The last time I saw my Uncle Shabazz was in April, I think. He greeted me with his signature “Niece!” followed by our fist bump. Who knew that that would be the last fist bump I’d ever share with him. It seems so small, a gesture we use to show solidarity, to show togetherness. But now that small gesture has become a large part of my memory.
Uncle Shabazz was one of the coolest people I’ve ever encountered. He was truly one of a kind, one in a million. He was smart, funny, caring, daring, adventurous. I miss laughing with him, and I wish I could hear his laugh even just one more time. He was a family man, through and through, and would always speak his mind and stand up for what is right. I always felt safe, protected, and supported around him. He stood tall, he was about 6’6”, but was one of the gentlest giants you could ever hope to meet. He definitely taught me a lot about thinking critically and using logic - albeit through a conversation about whether God is real or not, at the tender age of 10. Growing up in a devout Christian home, there was never any question about God’s existence because that was the basis of our religion - having faith in something you cannot see.
I remember the time he drove all the way to Buffalo at the end of my freshman year of college to bring me and all my things back to Brooklyn for the summer. My friend Yaya also needed a ride back to NYC, so she tagged along. While we were on the road, Yaya’s mom called to say thank you to him for driving her home, and she told my uncle that God would bless him, to which he replied “there is no God.” I think I speak for myself, Yaya, her mom, and my mom when I say we were in complete shock. Like what the hell do you MEAN “there is no God”? Even if you don’t believe that God exists, the polite thing to do would be to just say “thank you” and move on. In the moment, I was horrified, and so was Yaya’s extremely Nigerian mother. My mom ended up giving her mom a call to just say that we don’t condone what he said and that we are not devil worshippers. Looking back, it makes me chuckle because one thing I can say is that Uncle Shabazz truly showed up authentically and unapologetically no matter what. Aside from nearly giving me a heart attack, that moment is significant in my mind because my Dad would always say that Uncle Shabazz told him that if he ever turned his back on my Dad or me and my sister, God should take his life. That’s a very loaded statement for sure, and in the wake of his death, it makes me question why this happened. I know that life doesn’t always make sense, but this senseless act of violence leaves me with so many unanswered questions that I’ll probably never get the answers to. I think about how strongly he must’ve felt about my Dad, my sister and myself to say that God should take his life if he betrayed us in any way, especially as someone who stated that they don’t believe in God; to me, I interpret it as being an expression of love, and of God’s love, because God IS love. Being able to experience true love and kinship in this lifetime is a reflection of what God represents - something to believe in. Hank Azaria’s tribute to Matthew Perry, who also passed away this year, was probably one of the most moving and powerful tributes I’ve ever read. He said that to Matthew Perry, “God was a bunch of drunks in a room.” A very loaded metaphor, and not even sure I understand the fullness of that statement, but it’s beautiful to me because again, it’s a reflection of the subjectivity of God. God can be a bunch of drunks in a room. God can be a representation of love. God can be your uncle bringing you a surprise souvenir from his trip to Dubai. God can be nonexistent to some folks. God can be truth, power, creativity, hard times, good times, all of it. We may not all agree on God’s existence or purpose, but I think that’s the beauty of a belief in God.
The day my uncle passed away, I went to see Some Like it Hot with my aunt Joy on Broadway. My Dad gifted us tickets to see it for my birthday, which was the day before. I had such a great time at that show, and afterwards we went to the Gap and ate pizza. We came back home and I don’t even remember what I was doing that evening, but around 8pm, my Dad got a call from Michelle, my uncle’s girlfriend, saying something about someone getting shot. At first, I thought it was a wacky rumor that someone who rented one of the cars they owned had gotten shot, so I wasn’t even worried. But then my uncle wasn’t answering his phone, and he always picks up when my Dad calls. We all sat together and called precincts, hospitals, local police departments, etc. to track him down. We finally did, and it was confirmed that someone had shot him in the head around 1pm that afternoon. I feel like all I heard was “homicide, FBI Investigation,” and then I started to feel sick. I felt like I was in a tunnel or something, with water rising all around me and the walls closing in. I felt like a gallon of water went into both of my ears, filling my body with an indescribable pain and pressure. I couldn’t believe that what I was hearing was real. I still can’t believe it. Some days, I am so stricken with grief and sadness that I don’t even know how to cope. This was an unimaginable loss, and seeing how destroyed my Dad was, was probably one of the worst parts of it all. Uncle Shabazz was my Dad’s soulmate, through and through. They’ve known each other since they were teens/young adults back in Trinidad, and hearing my Dad talk about how much he loved his brother always breaks my heart. They were truly two peas in a pod, and a representation of the power of chosen families.
I miss my uncle every single day. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about my Uncle “Big Guy,” as we called him. I am learning to re-live my life without him, and this is probably one of the hardest things I’ve ever gone through. I don’t know what the future holds, or what’s around the bend, but I do know that I am grateful to have known and loved the true gem of a human being that is Yusef O. Shabazz.
Until we meet again.
March 6, 1967 - June 21, 2023
Pictured: My Dad and Uncle Shabazz (Far right), with their Basketball team in Trinidad - c. late 70s - early 80s.
Pictured: A note from my Dad to Uncle Shabazz wishing him a happy new year, c. 1991.
The note reads:
Well Homegrown, once again we cross over into another year. For this new year I wish you all that I wish myself and some. I won’t see you till ‘92.
" Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying; And this same flower that smiles today
Tomorrow will be dying. "
(from Robert Herrick's poem "To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time.")
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