John David Hackel
February 24, 1964 - March 14, 1985
I’m writing you this letter, son
There’s something I have to say.
There hasn’t been a day go by,
That I don’t miss you every way.
When you left me to go,
To our Great Father in the sky.
All I could think about was
How much I wanted to die!
And every day I’d talk to you.
I just wanted to understand,
How could you go and leave me.
Just as you were becoming a man?
I’d think about the happy times,
When you were just a little boy,
Sitting there and playing
With your tiny, baby toy.
You were the sweetest baby,
You didn’t often cry or fret.
Just kicked your chubby legs,
And smiled at everyone you met.
You made the sun come out,
On days filled high with gloom,
And just your cheery presence,
Lit up a cloudy room.
I guess I never told you,
Although I think you knew
I thank God I had a chance
To watch you as you grew.
I remember how excited,
You were with your new bat.
Yet, how nonchalant you acted.
We called you Cool Cat!
Oh, if I could do it over,
I’d never let you out of my sight.
I’d watch o’er you every moment,
Every morning, noon and night.
You were my precious child,
My gift from God on high.
And I’d cherish every moment,
Every second that went by.
Now you’ve gone and left me,
And I feel so sad and blue,
Because you took a part of me,
That’ll always remain with you.
But, I will never forget, oh no,
As long as I have breath,
You said, not once, but 3 times,
That life goes on after death.
You pointed past the mountains
In their purple majesty.
And said, “Ma, I’m going home,
And you cannot come with me!
“My Father’s business isn't done,
Our home is in the sky.
So mama please don’t mourn me.
I’ll see you when you die!”
So, I’m writing you this letter,
To let you know I now am brave.
For I can visit you today.
I can plant flowers on your grave.
And although your life with me,
On earth was much too brief.
Now I can say goodbye to you
And farewell to my grief.
Your Loving Mama Omowale
Then I just felt compelled to make this long, lonesome trip. I have always been blessed to have a profession that is highly desired and getting a job usually meant getting off the plane and going to the nearest employment agency, which is what I did, only in this case it was my car. I packed a few belongings and hit the road in the winter of 1991 determined to drive until I reached Los Angeles. I tried to take an alternate route when I heard a big snow storm was in my path. So, I detoured, but ran into the storm anyway.
However, it was a brief respite in my travel through mountains near Flagstaff and soon I was traveling in sunny warm weather. I still had on coat, boots, hat, etc., and didn't realize the weather had warmed up to maybe 80 or 90 degrees. I wondered why people were looking at me so strangely. There I was driving in all those winter clothes with the heat blasting until I had to stop for gas. What a surprise. From 30 to 90 degrees in a matter of hours.
Soon I was approaching Los Angeles, I entered the
I remained in Southern California for seven years, during which time I began a healing process. Writing the poem above was the uppermost element in my healing.
Nkosane was loved so much and he is still missed so much. His sisters and brother have all grown up and have their own homes and families, but we all still miss him very much. We will keep his legacy alive through keeping his memory alive so that all of his friends, family members and extended church family will be able to cherish that memory.
In traditional African society, no one ever dies. As long as they are remembered they are still alive. Long live the memory of John David Hackel (Nkosane). Ase!
