Reflection/Why I’m Grateful:

Yesterday we received news that my wife’s first cousin, Fred, who was in his early 50s, passed away. The cause is still unknown, though we know he had high blood pressure, diabetes, and other ailments. I’ve been married to my wife for 26 years, and I met Fred nearly 25 years ago. Back then, I would see him regularly every Sunday at Granny’s house for dinner. He would pop in, greet everyone, dap me up, ask how I was doing, and share a bunch of laughs before leaving. We had a mutual respect for each other’s role in the family, unspoken but understood.

After Granny passed, we mostly saw each other at the family reunion or special gatherings. But Fred never changed, he was kind, hardworking, funny, and always looking for ways to grow as a businessman. Years ago, a conversation with him inspired me to write an article. Fred had made a terrible mistake as a young man and served time in prison. We often talked about the challenge of rebuilding life after such a setback, how one poor choice can dictate so much of your future. I understood this deeply, especially after my own brother, who chose the path of gangs and selling drugs, was shot, paralyzed from the neck down, and later passed away in January 2025. Inspired by Fred, many years ago I wrote about my belief in the God who gives second and third chances. I often told him that I believed in him, and those weren’t just words. I said it because he had a sober and serious mind, and I respected that, and his hustle, perhaps more than anything else.

Fred taught me that no matter how much your heart has transformed, it can still be hard for others to reimagine you. Because of that, he worked a variety of jobs, any honest work he could find. Back then, he was a chef (an extraordinary one), a bouncer (he loved music), and most recently he was trying to own a last-mile delivery business, he just needed a hand up. He understood the power of work. He worked hard and didn’t waste time. I admired his decision to turn his life around and his commitment to his children. He hustled in many ways, and I say that with respect, because I believe work, any honest work, gives us agency and dignity. Fred embodied that.

He also had something greater than I’ve ever had, deep connection to family. He was connected, and he cared. I’ll miss breaking things down with him at the end of family gatherings. I’ll miss having him beside me in moments of loss, when we were called on to carry caskets together. In our 25 years, I can only remember having two drinks with Fred. I don’t regret that, but I take it as a personal challenge to be just a little more engaged. Just a little, for you, brother.

Fred was like a brother to my wife, and I know she is grieving heavily. I’ve heard countless stories about their trials and triumphs growing up, about how they supported each other through everything. I’ve also heard plenty of funny stories, like Fred being interested in this friend or that friend of my wife. As Tupac said, “I ain’t mad at cha.” He wasn’t just looking out for her, but for her friends too. I mean, any cousin or big brother had to keep an eye on the girlfriends, right?

I pray that God will meet my wife in her grief and remind her that everything in this world is temporary, but God is permanent. The love and connection she has with Fred will always remain. To his children, I pray you stay the course, stay focused, and remember, you are and always will be loved. Goodbye, my friend.

 “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” – Psalm 34:18