102 year old great f$%^ing Storyteller Died Sunday

She lived 102 years,

had at least 3 husbands,

and definitely had more sex in her life than I'm having this year.

She told epic jokes without a single curse word; her sets were one liners about cows and cornbread and southern things.

She was a southern belle and my great-grandmother.

We called her Dear.

There was no kale in her diet or avocado toast.

Just really good cornbread & collard greens to be eaten with your hands.

I think the only reason she lived so long is because she had a big appetite and was "regular."

That's southern for "poops well".

Dear is/was from Mobile, Alabama: the home of Mardi Gras, racism, and unbelievably great storytellers.

Say what you want about southern accents, but ain't nothing like a southerner telling a damn good story. Especially a black- southern -senior citizen-delight of a woman sitting in a rocking chair named Ellen Blunt. That was Dear's name, not the chair's.

She giggled a lot. I now know that sometimes laughter is the deflection for the bullshit of life. Can you imagine how much mess you might encounter in 102 years?

But what about the possibilities? Dear saw a lot of inventions, grandkids, and great-grands. She saw cars and the end of wars and the beginnings of telephones and the internet! 1915-2018. That's one hell-uh-va run.

She cleaned houses and took care of white folks' kids for a living. She also used to clean my parent's house. Back then, her knees were on the way to going out but still good.

When she babysat me, she would cook scrambled eggs and used a fork in the teflon pan. We all knew that a fork scratches teflon.

"Tell your grandmother to use the spatula not a fork. "my dad said.

Why did I have to give her the bad news that scratched teflon gives you cancer?

Dear didn't die of cancer. She just died of old age.

Dear had Silas, Ernestine, Shirley & Larry. All insane and old and brilliantly creative in their own right. Ernestine is my grandmother and a fashionista. Larry is my great uncle and a man with universe of personality. Somehow Dear got pregnant right after Ernestine was pregnant too. So, my great-uncle is younger than my mom.

Was that scandalous?

When my mom called Monday, I assumed it was something bad.

That was ridiculous of me, but I'm a ridiculous person. Every time mom calls, I think it's an emergency. And every time I talk to her, it's definitely not. So I rolled my eyes at my assumption that this call would be bad news. I worked on my positive thinking: " Maybe mom won the lottery or maybe she's going on an amazing vacation." No, mom hadn't experienced any of those things. Mom was calling to tell me that Dear "passed."

That's southern for died.

I tried to cry silently when I was on the phone with my mom. I tried so hard to hide my true emotions, because I didn't want her to be sad. When my mom is sad, I just can't take it, so I assume she can't take my emotions. But she can. She knows I'm sensitive. She made me.

I'm sad because I miss Dear. I'm sad because I can't go to Dear's funeral.

I have to work, not for someone else but my for my own company, The Radical Brand Lab.

I've never been more inspired to make the business work without me. Not because I don't love it, but because I do. Death makes me remember that the people who help me make The Radical Brand Lab shine deserve a business with a heart that can beat with or without me.

I'm happy because I knew Dear and got a chance to be her great-grandchild. I'm happy because I know that my ability to make people laugh in part comes from her.

We tell great fucking stories at The Radical Brand Lab and help companies do the same. Not as great as Dear, that would be impossible. We just aren't that cute or wise or old.

I wish I had made storytelling my business sooner... and not just for companies but for the people who matter the most to me: my family. What if I had collected more of Dear's stories? What if I realized that she had a way with words that needed to be written down and recorded every single time? I wish I had taken more videos of her, visited her more, kissed her cheeks more. I wish so much. I have to accept that the best way to honor her now is to LIVE and tell more stories out loud.

In her passing, I'm clearer now on who I am, who I need to be, and what I need to do in business and in life.

Death is shit but it's necessary. It helps on some level that I don't want to admit.

Everybody doesn't get 102 years. So, I better make good of my 32.

From now on all of my stories will die on Sundays just like Dear. By die I mean get finished and be reborn in public, a better place for stories to pass on to rather than being stuck in my Google Drive. Not all of my stories will "die". Just one of them per week. Because I have to have an incentive to write and not just collect great ideas.

Death reminds us that stories are all we have.

That stories are infinite and transcend time, space and sometimes even faulty memories.

I dream of a life where where every senior citizen gets a free monthly massage, a microphone and a stage to tell their truths. I dream of a life where the world listens to the stories of the elderly and 80 + crew gets the attention and community they deserve.

I dream of making a corner in a Portland park where seniors tell their stories while sipping on summertime lemonade or vodka not giving a damn like old folks are so want to do.

Would you come out and listen?

This is an idea The Radical Brand Lab will make come true.

Comment below if you like it, love it hate it.

Comment below if you or your peeps want to be a part of the creative think- tank that makes it happen.

Comment below if you're a human, who's lost someone.

Here's to words that make up the stories of our lives.

R.I.P., Dear.

I love you.

Jordan

p.s. This is the beginning of deeply human stories told on LinkedIn presented by The Radical Brand Lab and its collaborators in honor of all the people, places, and businesses who have untold stories the world should hear.