Daphne
My sister Daphne was five years older than me, yet we were extremely close. Daphne was my protector for as long as I could remember. As children, she protected me from the harsh words of school bullies who didn’t like us because we stayed at school long enough to make lasting friendships. She defended me when Mom was frustrated by my inability to let her have the last word. She distracted me when my Mom’s second husband would get verbally and physically abusive, so even now, I can’t truly tap into those memories of fear. She consoled me when one of my Dad’s wives would mistreat us or completely ignore our existence while in their home. Daphne was what kept me safe and sane for the majority of my childhood.
Standing just 5 feet 4 inches, Daphne was petite, but she was powerful. Her hands were the size of my entire face and when she hit you, she hit hard! She was the quiet type but if provoked, she was also the ask questions later type.
I remember one night in our apartment vaguely hearing yelling and then the most horrific scream. I jumped out of my sleep, startled and confused. I looked over towards Daph’s bed, but she wasn’t there. (I always would look over to see what Daphne instructed me to do next.) Slowly I climbed out of my bed towards the voices I heard coming from the kitchen. My nerves went away when I realized it was my Mom’s voice but as I turned the corner, the deep red fluid dripping on the white tiles of the kitchen floor was all that I could focus on. Daphne was standing there with the 4-inch long kitchen knife in hand, eyes glazed over. My mom was standing in front of her, holding her arms talking in a soft calming voice saying “Daph, I’m okay. Mommy is okay”. Quickly I scanned them both and thank God neither was hurt. So, where did the blood come from? That’s when I looked over to see my stepdad holding his hand in pain and shock. Softly he said, “Daphne, we were only talking. I would never put my hands on your mother.” Daphne stood as if in a trance, she wasn’t talking, blinking, just staring. Unlike me, Daphne couldn’t block or hide from the memories of our mom’s abusive second husband. She was changed by those experiences and although we didn’t talk about them, we were both forever changed by them. That night, Daphne didn’t wait to see IF our stepdad would get physical with our mom, she got that knife and reacted before he could even think about it.
Of the three of us, Daphne had the fairest skin complexion with the softest texture of hair and was often mistaken for another ethnicity. Did I mention, that she was fluent in several languages and was an avid writer? Yeah, Daphne was that girl!
Daphne protected me from any and everybody, whether that be stepparents, boys, or whomever else wanted it. But as wonderful as Daphne was to me, I always knew Daphne had secrets and struggles that were even too heavy for her to carry. During high school, Daphne had a very small circle of friends. Partly because as I mentioned before, we never stayed anywhere long enough to establish lasting friendships but also because we were single-parent kids. Meaning, that we didn’t get to wear name-brand clothes like the cool kids. We didn’t get to go out to the fun parties or hangout spots. Most of our friends came from church. Other than that, we were each other’s best friends, at least then we were.
We finally stopped moving around and settled in Washington, D.C. By this point Daph was in high school, and I was in middle school. Daphne attended Benjamin Banneker, a school for the gifted and talented in the heart of D.C. across the street from Howard University. There she could be her amazing exceptional self without feeling strange or like a loser. There is where she met her first real friends, and there she was able to spread her wings on the track team.
She didn’t date much but she did have one good male friend who she ended up dating his friend James. James was handsome and Daphne was proud that she had such a well-known and wanted young man. Unfortunately, he did not appreciate her as his blessing (which she was), and he cheated on her. Daphne didn’t talk much about that experience, but I knew it ignited a hurt that she had tried to keep hidden deep inside of herself.
When Daphne initially went to college, she attended an HBCU in Maryland. When the boys saw her perfectly pear-shaped body, beautiful smile, glowing skin, and genius mind, they were all over her, like moths to flames. Not having much experience with games from the opposite sex, Daph fell victim to playboy after playboy. Eventually, our mom decided to move her to New Orleans to go to school closer to where our grandparents and aunts were.
Not a story for the story but a life lesson: you cannot run from your problems. Sending Daph away didn’t change the behaviors. Instead, it just pushed her further into situations with men that she was not prepared to handle. Again, not for today but at some point, we will talk about the decisions our parents make and how they can fuck you up unintentionally. Daphne was not the only one who didn’t know how to have healthy relationships with men in part due to what we experienced as children.
I can still remember Daphne calling back home to check on me. Remember Daph was my best friend and protector. She always ended the call with “I love you and I’m always here for you.” December of 1998, Daph called home to tell mom that she was pregnant by her boyfriend Chad. Chad already had a child with someone else and didn’t want another one, but Daph wanted to keep her baby. Chad was adamant that she gets an abortion but to Daph, the baby was just the life-changing occurrence that she needed to slow down and stop spinning out of control.
Daphne was very selective about what she shared but she had eluded to the fact that Chad had a temper and in the past had gotten physically and verbally aggressive with her. Thinking back I should have asked more about that but Daphne was very protective of me, even to the extent that she was very careful what she shared not to burden or upset me.
My mom convinced Daphne to move back to Virginia with us so that together we could help her raise the baby and she agreed she would. Mom purchased a ticket for Daphne and our last call was nothing special. Just her saying how much she was looking forward to coming home, seeing new friends, and meeting the boy I had been telling her about. As always, she ended that call with “love you and I’m always here for you.”
January 3, 1999, my aunt called my mom hysterical. Daphne had never shown up for work, she had food cooking on the stove in her apartment, with her clothes for work on the bed but Daphne was not there. Just that quick, my beautiful, amazing, strong, intelligent, caring sister was gone! As if she never existed, as if she never loved me unconditionally, as if she wasn’t real-just gone. We never got the opportunity to have a last “I love you and I’m always here for you”, instead all we had were memories of her. She was abducted and murdered, and to this day, we have never found her body or the person responsible. I could say so much more about what we all believe happened and who I believe did it but instead, I’ll just say, Chad Gales you will not live forever. When you die, I pray God handles you as He sees fit for what you did to my sister and her baby.
At the time of Daphne’s murder, I was only 16 years old. I was raised in the church, literally. My grandfather was a preacher, and my grandparents had a storefront church where my siblings played the piano. (Nope I can’t play, I was just there) I grew up knowing God, but it is not until life happens and God doesn’t stop it from happening that your faith is truly tested. At 16, my faith was tested, and I was angry, so angry with God! My faith in Him was shattered. I watched my mom, aunt, and grandmother, all mighty women of God, go time after time to Him in prayer and fasting, and yet nothing. No answers, no justice, no peace, and no Daphne.
And like a scared and hurt child, I acted out in rebellion. I didn’t want anything to do with Christianity or God. I couldn’t rationalize how my sister, the daughter of Marla who prayed without ceasing, who raised us up in the church could be murdered like that. I didn’t know how to process my feelings and like most black families, we didn’t talk much about our feelings to each other. My mom prayed, but we didn’t talk about the pain, depression, guilt, embarrassment, anger, and shame that she nor I felt.
What I did to take my mind off it is something I am not proud of but to move past it, I must own it. Out of my grief and anger, I became extremely promiscuous. I didn’t want to think about how my sister was murdered, I couldn’t handle knowing she needed me for once and I wasn’t there. I needed my earthly father, but I didn’t know him to allow him to be there for me, so I dealt with my grief by allowing myself temporary moments of affection during sex.
To make matters worse, I was still home with my mom who was literally losing her mind not knowing where her child was or where her body rest. She would stay on her knees in prayer until her legs went numb. So, I stayed out or found ways to get out of the house. I started smoking weed with friends and making bad decisions after bad decisions. I was so angry that Daphne was alone in her darkest hour, I was angry that my mother was mentally on the verge of a breakdown, I was angry that my mother no longer had enough to be a mom to me. I was ANGRY with God!
I continued acting out and long story short, I got pregnant during my senior year in high school. To make matters worse, I got pregnant by my then boyfriend (who had graduated two years prior) and I decided I was going to keep my baby, especially after what happened to Daphne. I didn’t care that it would change my plans for college. I hadn’t yet told my mom about my pregnancy, but I had a plan until one day at school, I found out that Dee, my boyfriend, had also gotten one of my friends (who I called “Lil sis”) pregnant too. “Lil sis” tried to apologize for hurting me and explain that it was only one time, but she was further along than I and she too had decided to keep the baby. Clearly, Daph and I sure know how to pick them. Silently I had to carry the feelings of stupidity, shame, and fear alone.
My anger, pain, and resentment grew, and I didn’t want to add more stress to my grieving mother. Alone I went to the Planned Parenthood clinic but once there, the small crowd protesting outside, the coldness of the table, and the sound of the machine turning on, scared the mess out of me. All my courage left my body and I left. In that moment, I felt like a baby myself and I needed my mom no matter how much I didn’t want to add to her grief. I ended up sharing what had happened with my mom and although hurt and disappointed, she went with me to another, more private clinic, and help my hand through the process. She showed me that even through our pain we can be there for those we love.
After leaving the clinic that day, I felt horrible. The best way I can describe it is that I felt dirty. I felt like God didn’t see my sister or me. I felt like there was no point in believing in a God like that, who didn’t love us. I felt more alone than ever before and with more self-hate packed up in my emotional backpack, I decided to jump right back into the pig pen of sin that I had promised my mom I would never go back in.
If I am being honest with you but more importantly to myself, I was functioning in a very unhealthy state of depression. I lasted several years even before, during, and after my marriage. My perception of myself was skewed. On the outside, people assumed I had confidence and self-love (almost to the point of conceitedness), but it was the complete opposite. I felt ugly, invaluable, replaceable, and unseen. I allowed men to treat me less than them. I would look in the mirror at my reflection and cry inconsolably because I hated the person looking back. In the rare moments of life’s silence, I still had a slight belief that God was real, but He still wasn’t a God who saw me.
Throughout this entire season of darkness, which lasted for nearly 20 years, I would hear something deep inside me saying “I named you even before you were in your mother’s womb. I called you Danielle because it means “God is your judge”. “Danielle, I see you, and no matter what you do or what happened, I am your creator and the only one who can judge you.” Through the Holy Spirit, God was always trying to call me back to Him and remind me that there is nothing that can separate me from Him.
I have made a lot of bad decisions, done a lot of bad things, things I can never speak on (like Daphne taught me not to do) but none of those things can separate me from God, thanks to Jesus Christ. It took me a long time to allow myself to go to Him for forgiveness, and it took even longer to forgive myself. God is my judge, and He is Daph’s too. No matter what anyone says about my sister or what she may or may not have done, He loved her, and so do I.
Daphne, I love you, and I am always here for you.
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