My Dream Twin Went First: How Brandy Hunter lived the Liberian dream and left proof that mine is possible

Brandy Hunter

This holiday season, amid the fellowship of family and the laughter of friends, I have been quietly grieving.

A few days before Christmas, a friend I called my dream twin slipped into her eternal rest.

Brandy Hunter was my shero.

I met Brandy while working with the Liberian Organization of the Piedmont, a Winston-Salem–based nonprofit whose mission is to champion the cause of Liberians living in the region while advancing educational opportunities.

On Zoom calls filled with West African accents, one strong, confident voice would rise above the chatter. She spoke with resolve, assurance and authority. You didn’t have to ask who was leading -  Brandy made it clear.

When I finally met her in person, I asked if I could take her to lunch for her birthday. During that meal, I learned something that genuinely surprised me: Brandy was not Liberian.

All that time, I had assumed she was. She was so deeply embedded in the culture, so committed to the cause of the Liberian people, how could she not be?

As we talked, we discovered we shared the very same dream.

“I want to live in Liberia,” Brandy said.

Me, too.

“I want to build a home there by the beach.”

Me, too.

“I want to buy property and sell it to other Black people interested in relocating to Liberia.”

Me, too.

By the time lunch ended, we were best buddies.

Brandy was also a chef, and I happily supported her pop-up plate sales. I even convinced her to cater my mom’s 92nd birthday party, an event she handled with the same excellence she brought to everything else.

But it wasn’t until we began planning the Liberian Gala in September 2024 that I truly came to know Brandy on a deeper, more professional level. Brandy, Pamela Turner and I became the three American musketeers on the planning committee.

From the smallest details to the most critical moments, Brandy poured her heart, soul, sweat and energy into the planning. I watched in awe as she worked meticulously, meeting every challenge head-on, solving problems in real time, and refusing to quit when obstacles appeared.

I think the entire committee would agree: Brandy almost single-handedly planned that gala. The rest of us simply followed her lead.

The event was a tremendous success. And once it was over, all of Brandy’s energy shifted toward her ultimate goal, which was relocating to Liberia.

Within months, she left Winston-Salem, heading to Liberia by way of Virginia.

But fate intervened.

Brandy became ill. Cancer struck her body and delayed her departure. After surgery and months of recovery, she remained resolute. For Brandy, delay was never denial.

In March 2025, she finally moved to Liberia.

When we video-chatted, the glow on her face rivaled the Liberian sun. She was home. She was in her happy place. And I was planning to go visit her this year.

I spoke with Brandy at length on November 6. She excitedly shared updates about her work on the local town council there and her progress toward acquiring land. With pride, she told me she had purchased 50 acres.

She also mentioned she was recovering from malaria.

What she did not tell me was that her cancer had returned.

A few weeks after that call, Brandy flew back to the United States. She was hospitalized immediately and transitioned just days later.

I had the honor of speaking with her one last time as she lay in her hospital bed.

I told her I loved her.

She told me she loved me, too.

“Liberia needs you,” I said, still believing, still praying for a miracle.

Brandy lived her dream, even if only for a short while. She became my compass. She proved – and validated – that our dreams are not foolish, not far-fetched, not impossible.

As Brandy is laid to rest today, and as we step into a new year, my hope is renewed. I am recommitting to the dream and purpose God placed in me for Liberia.

Because if Brandy could do it…

I can, too.

_____________________________________________________________________

Arrangements: A memorial service will be held Jan. 3, 2026, at noon at New Mt. Joy Food for Living Ministry in Suffolk, Va. Locally, a Celebration of Life Music Gathering will be held Sunday, Jan. 4, 2026, at 3 p.m. at Goler AME Zion Church in Winston-Salem, where she served as minister of music prior to relocating to Liberia.

From left, Brandy, Pamela and me (three American musketeers) with Olu Brown and his wife.

Brandy with Sayo Doe Sio and me at the Liberian gala.

Remembering Alex Gaddy

 An Ode to Alex 

Nov. 5, 1956 - Nov. 2, 2025

When you are in alignment with God’s will, He sends you helpers, angels if you will, who are placed in your life to bring His vision to fruition.

That is exactly who Alex Gaddy was to HOLLA! (Helping Our Loved ones Learn and Achieve, a successful nonprofit in Anson County.)

It seemed as if, out of nowhere, Alex arrived in Anson County, connected with HOLLA! and got in where he fit in, eventually serving as activities director.

Alex was bold. He was never afraid to approach anyone, anywhere, to ask for anything that was needed. He spoke up at meetings with community leaders and decision-makers; he made cold calls to make BIG asks; he followed up and followed up again until you were persuaded to help

God knew that HOLLA! needed that fearless, unorthodox mouthpiece.

Then Alex found his true niche, which was helping to start and grow the HOLLA! tennis team. Through the tennis program, several young children of color were exposed to a sport that would have otherwise remained out of reach.

They attended camps and events that featured tennis greats including the famous Venus and Serena Williams and their father, Coach Richard Williams. These players evolved not just as players, but as disciplined scholars as well.

One of those students was Brenre. Because of her involvement in the HOLLA! tennis program, she went on to earn a tennis scholarship at Livingstone College, where she graduated not long ago.

This achievement was a crown and glory moment not only for the program, but for Alex. Many weekends and holidays, he made sure Brenre had transportation to and from the college. He ensured her needs were met. He even built relationships with the college tennis coaches there and partnered with them to host camps, giving even more young people exposure to the sport.

Alex was a force to be reckoned with when he was on a mission. It was hard to say “no” to him – even for me.

When Alex found out I was traveling to South Africa, he asked me to bring back some dirt from the Motherland. I said yes, but later discovered that dirt was considered contraband. Don’t ask, don’t’ tell, but Alex told me exactly how to do it – and I did.

The motherland was one place that Alex longed to see with his own eyes - on this side of heaven.

Now that his spirit is free, perhaps he is seeing even more of this beautiful world – from the other side of heaven.

May God bless the work He accomplished through Alex at HOLLA! and through all the lives that he touch. May his legacy live forever.

_____________________________________________________

This tribute was read on my behalf as a founding board member of  HOLLA! at Alex's memorial service, held at the HOLLA! Center in Morven on Nov. 15, 2025.

Alex Gaddy, far right, watches as Brenre officially accepts her tennis scholarship to Livingstone College. Standing, from left, are Dr. Anthony Davis, then Livingstone College vice president; her mother, Brenda Taylor; and Chris Stinson, Anson High principal, during a visit by Livingstone to the high school.

Alex Gaddy, right, with HOLLA! Founder and CEO Leon Gatewood, collecting water from Livingstone College to be transported to Jackson, Miss., during its water crisis for Black Voters Matter.

America needs a vacation!

I’ve always heard, believed and personally experienced the idea that traveling is educational. My recent trip was no less enlightening.

Indulge me for a few minutes.

When I first traveled to the continent of Africa in 2011 – to Johannesburg, South Africa, to be exact – I realized that less really is more; that the bush is not the sum of Africa as portrayed on TV; that the people are just as fascinating as the Big Five; and that the fruit there is sweeter than what I consume in America. 

When I traveled to Kenya, I learned that Hakuna Matata is more than a “Lion King” song but a preferred way of life, and that cash American dollars can get you out of a sticky situation at a police checkpoint.

And when I ventured to Liberia twice, I lived and breathed the truest sense of hospitality. I actually felt at home there and even found the person I would call son. (I love you, Hakim.)

This past summer, I was approached about going on a six-day cruise with my best friend and her family. It had been five years since I traveled out of the country and for many  good reasons: Covid, post-covid, the current federal administration and political and racial tensions.

If I’m honest, I was overwhelmed with angst. But I agreed to take the trip, though so many questions flooded my mind about my personal safety and my mental and physical health. It didn’t help that the cruise would be during hurricane season and there were storms brewing in the Atlantic Ocean as we were about to depart. Urrgh!

I fasted. I prayed. I put my trust in God and then put the pedal to the medal and burned rubber down to Port Canaveral to set sail on the Carnival Vista.

Shortly after boarding, it was announced that our itinerary would change due to the stormy weather. Cool with me because safety first.

Once that anxiety trigger was allayed, all my troubles left as soon as the deejay pumped up the volume for the bon voyage party on the lido deck.

From that moment on, the sense of camaraderie among everyone on board was palpable. Strangers became friends. Lounging areas became neighborhoods. Politeness and kindness were served with the same quickness as Guy’s burgers and rum punch.

People said excuse me if they accidentally bumped into you. They struck up conversations on elevators. 

My best friend’s son, who is 25, met other young people from Charlotte – different races and genders – and they became his crew during the entire trip. They ate together, partied together and did who knows what else – together. They have continued their friendship beyond the cruise.

I witnessed an older Black man trying to get his electric wheelchair into his stateroom. There was a young White man walking in front of me who stopped and asked if he could assist.

A young Black kid fist bumped me once as I was walking to the elevator – just because.

Meanwhile, a man I knew from Hamlet, NC, was traveling with his wife for an anniversary cruise on another ship and they were re-routed as well. We kept up with each other on Facebook Messenger. I haven’t spoken to them in person in years yet there we were, checking up on each other because of a similar situation. I mention that they are White only to make my point.

And the point is that the humanity and brotherly love I experienced was exactly the reassurance I needed to believe that the virulent behavior we see in the media is the minority, not the majority of Americans.

I could surmise that it’s because we were all on vacation – vacating from all that consumes us on a regular basis and choosing to live in the moment of relaxation, of serenity, of fun. Vacating from the tensions of the real world that segregate us. Vacating from ideologies that no longer serve us well and choosing instead to treat people based on who they are not what they are. Vacating from the poison of political pressures. Vacating from disinformation. Vacating from hate.

For six days, we were just Americans on the same boat – getting along just fine. We weren’t red or blue, for or against, inferior or superior. No one asked and no one cared. 

I wish we could take a lesson from my best friend’s son and extend that same brotherhood beyond the cruise - instead of abandoning ship.

That's my prayer.

That's a horrible idea! What time?

Seize the moments of 2025

Here we are again at the dawn of a new year, given another opportunity to achieve our divine assignments on earth.

As I grow in maturity and in, um, age – I will turn 55 this year - I’ve learned some valuable lessons of life. First and foremost, you can’t change people, you can only control how you respond to them. Number two, procrastination is essentially laziness. And I’m not lazy. And No. 3, carpe diem – seize the moment.

No. 1:

This has been a challenging year for me and my family as we have confronted issues that have tested our resolve as a family unit. I’ve also had to overcome some relationship issues that landed me on the figurative couch of a therapist.

Yes, for the first time in my life, I spent some quality time with a therapist for the first six months of 2024. I was hoping she would tell me what to do. Not so. Instead, she posed the right questions, that led me to dig deeper into my childhood, bringing to surface insecurities that shaped my life and choices today. Whew, child! Talk about starting with the man in the mirror.

I journaled. I cried. I took back control of my emotions. The work continues.

She did advise, however, that I date myself last summer. So, I did. I took myself to the movies. I attended street festivals solo. I was a party of one at restaurants. I went to one favorite spot where they sat me at the same table each time. This must be the designated single table; I thought to myself.

Nonetheless, I enter this year an emotionally healthier version of myself. I recognize that I have to accept people as they are and where they are in their lives – forgoing potential and promise and embracing – or rejecting – what is.

If this concept keeps me single yet happy, I can live with that. But I prefer existing in a mutually loving relationship with someone who accepts me for my corny, witty, sociable, kindhearted, optimistic, adventurous, spiritual self (shameless plug).

No 2:

This year, I also achieved something that I had been putting off for six years: obtaining my master’s degree. Earning a graduate degree was not on my radar until I started working at Livingstone College in 2017. My department lead at that time, Dr. State Alexander, advised that if I were to elevate in higher education, I needed an advanced degree.

At first, I resisted the notion. If I were a professor or faculty member, yes, I see the need. But I’m in communications. As long as I know how to write a press release, conjugate verbs and chummy up with the media, I’m good. Not so.

In July 2023, I discovered an accelerated online program at Full Sail University. I wasn’t one month into the program when I got a job offer from my alma mater, Winston-Salem State University. In the beginning, I was commuting two hours one way to work, coming home and doing my lessons, all while taking care of my elderly mother.

Then I decided to move to Winston-Salem, settling in an apartment that is only a five-minute drive to work. What I saved in gas is now going towards rent – and then some.

My new routine was going to work by day and studying and doing my lessons by night and on the weekends. For an entire year, I experienced FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out). I had to say, no, to tempting invitations that dangled in front of me like a carrot.

But it all paid off. I graduated with a perfect 4.0 GPA and was valedictorian of my class. This was a redeeming moment for me. When I graduated with my Bachelor of Arts in Mass Communication and Spanish from WSSU, I missed being an honor graduate by a few points because of El Espanol.  I allowed my professor to talk me into double majoring because by now, as he prophesied, Spanish would be the official second language of America. This would be the perfect place to insert “Not so,” but truth to told, the United States does not have an official language, let alone an official second language, on the federal level, though English is our primary language. (Go ahead, fact check it.)

My family and close friends joined me to celebrate my graduation during a week's stay in Florida. I am proud and grateful for this accomplishment. Now, let’s just hope Dr. Alexander was right and this degree will pay off for me because repayment of those student loans starts this month. 

No 2 and 3:

Life is fleeting. Not to put a damper on my optimism, but I personally know a couple of people who received cancer diagnoses last year and were gone to heaven within three months. 

So, no matter what you aspire to do this year. No matter what your goals or resolutions are. GET STARTED! Dreams don’t work unless you do. A month from now, we can either have a month of progress or a month of excuses.

My friends and I have decided to be each other’s accountability partners. This means, we had to be vulnerable and share with each other those things that we want to accomplish and those bad habits we want to cast away. With God at the center of our lives and with conviction as our compass, we are committing to not allow age to define us. Just because we are aging gracefully doesn’t mean we have to always act our age – whatever that means.

We will seize the moments because who knows how much longer before the trumpet sounds.

Some people feel like they have to wait on the right time, the right person, the right finances, the right weather, the right right to get started. Not so. 

To remind my circle of friends of our pledge, I purchased them drink coasters with these words: “That’s a horrible idea. What time?”

How about now!

I did a new thing - and it was a long time coming

On Saturday, May 25, 2024, I did a new thing.

It may seem small to some, but it was a huge deal for me and one that has been a long time coming. Look closely at my face, in particularly, my left nostril. You see it? Yes, I got my nose pierced!

It was about 32 years ago when I first wanted my nose pierced with a diamond stud. I was a senior at Winston-Salem State University. When I shared with my public relations professor, Dr. Marilyn Roseboro, what my plans were for my face, she immediately scorned the idea. 

"It's not professional," she said.

"But I can take it out," I responded.

"But the hole will still be there," she quipped.

"But makeup could cover it," I said to myself. Because you knew better not to go too many rounds with the Dr. Roseboro. After all, she held my final grade in her hands.

She was known for being tough. In fact, I feared her class because of her reputation. We were warned that no one gets an 'A in her class. I walked in determined to defy the odds. 

And I did. I finished with an 'A' and was the envy of those who relented to the bluff and bluster of their peers (insert diabolical laugh). I challenged myself to do the assignments, to ask questions and to seem genuinely interested in the class. 

In fact, looking back, my personal experience in her class was actually a real life, hands-on lesson in public relations itself. I built a trustworthy relationship with her, was responsive to her assignments and lectures, and displayed genuine responsibility: the three R's of PR. 

My major was mass communications with a concentration in radio and TV broadcasting. I wanted to be in front of the camera not behind it. So I relented and decided to hold off on piercing my nose.

Back then, news anchors were required to have a certain look. Hair - straight. Body type - slim. Dress - conservative. Nose piercings - no. Tattoos - hell no. 

But look around, look around. Times have changed. News anchors come in all shapes, sizes and shades. They wear short sleeves, wigs, braids, tattoos and yes, nose piercings. So do your doctors and nurses, teachers and preachers, lawyers and judges, clerks and cashiers. 

And most of us should recall the distinguished TV journalist Ed Bradley, who dared to don an ear piercing while he worked for CBS' 60 Minutes.

According to an article in business.com, body modifications are becoming more mainstream. As competition for top talent grows more intense in the hiring process, many workplaces no longer frown upon tattoos and piercings.

"Labeling something taboo is dangerous for workplace transparency," said Kirsten Davidson, former head of employer brand at Glassdoor and current managing partner at Employera. Companies that let people be themselves are rated highly for company culture and values, she said. "We often saw employee feedback about feeling comfortable bringing their whole selves to work, or feeling free to be authentic."

Authenticity fosters creativity and innovation, allowing employees to produce their highest quality of work. Furthermore, employers are more focused today on the mental well-being of their employees.

Studies show that 41 percent of millennials have tattoos, followed by 32 percent Gen Xers, and 23 percent Gen Zers. Piercing data shows that nostril piercing is the second most common with earlobe piercing being number one. 

Among women, 19 percent have nostril piercings. 

Many years ago while a staff writer for a daily newspaper, I was promoted to news editor just before I was scheduled to get my hair braided with kinky twists. Fearing this would be shunned upon, I asked my white male publisher how he felt about me getting braids.

"I don't care how you wear your hair," he replied. 

This past weekend, I didn't seek permission from anyone. I didn't consider what people would think. I only heard the refrain of influencer and actress Tabitha Brown in my head: Do a new thing.

This nose piercing is a celebration of completing my master's degree program in a few weeks, which I had put off for years. It's a declaration of my independence from people pleasing. It signifies empowerment, freedom and new beginnings. 

My best friend Patricia and I walked into Black Cloud Tattoo in Charlotte nervous and giddy. We were the oldest ones in the shop. Others waiting inside cheered us on and said how excited they were of us having the courage to do it - finally. They showed off their piercings and tats and allayed our fears of pain.

As the needle penetrated my nose, my left eye watered. I didn't flinch. 

And just like that, a new thing was affixed to my nose - a constant reminder that it's never too late to do something new.

Email Kimberly Harrington at onyxlyspeaking@gmail.com

All's well that ends wells

Every now and then God will add an espresso shot to your regular coffee - without telling you.

That's what the past couple of weeks of my life have felt like. Supercharged!

So many things were happening in my professional and personal life all at once that I look back and wonder how I got through it. But for God.

I will begin with the visit by famed Atty. Benjamin Crump to Livingstone College. He is the national spokesperson for Equal Justice Now (EJN), a not for profit social welfare organization that advocates against false arrest, unreasonable detention and wrongful conviction. EJN held a national panel discussion on our campus to discuss bail and police reform.

As director of public relations, I was assigned as the project manager. While this was indeed a fascinating experience, it was overwhelming to say the least. This was huge for our campus to have such a national figure, regarded as the "Black Attorney General" to come to our campus.

The security details, the speakers, the program, the marketing and promotions, getting students to attend, getting the public to attend - and did I mention the security details. That in itself is a whole separate blog. 

It's no secret that along with Atty. Crump's popularity comes the haters. And just before he was to attend our campus, he received credible death threats, which meant security had to be even tighter. Our campus security was not enough and getting local support proved to be straining. Without going through the rigmarole, we were able to secure four officers from the Salisbury Police Department, and Sheriff Garry McFadden of Mecklenburg County, who served on the panel, brought sheriff's deputies to supplement our detail. He was a lifesaver.

Unfortunately, no local law enforcement was represented on the panel though they were asked to participate. On calls with EJN, we had to defend that the city of Salisbury "is not" a sundown town. It is a reputation that precedes the city to the national audience but the truth is that Salisbury is progressing and diversifying. Now, the town of Faith, on the other  hand, which is located within Rowan County, is a different story and blog.

 

All's well that ends well. We (the Livingstone College team and EJN) executed a dynamic event with the largest crowd EJN has seen to date since traveling across the country with these panel discussions. Students and the public showed up in droves to the number of at least 800 in attendance. Security was on point and on guard and there were no incidents.

While planning for this event, which demanded my full attention on and off the clock, my 90-year-old mother got gout in her left foot, the first such attack in her elderly life. The pain caused her already slow gait to come to a near halt. It would take her one minute to take 5 steps it seemed. One medicine prescribed to her offered more side effects than relief that landed her in the hospital for dehydration.

But again, all's well that ends well. Today, she is on another medication and improving slowly.

Again, while planning this event, I was asked to speak at a fundraiser to support the construction of a school in the Back Bush community of Liberia. My goal was to memorize my speech - in preparation of doing a Ted Talk that is on my bucket list. But with all that was going on, the best I could do was write it down and read it like a rock star. What I didn't expect was for God to pinch my heart during the process and get me all choked up and emotional while delivering my remarks. 

I mean it came from out of nowhere. I was talking about my adopted son Hakim when suddenly, my voice started cracking and I was holding back the tears. Would this have happened had I memorized it? I don't know. But it worked and people were inspired by my story and experience in Liberia. 

The highlight was being able to donate $500 from HOLLA! Africa to the construction of the school - and of course dancing and the jollof rice.

On the same day the Ben Crump event ended, a Livingstone College colleague, who was doing a play at the Knight Theater in Charlotte, called to see if I could fill a role. The original actress was facing a health crisis with her mother and not sure she could continue. This was on Thursday and the play was three days later on Sunday.

Of course, I said yes. Acting is a passion of mine though I don't have time to commit to it as much as I would like. It would be a small role, but a BIG opportunity. I went to rehearsal that Friday for five hours, only to learn that the lady's mother was doing better and she would be in the show. But as God would have it, they found me another role to play - even smaller, but again, a BIG stage.

I had an amazing time sharing the stage that Sunday with the Prince of R&B Tony Terry,  R&B's Sunshine Anderson and Sunday Best winner Y'Anna Crawley. I told Tony Terry that I used to work with his father at the Richmond County Daily Journal and that one Christmas season years ago, I was invited over to interview him for a newspaper feature story. I got a chance to tell Sunshine Anderson that my classmate is Mark Sparks (Mark Blount), the one who basically discovered her. She said if not for him, no one would know her name.

After the show, we were out front in the lobby signing autographs and here I am, the one with the smallest part, sitting beside Tony Terry signing my name, too. 

As I sit here at the beach celebrating my birthday weekend (April 3) writing this blog, I am grateful to God for the all the times I've said yes and he has elevated and exposed me to experiences I thought I would never have. I've been to Africa three times; I've been the guest speaker for a program in Monrovia, Liberia; I've covered the arrival of President Barack Obama for the Democratic National Convention as a reporter; I've been in a play starring major music artists; and I've coordinated a visit by Atty. Ben Crump, just to name a few.

Me, a little black shy girl from Lilesville, NC, a one caution light kind of town, who was picked at while growing up for being too dark. Me, who was born out of wedlock but who has become a vital member of my family as I am the caregiver for our beloved mother. Me, who has overcome a domestic violent relationship and now know my worth. 

Dear God, I'll take another espresso shot, but this time, add cream and sugar. 

How did you get here? A matter of the heart

(This post was started on March 16, 2022, and completed on Feb. 22, 2023)

Never before have I paid this much attention to my heart. 

It may have something to do with this white box that is attached to my chocolate skin in the center of my chest on today, March 16, 2022.

Hello, my name is Kimberly and I'm wearing a heart monitor.

There was a song a few years ago by Deborah Cox that asks, "How did you get here. Nobody's suppose to be here?" The singer was talking about a man, a lover, who slipped into her heart pass the gatekeeper.

I'm asking the same question, but of this monitor. How did it get here? Ever since my sister died suddenly of a heart attack on Dec. 11, 2011 - the first of my eight siblings to transition - I've been careful about all matters of my heart, meaning holistic care.

A few months after her death, I scheduled an appointment with a cardiologist to see how my heart was doing. He gave me a stress test and said everything looked fine, and recommended that I take a low dose aspirin when I turned 50, which was 10 years away at that time. He told me how to eat heart healthy and sent me on my merry way.

Fast forward 11 years and a few weeks ago. I was on my evening commute home when suddenly, I experienced shortness of breath, light-headedness and heart palpitations. I pulled onto a side street named Southbound. There was a church just a stone's throw away that I had just passed, so I decided to go there because that landmark would make it easier for someone to find me.

I called 911 and the paramedics met me at the church. They did an EKG in the back of the ambulance, which turned out normal, but advised me to go to the hospital anyway. I declined and said I would be careful going home.

The next day, I had two more episodes so I checked myself into the ER at Novant Health Rowan Medical Center in Salisbury. They, too, ran several tests and again, nothing alarming was discovered. I did have a slight irregular heartbeat, but it could have been normal, the attending physician said, since they did not have another test to compare it to.

I decided to make an appointment with my cardiologist - yes, the same one I saw 10 years ago - and he decided I needed to wear a heart monitor. The timing was the worst as it was only a few weeks before my 52nd birthday. 

Though I've never worn a heart monitor before, my mom has. And technology has made it more bearable or should I say wearable. The clunky machine has been replaced with a cell phone. And not just any cell phone - sound the alarm - an Android. I'm a Samsung Galaxy kind of girl and defend it all of the time to my friends who are iPhone users. There is something about an iPhone that screams elitist and I'm more of an equalitarian.

But back to my Samsung Galaxy powered heart monitor.

After going to the hospital to get an echocardiogram, I had the nurse to attached the device to my chest. The white small box was conspicuous. I tried wearing clothing to cover the device but since I'm a fan of V-necks, that was nearly impossible.

Each time I felt a flutter, palpitation or heart pounding or racing, I was to note it on the Samsung Galaxy - notice the product placement again that is also conspicuous. I wore the device up until my birthday trip to Destin, Fla. I figured I had input enough data for the doctors to come to a diagnostic conclusion.

On my last full day in Destin, my best friend Patricia and I were at the beach playing volleyball and enjoying the sunshine when she said something to me that resonated. On January 2, my last living brother, Tommy, passed away with lung cancer. He wanted to live. He fought to live. I wanted him to win. God, instead, called him from labor to rest.

Patricia said, "You know, you've never really grieved your brother." I pondered what she said and realized, I had not. I am the primary caregiver of my elderly mother. I commute 3 hours a day back and forth to work. I have a demanding job as a public relations director for a private historically black college. I went straight from the funeral back to my normal routine of handling things the best I could. 

My brother was my best supporter in helping me to take care of my mother. He would elder sit and offer me time away to relax, relate and release. He never complained about doing it. He just showed up. I could count on him more than any of my remaining living siblings.

They say, you know the truth when you hear it. When Patricia said those words to me. I heard the truth. In a way, I was disappointed that God did not heal my brother. I never voiced it, but it was a real feeling bottled up inside of me.

That day, on a beach in Destin, Fla., I picked up a handful of sand, told God explicitly how I felt - that I was sort of angry with Him for not healing my brother, but that I accepted His will, though I didn't understand it. I tossed the sand into the sea and whispered a prayer of love and forgiveness and told my brother that I loved him.

 I will never forget that day. It was April 3, 2022, my 52nd birthday. And the day I set my heart free from stress, disappointment and heartache.

My heart didn't need a monitor. It needed liberation. It needed permission to grieve. It needed permission to cry. The anxiety attacks were simply alarms to get my attention to the deeper needs of my soul.

I'm happy to report that since that day, I have not had any more anxiety attacks or unexplained heart palpitations.

On that day, God gave me the best birthday gift ever: He gave me back my healthy heart - with a little sand in between my toes to boot.