Honoring Roland Lamison II | Juneteenth & Father’s Day Tribute

Remembering Roland Lamison II

Throughout June, we’ll be highlighting the men and boys whose stories, milestones, and presence continue to leave a mark on our family and community.

Roland Lamison II

“Mourning in the Rain.”

Tonight I sat on the back porch and listened to the rain. There was something soothing about it. The steady sound settled over everything and gave me space to think.

As I sat there, I found myself imagining my husband, Michael. It has been almost fifteen years since he passed. He was only fifty-eight when he left this world. I pictured what life might have looked like if he were still here. Maybe we would have downsized and moved here together. I could almost see him sitting in a rocking chair on the porch, an old man now, just as I am an old woman. The thought brought both comfort and sadness.

Then my mind wandered to another kind of companionship. I thought about having a sister nearby, someone whose spirit moved on the same frequency as mine. Someone I could sit with on that porch, sharing conversation or silence, enjoying the simple gift of being together. I imagined having a cousin or dear friend there too, someone relaxed enough to just be themselves. No pretending. No performing. No holding back.

I realized that while I have many people I call friends, there are few with whom I feel completely at ease. It often seems as though we all hold back pieces of ourselves. We carry who we once were and who we think we should be, never fully relaxing into who we truly are. Sitting there, I found myself wishing for the kind of friendship where nothing has to be hidden. Just come as you are. Whoever you grew up to be is enough.

These thoughts were inspired from grief. The recent loss of my nephew, Roland, has weighed heavily on my heart. As the rain fell, my mind drifted through the fifty-four years we shared in this earthly realm. I remembered him as a little boy. I remembered him as a man. It was a joy to watch him as an involved father, a good dad, a way maker, a loving husband, a gift giving son. I smiled as I thought about him because I genuinely liked him. Roland was a cool dude. Roland was patient and kind. Such a smart young man and a priority place. He was a sacrificer, often putting himself last.

As I sat there, I found myself saying, “Well done, my good and faithful nephew.” The words came naturally. I felt a quiet peace imagining that his spirit had completed its work here and was free to enter the next chapter. He is the first of my parents’ grandchildren to be promoted to the next chapter.

The rain came down hard. Growing up, storms seemed to command reverence. We grew quiet when thunder rolled and rain beat against the roof. Sitting on the porch, I felt that same reverence again.

The porch was peaceful.

The porch was comforting.

The porch was yearning, too.

And it was a little lonely.

So I sat there and mourned my nephew and grieved for his family while listening to the rain.