or just walk around Homegoods quietly until she was ready to talk. Events prior to her passing allowed me to be there for her through the end, which I am forever grateful and heartbroken for. Her life was both beautiful and tragic to witness, and I am honored to have faced all of it with her magic filling the room.

Even in her last hours, Nika was fully herself. Mad about the straw choice, ticked it was 4 and I didn’t take her to her appointment, and woke up from a sedated state to share her passwords note with us since her sister forgot to write it down. LOL. She decided for herself when/if she wanted to stop care, and was adamant about letting go naturally. She was always fully who she was, and refused to ever betray herself for someone else’s comfort.

She was selective about the people she had in her life, who she spent her time with, the things that she enjoyed doing in her days, and didn’t entertain anything or anyone she didn’t feel like being around. That’s why everything in her orbit was, and is, gold. She gave (those who deserved it), consistent grace, withheld judgement, was your #1 fan when she was supporting your dreams, and during the many years it took me to love myself, would tell me, “there is nothing you could ever do to make me stop loving you.” And she meant it. Everyday her actions showed how much she MEANT it. Her showing up in your life was genuine, it was never for show, and it was always to show you how much you deserve to be celebrated.

I think if I could leave you with anything, it’s to live your days for you and include others that are for you. Live them so fiercely that you fill two venues to celebrate you when you’re gone. It’d be to be grateful for the life you’ve built and cherish it knowing it can all be taken away. To live each moment given you until your physical body won’t let you anymore. To extend a hand to the people in, and outside, of your community - and to do it genuinely, without expectation. To just fucking love yourself, as is, because if you’re here she saw something that made her love you. Because if you don’t… she might just send you a dick, too.

It’s you, Nika. It’s you I want standing by me for the rest of my life. Forever and ever, babe.

- P. Sawyer