By Lauren Naomi Brooks Baucom

My grandmother Naomi was known for many things. She was known for her love of education, as a teacher of over 25 years. She was known for her loyal love of family. She was also known for her unwavering faith in Jesus Christ. But within our small family circle, she was especially known for “The Grip”. 

Whenever Naomi Lewis Brooks wanted to get your attention, tell you something important, or introduce you to someone, you could be sure that “The Grip” was coming. “The Grip” was reserved for her close loved ones, the ones she cared to share with and share about. She used “The Grip” to direct young and old kin to meet her friends at the Fairfax, at Alfred Street Baptist Church, or at the local grocery store, so she could share our most recent or most precedent accolades. 

“The Grip” entailed Naomi closing in on your wrist in a small circle, just behind your wrist bone. She never gripped your hand, your elbow, or the back of your arm. No; her attention was focused on using all five of her fingers to entrap your wrist in a way that meant you knew you were going with her in whichever direction she started to move. Although she was left-handed, she had an ambidextrous ability to use “The Grip” with equal amounts of strength and love. It wasn’t a strangled grip that left you wincing or one that was loose enough for one to easily squirm out of (a miraculous work on small children). The strength of the grip was just tight enough to convey warmth and management simultaneously.

My grandmother had a fabulous gift for boasting on her loved ones. She swelled with pride at the opportunity to share information about each one of our talents, accomplishments, awards, and current endeavors. She’d begin with “The Grip”, which got your attention, then focused her eyes on her chosen earmark. “My Marquita is a lawyer at a top law firm in downtown DC.” “My Vincent is a 4-star general, working over in South Korea. Thank God for him over there or Kim Jong Un would’ve hit his little red button already and we’d all be dead.” “This is my Lauren Naomi, who was the North Carolina Teacher of the Year”. Her version of our accolades made us all seem larger than life; sometimes larger than the reality of the accomplishment itself. I tried to correct her several times (never in the moment, only after); I wasn’t the State Teacher of the Year, but the Presidential Award Winner for the State in Math. But everytime she used “The Grip” on me, I felt the story swell to this version. And after a while, I realized that the targeted souls charged with listening to our achievements (mostly her other senior citizen friends in residence)  didn’t know the difference, and it made her so happy to share that it simply wasn’t worth it to mention. 

 At times, it was often awkward to hear her dote on our accomplishments for several minutes, but “The Grip” was a constant reminder not to interrupt her and that we absolutely were not leaving until she was finished. As she emphasized our achievements, she’d send small squeezes that pulsed through “The Grip” in rhythmic pride passed from her fingers through to your wrist. “This is my LEO, my FIRST born. He worked for Boeing, and HE retired as a Brigadier GENERAL.” 

At parties or large family gatherings, we’d pass looks to one another to let others know of the presence of the “The Grip” as she entangled one of our wrists. The rest of us would burst out laughing because we all knew what it felt like to be captured in that moment, and we’d attempt to document the presence of “The Grip” through Snapchat to those who weren’t physically with us. Throughout any event, we’d each take our turn as the others would notice, sometimes dropping by to add in additional tidbits to the story being shared to lengthen the time one spent in her hold. 

“This is Rachel. She is a community organizer in Baltimore, Maryland. She went to Wheaton College in Illinois.” “Hey Grandma, did you know Rachel’s current project is working on feeding 5,000 people in the city without food during the COVID crisis?” “No, but I know it’s true! My Rachel has always cared about helping people. Did you know when she was little…” 

“The Grip” was far more than a physical transaction between her, her loved one, and the heeder; rather it provided a manifest for her way of being, way of living. She held tight to those she loved. She focused on the positives of life. She was quick to let you know how proud she was of you. She would entrance any an ear with a story, a natural orator whose verses were her children, grandchildren, and beloved great grands. In this, she lived for others.

Grandma Naomi left this earth on May 21st, and in that moment the greatest, loudest, proudest cheerleader the world has ever known shared her last story, gripped her last wrist. I know that the pain is big because her love was big, because her grip was strong, and because I know how much she loved me. I will forever miss the way she made an “O” around my wrist with her fingers, the gentle pulses of love that were passed through each squeeze, the words of pride passing over her perfectly painted lips. And while I can no longer feel “The Grip” on my wrist as I did whenever we were together, I now feel it gripping in my chest, in my being, in my very bones. I feel her words, her stories, her pride passing over me with each sob, each tear, each beat of my heart, as her love pulses over me in an unrelenting rhythm, “THIS is my Lauren Naomi. My namesake.”