I loved Heavy D. It's taken me almost two weeks to come to
terms with his death. I wrote the
following on his Facebook page back in June of 2010.
For many years, Mr. Myers, you
were my imaginary lover. As I’m sure is
very commonplace for you, your celebrity allows people to think they know you
intimately. I am to be counted among
that population. I was attracted
initially to your music, to your lyrics.
Like most women, I was attracted to your aura. I didn’t see your size, I
saw your energy, your articulation, your intellect. I wanted to be the somebody that would love you
for you . . . You spoke to me in your songs, I felt a connection that I was
sure you would feel equally if only we could just have the opportunity to
meet. With each new album, I would
listen intently for a sign that you were still available and still searching
for me. When you were on Living Single,
I was jealous of Regine, not in the stalker sense, but in that the things your
character said were the things that I’d always dreamt you’d say to me. I wanted to be the woman standing beside you
as you ascended to acting stardom.
After many (many) years of
lusting after you, loving you, and longing for you to find me, I gave up my
hopes of our spiritual, divine connection.
I realized that I was nothing more than just another star-struck fan
with childish fantasies. Today, I no
longer have delusions about our destined love affair but I still have love for
you in my heart. I still hold a place
for you as a man I once loved in my imagination. You made loved to me, we built a life
together as divinely connected partners.
I celebrate you and all that you’ve accomplished, for all that you are
and who I think you are. Peace and
blessings my dear brotha and all my love.
I'm not sure he ever read it but
I'm glad I was able to speak my truth to him before he passed.
Dwight was the rapper who was far
more intellectual than he allowed the public to see. He was the one who never said anything that
was offensive to my feminist sensibilities.
He was the one who loved Black women and it showed.
I had the opportunity to speak to
him on the phone once. He was a guest on
Arsenio Hall and I had seen the show enough to know that guests of the show
stayed at the Hotel Nikko. Well, I
picked up the phone and I called. I left
a message on the hotel voicemail that was as AfroerotiK as it could get
considering it was a full ten years ago before AfroerotiK was even a tiny
thought in my consciousness. I praised
him for his insight and spirit. I
poetically penned something, I have no idea what, that was flattering yet
truthful. I told him that I was
infatuated with him, with who he was, with what he stood for. He called me back the next day. He kept saying, "Who are you? How do you know me?" I explained that I wasn't a stalker, just
someone who appreciated and respected his work.
We fell into a comfortable groove and we clicked. In my perhaps deluded memory, we spoke freely
and comfortably like lovers would. And at the most inopportune moment, my roommate
picked up the phone and interrupted the call, yelling at me that he had a very
important phone call to make. I was
humiliated and I apologized for the interruption and Dwight said he would call
me back. He never did. I sort of knew he wouldn't but there was also
a part of me that knew that we would meet again and that we would experience
that connection again in real life.
As crazy as it sounds, I know I
was meant to meet him and we were meant to share a connection. That's why it's been so hard for me to
acknowledge and accept his death. For
some reason, we never got that chance. I
miss him in a way that doesn't make sense to any rational person.
Dwight, journey peacefully my
love, your impact and presence has shaped us all. I love you.
