How I Married A White Racist Man From The Deep South And Found A Special Kind of Love
Love isn’t black or white neither is change
This is my story about a change of heart and how it shaped me as part of Dreams and Stories weekly prompt.
It’s been a little over a decade now since Hugh* passed and as I write this, it’s January 21 the day he departed from this life. He wasn’t the typical ‘love of my love. He was the guy I never thought I’d love just as much as he couldn't have never imagined opening his heart to a black girl.
I met Hugh while I worked as a Patient Care Tech at a local hospital where he was a patient -a hell of a difficult one. I didn’t have him as on my assignment, but answered his call light a few times. He was a cold man and whenever I entered his room; it felt like getting inside a cooler at least energetically. He was accused of being racist and was known by some as one of the hateful white-dressed fellas -you know what I mean. I heard he used inappropriate words, as the 'N' word along with other hateful language.
A few months later, I happened to get a second job at a rehabilitation center around the block from my first job and guess what? He was the talk of the nurses’ station there as well. Because I was new and worked on weekends, the senior staff thought it would be fun to haze me and give me the problem patients. They’d deconstruct the assignment and create a whole new one for me, Hugh happened to be one of them.
I knocked on his door, and after hearing his raspy voice I entered.
“What the hell do you want?” He asked inferring my entrance as a disturbance.
“Good morning Mr. Hugh this is Noma your favorite assistant. How are you?” I warmly replied.
He looked up and said,
“Hmm it’s you again! You work at all the hospitals around here?”
“No, I just work at the ones where you go to.” I replied.
Hugh’s racist tendencies were obvious. Whenever a white staff member came around, Hugh was pleasant and warm. And when a black people like myself came he quickly switched his mood to dark and cold.
He was very demanding and particular about how he wanted things done. Because of his problematic attitude, most of the staff gave him the bare minimum and always rushed out the room. I decided to take the time and do them all. If I didn’t have enough time, I’d sacrifice sitting in the breakroom and help him instead. I wasn’t trying to kiss his butt, but I was curious about him.
I asked him about the picture of a handsome young man who was in a US army uniform and that question sparked a warmer conversation. You see, Hugh was old then — a tender 96- years- old so bringing up his favorite picture got him excited to open up a bit. He was the young man in the picture in his military uniform where he served in World War II. That photograph reminded them of his youthful days. As I shaved his delicate skin with a manual razor he started talking to me and when I finished -he touched his soft face and for the first time I saw his smile as he looked in the mirror. He felt good and thanked me.
When I first started nursing/healthcare, I remember defining my mission -to be a human touchpoint for others to experience God’s love. It's a mission I still hold true today .Hugh was my first test. I wasn’t trying to convert a racist to love black people. I wanted God to show Hugh differently, to unload some of that hate before the judgement day. Hate is a heavy burden, and he had carried it all his life. Hugh had inherited hate.He believed that white people were the superior race on all levels. He told me stories of his childhood where he grew up in Georgia. Stories that brought me chills and made my soul puke.
Once he had made progress at the rehab, he had to go back home, and he asked my supervisors if he could hire me as a companion. I was happy to have the opportunity to interact with Hugh. When his daughter gave me his address I was shocked because it had the same numbers as mine just different street names. I could tell those around him weren’t as comfortable with his change of heart — from racist to a friendly relationship with a black girl. A dark- skinned one for that matter.
Surprisingly, I had my own preconceived views about white people which were wrong just as much as he had about me. For instance, I never understood how white people could be poor with all the opportunities granted to them or I thought all white people who had a strong southern twang were racist. We talked for hours trying to understand our different worlds.
We shared morning coffee, boat rides in his backyard where there was a lake, took walks, did crossword puzzles, watched Food and History channels and shared our love for books and music. His transformation from a poor southern boy who survived depression to owning successful companies was impressive.
His wife had passed 37 years before our meeting, and he never remarried. One night I had an elaborate dream of us getting married and having a beautiful wedding. And surprisingly when I arrived at his home the next morning Julie met me in the kitchen and told me.
“You know dad had a dream last night of you and him getting married. I swear I’ve never seen dad in such good spirits since my mother passed.” She affirmed his father’s love for me.
I was shocked that we both had the same dream on the same night. We were married on some level way deeper than one could see. That day he gave me a beautiful vintage ring as a token of our love. I know it’s odd for a man in his 90’s and a 20 something year old marrying, but I'm an old soul. Our love wasn’t sexual or lustful, but it was one of the best connections I’ve ever had with a man. It was divine, unexpected, respectful, transformative and real.
Two before his passing he asked me to come and see him with a sense of urgency. He played one of my favorite songs 'If I could tell' by Yanni, and we had a moment. He held my hands tights and said,
“Thank you for allowing me to see you as you are. For allowing me to let go of the hate I have carried for too long. Thank you for being such a beautiful soul. Thank you for your caring heart that saw beyond my coldness. Thank you for being the light that shined brightly and made me feel love again.”
Hugh had a wonderful and had done all he wanted to accomplish and he was ready to go, and was at peace with his life especially now that he was able to ask for God's forgiveness.
I was asked to speak at his memorial service full of white people something I wouldn’t have done before. But he gave me confidence and made me feel ok to be in a room where I looked different because I deserve to be here.
After his death his daughter gave me gifts that he left for me including the photo of him in his military uniform- the one he cherished dearly and the same one that started our first genuine conversation.
This experience gave me hope that racism can be conquered by love. Love can change hearts and change lives.
