For Lenny The Wonderful, My Chosen Ancestor
On Grief and the Powerful Bonds that We Create
It is Wednesday in Central, North Carolina and while I have been away from my Brooklyn home, some bad news has traveled through the stratosphere. The air here is crisp and moody. Leaving cool kisses on my fingertips, nose, and lips.
I woke up this mourning.
Processing.
Remembering.
Wading through tall grass fields of grief.
A few days ago I found out that my dear friend, queer elder and one of my favorite humans that I have ever encountered, has passed away. His name was Leonardo “Lenny” Walker and he was wonderful.
Today I have spent much of my time sauntering up and down memory lane. Looking back to go forward. Over my morning coffee, I have been thinking deeply about grief, heartbreak and the power that these emotions hold.
I met “Lenny The Wonderful” ten years ago on a spring day that felt like sugar and smelled like cherry blossoms. I was brand new to Heart St. It was my new block but Lennys home since he was a child. The day was warm and perfectly lit with a peach sunset that illuminated our whole street. Everyones smiles felt wider. Outfits looked flyer. People bounced down the sidewalks with a lightness and joy that felt very uncommon for a weekday in NYC. I was high off of gratitude. My partner and I were so excited that we were given an opportunity to move on to this beautiful block on the top floor of a historical brownstone. After a long people watching session, I parked my car and hopped out grinning to promptly get confronted by Lenny for blocking his private driveway in front of his brownstone.
Lenny introduced himself to me as the “Mayor of The Block”. It was very clear that I offended him by parking in front of his home. Oh no! Not the Mayor of the block mad at me already I thought. I quickly gathered myself and put on my Piscean charm. I introduced myself and apologized to Lenny before asking him about his day. I offered to move my car. He appreciated my apology and my immediate acknowledgement of his very important station on the block.
By the end of our first conversation, I knew so much about Lenny. I learned about the history of the Paradise Garage (Gay-rage) and heard stories about his first time there at 16. I learned about his musical roots and personal contributions to the NYC House music scene and LGBTQ+ History. Lenny was a talented artist. ( I am sure that he would love nothing more than for you all to listen to his most recent release here. )
Right after our first conversation, we became family. We chose each other right then and there. Lenny told me not to worry about the car. He invited my partner Emani and I to park in front of his driveway as often as we needed, as long as we called or texted to let him know in advance. Only “his people” were allowed to block his driveway because he needed to be able to move his car when necessary. (I learned years later that the parked car in his driveway had in fact not been moved in at least 15 years. I never mentioned that I knew this to him lol.) But all of a sudden we were “his girls”. It was a blessing. An honor.
2023 was a very hard year for Lenny. Like so many of us, he spent a lot of time this year grieving. He lost his long term partner, his mother, and very recently- his room mate that has lived with him for decades . The majority of our catch ups this year have been centered around reminding one another that everything would be okay.
Lenny The Wonderful, was the kind of person who would introduce himself to you as a Gemini (A May Gemini to be exact ha!) and ask you about your big three, before telling you his first name. He had a knack for and special interest in astrology and always checked in on me when mercury was in retrograde. He was known to make regular retrograde announcements on the block, and provided astrological insight and context that could help you understand not only yourself but others as well in a deeper way.
Lenny would text and DM me from time to time and say things like, “ G, get ready baby. We need to stay in the house before this retrograde drags our asses again!” He would check in on me no matter where I was in the world and share retrograde happenings to make sure that I was prepared and could hold on to my wig.
Here are a few of my favorite retrograde survival tips from Lenny.
Stay yo ass in the house. Be easy!!
Keep the negative energy the hell away and sage, word up!
Don’t make time for the energy vampires
Sit cho ass down
Don’t start no shit won’t be no shit
Watch out for them damn Leos and June Gemini’s!
Stay fierce!
Lenny was my favorite. It is painful to type the word “was”. Chosen family is medicine. He was the black queer elder that I have always needed and somehow got lucky enough to experience. Two years ago I decided to interview Lenny to document a bit of his history for a guest feature that I wrote for Black History Month. The goal was to affirm the fact that black history can not be fully told without the inclusion of black queer stories. Lenny was a star and he loved an opportunity to tell a story. When I asked him about doing the interview he was elated, and wanted to “get fly and fierce” before we sat down in my apartment to talk. I had just pressed up some new merch for my latest single, and he was happy to get first dibs on the unreleased designs.
I am so grateful for the memories of this sweet day with Lenny. For his laughter. For his smile, friendship and vulnerability. As I continue to reflect on my relationship with him and our most recent conversations, I worry that he may not have had enough love and support while he mourned his loved ones. I run in to the same internal questions over and over. Can people die of grief? Or a broken heart?
I read a study about takotsubo cardiomyopathy aka “ Broken Heart Syndrome” and learned that you indeed can. Grief is such a painful part of the human experience. One that none of us can avoid. If chosen family is medicine, what is the absence of this in a time of need? At a time of grief.
Chimimanda Ngozie Adichi , a writer that I love and respect once wrote that “Grief is a cruel kind of education. You learn how ungentle mourning can be, how full of anger. You learn how glib condolences can feel. You learn how much grief is about language, the failure of language and the grasping for language.”.
I am grateful that my relationship with Lenny was one where nothing was left unsaid. However, it both saddens and angers me to think about being alive in a world where Lenny is not also alive.
“Lenny The Wonderful” showed up in the world as a lighthouse and I just hope…I mean I truly hope that he was also shown up for. I just hope that he knew how loved that he was.
One afternoon while visiting my beautiful friend Amyra, I told her that I was feeling sad. That I had been sad for some time and felt a little lonely in these feelings. She told me that if I ever needed, I could come over to her home anytime to be a rock on the floor. No explanations needed. No deep conversations required. If I felt alone and simply needed to be in a room safely with a friend, I could come be a rock.
What a beautiful way to show up in friendship.
We do not always know what we need or what our loved ones need. But in a world where loneliness, grief and heartbreak are shortening lives, I urge you to let your loved ones be a rock on your floor if they can’t do it alone.
And to let the love in. And out. As much as possible. As often as you can.
So that we don’t have to grieve alone.
So that we don’t have to hurt alone.
So that we don’t have to do the hard things, the impossible things alone.
Love you Lenny.
Rest well my friend.
My chosen ancestor.
I love the idea of a chosen ancestor, it brings an even deeper perspective to “chosen family”. Thank you for this love offering of thoughtfulness as you(we) remember Lenny.