Malik Carr Obituary

My son, you entered this world on a crisp Winter's day, January 16, 1995, at Walter Reed Army Medical Center in Washington, DC. It seems like yesterday when your father and I first looked at you. Your arrival was two months earlier than anticipated, but by the grace of God, you pulled through like a champ. There was one problem, we were still researching to determine your name, so you were baby boy Carr for more than a week. Finally, we agreed on Malik from Arabic, meaning master, king. Your middle name honored your great uncle McKinley (Mac), who died just before your birth. The name is of Scottish descent and means son of the fair warrior. We were very proud to announce the birth of our son, Master Malik McKinley Carr, son of Arthur and Marvetta Carr.
Malik, six months after your birth, we relocated to Fort Sill, Oklahoma, where you saw your first tumbleweed – yikes! At daycare, you captured the heart of one of the providers, Mary Brooks. Oh, how she adored you. She resigned from the center to care for you full-time and did not return until we moved to our next assignment. God is a good God! Your parents exercised faith, we were not anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving, we made our request known to God. The Lord knew what we needed, a supportive family to assist us during our time in Oklahoma. Mary, Leroy and their son Marcus loved you immensely. You were quite the charmer! One day after work, I arrived to take you home; Mary informed me that you had begun walking but wouldn't walk for me. After weeks of this trickery, I turned the tables on you by placing a toy in an area where you could not crawl. Suddenly, I heard your feet patter across the floor. When I yelled, "gotcha," you burst into laughter – quite the manipulator.
Malik, in May 1997, you became a big brother upon the arrival of your brother Mikaili Jabir. You were so excited and quickly informed us that he was your baby. When the nurse brought Mikaili into the room, I placed you in the bed to hold him. When I attempted to feed him, you did not want to give him to me. You kept saying, "this is my baby; this is my baby!" In 1998, the family returned to the District of Columbia and our Maryland home. You were so happy there. Your musical skills began to present during this time. You would take a set of chopsticks and beat on your car seat and sing. I heard the rhythms and began giving you pots to beat on. Your dad tired quickly of the pot beating, so he bought your first set of drums for your third birthday.
You were ecstatic! Every day, you carried those sticks and beat anything you could find. It was delightful to watch you play. Your first drumming lessons began in San Antonio, where you learned to read music and sharpen your skills. Over the years, you played the drums at churches in New York, North Carolina and Texas. You even began writing songs, singing and rapping. You were a great lyricist. I remember the first time we went into Studio Chicago to record your music. You allowed me to sit with you through the first take, then you looked at me, and I knew it was time for me to exit so you could get your groove on. When you heard your tracks, I saw a confident young man, excited about the future.
Soon after your third birthday, you started Pre-K. One day you came in excited and proudly announced, "Mommy, I am going to marry Mya, and we are going to have a baby girl." I looked at your father and said, we are in trouble! That was the beginning of your fascination with girls. I began praying for God to give me strength at that very moment. Those were the good old days, where you played with your friends Toddrick, the Cason children – Anthony and Janice and the Carter kids – ChaBria, Sean and Steven. You loved parties and playing with your friends. You were a social butterfly.
Our family dynamics shifted when your father and I separated and divorced, but you continued to thrive. You entered kindergarten and loved school. I still see you with your fresh haircut and backpack as I stand at the bus stop with you. You appeared serious, especially with your glasses on, looking like a replica of your dad. You insisted on dressing yourself; you were very meticulous at a young age. One day in 2000, while taking you to school, you looked at me and asked, "Mommy, what do you want to be when you grow up?" My reply, "I am a nurse." The next day, I applied for graduate school through the Army because you challenged me to do more. The following year we relocated to the great state of Texas. We were in San Antonio for the first year; this was the only place we lived where we had family nearby. The second year of graduate school required a move to El Paso. It was upon our arrival that your sketchings became very detailed. One image drawn in December 2003 was of an entire church setup, including the pulpit, drums, and people. It even had chandeliers. You wrote, "Holy, Holy is the Lord God Almighty." I began to pay close attention to your drawings.
Malik, in January of 2004, our lives were torn apart when I deployed to Iraq for a one-year tour. I began praying Psalms 91 for God to keep and protect us. You and Mikaili went to stay with your dad in South Carolina. I know you were heartsick and worried, and it manifested quickly. You stopped walking within two months of my departure. I received an emergency call in Baghdad from the American Red Cross to inform me that arrangements were underway for you to continue school in a wheelchair. My response was, "The devil is a lie!" I fought with everything I had to get to you. Finally, I was released in March to come home for a couple of weeks. I arrived in the middle of the night at the Medical University of South Carolina in Charleston to find you sound asleep.
I climbed in bed next to you, staring until you awakened, surprised and excited. I recall asking you to take a walk with me. You said, "I can't; I said, "You can because I am here." You got up and held on to me and began to walk. You were 9-years-old; that day, I saw something that I had not experienced before. I understood what I thought was the source and wished I could take it away. The Army prepared me for war, but they did not prepare you. My efforts to shield you from the stress did not work. Immediately, you went into counseling. You boys spent that Summer with one of my best childhood friends Helena in Dallas. I know you enjoy it, especially the part where Kamaria bossed the two of you around – NOT! I was so happy to hear the laughter return to your voice.
Malik, by the luck of the draw, I was able to return to El Paso with the first wave out of the combat zone in mid-December. My arrival was within days of Christmas. I could not wait to see my boys. We met in Chicago, where we spent time with family. You always loved Chicago and would tell everyone it was your home. At the end of the school year, you and Mikaili joined me at the United States Military Academy at West Point, New York, where you continued your primary education on campus. You enjoyed living there and made friends rather quickly. You also loved to sketch in books that I would buy for you. In New York, when you were 10-years old, I found one of your sketches. There were guns and a coffin with an individual inside. My initial thought was – "Is this a battlefield."
Malik, I watched closely. You and Mikaili began playing football and other activities. You loved playing basketball and were happy. However, it was in New York that red flags started to appear. Although you were participating in activities, community services and travels, something was off. I thanked God for our close relationship because you gave me more insight than any doctor could. First, I saw a lack of impulse control, but the child psychologist saw a child who needed a challenge. Next, I saw manic episodes, but testing did not demonstrate such. Then, another drawing appeared; it was not a battlefield but a person in a casket and a gun nearby. On the surface, you seemed to be the happiest child in the world. But, under the surface, you were sad, experiencing something I had seen before with your dad. I prayed for God to protect you on your journey and help me support you without judgment but with unconditional love.
Malik, your middle school years at West Point were different than most. You kept me on my toes when you began sneaking out of the house to meet your friends at the stadium or the park. Of course, parents expect this, but in the teenage years. I remember an incident where you went out the back patio door and somehow caught a cat between the two doors. I awakened to what I thought was a crying baby. I checked your room; you were not there. I followed the sound of the noise and found the cat. I must've looked like a cartoon character with steam coming out of my ears as I yelled, "Malik." Over the years, you heard that same cry, like when you wrecked Mikaili's car and put a note on the windshield in your handwriting, saying, "F#@k man, I hit your car." The vehicle looked pristine upon approach, but the other side told a different tale - it was totaled – MALIK, don't you know I know your handwriting? I have never seen anyone tear up as many vehicles as you – 750 BMW, Porsche, Bonneville, Corolla, Land Cruiser on and on. We had many laughs about you and cars.
My son, I heard you tell me you were tired of moving. So, in 2008, we said goodbye to military life and moved to Durham, North Carolina. You struggled to fit in and tried to be in with the crowd. I recall you telling me that people thought you talked funny; I said, "you speak proper English." Yes, you were green regarding certain things, like marijuana. Someone on the school bus convinced you to smoke, not realizing the foul order; you agreed and lit up on the back of the school bus. When I got that call, all I could think – MALIK!
Malik, you completed middle school and transitioned to high school. During this time, you experienced your first hospitalization in Winston Salem. The depression came to the surface, and fixations transitioned to attempts. Yet, your good days still outweighed your bad days. We remained faithful and took the proper medical measures to ensure your well-being. I thank God for Jesus' grace, mercy, and tender loving care. Even when we did not agree or understand one another, our unwavering love kept us together. Although others could not comprehend the level of patience or willingness to forgive, I understood because God forgives us and expects us to do the same. God loves us unconditionally, and I loved you, and there was NOTHING you could do that would stop me from loving you! Mikaili was flustered and upset at your actions, but he loved you and continued to support you.
Malik, in 2011, we moved to Katy, Texas, one of the most challenging places. You were unfamiliar with the freedom and level of access parents give their teenagers. Marijuana was one thing, but what I saw and researched regarding what was happening in our upscale neighborhood, I knew you had to go. In 2013, you graduated from Hemingway High School in South Carolina, where your dad taught JROTC. We were very proud of you and wanted you to excel in life. You returned to Houston and began attending HCC, but we both knew you weren't interested. You spoke about audio engineering, custom automotive and other things. You went to work and soon reconnected with J'Keyvia. In 2015, you became the proud father of Hendrix Messiah Carr. When I touched you in the delivery room, I could feel your heart pounding as though it would come out of your chest. The love you had for your son was palpable. You began to experience depression more frequently and checked into hospitals more regularly.
In November 2019, God blessed you with another son, Matthew Grey Furlow, whom you had with Angelica. You were a loving father and wanted to be the best dad ever, but I could see you fading before my eyes.
Malik, in 2020, we began experiencing a great deal of loss in our family. Unfortunately, in November of that year, we lost your dad to the first stRand of COVID-19. I saw you spiral during that sad period. Then, on Father's Day 2021, you lost your uncle Gregory (my brother), whom you loved dearly. I remember how you enjoyed staying with him during your young years when we went home to Chicago. That Summer was the worse I ever saw you. Between listening to madness and what was happening inside, the experience took you to some dark places. You flew from Chicago to South Carolina, back to Houston, then again to Chicago and eventually home to Houston. As fate would have it, your grandmother announced her feet had carried her a long way and were tired and ready to go home. She left us on October 19, 2021. Your favorite aunt Elouyise, whose birthday you shared, died on April 2022. You told me that you could not return to Chicago and would watch the service online. I cam home and found you broken.
Malik, on May 11, 2022, you informed me that you were checking yourself into the hospital. I met you there to support you. Upon discharge, you began driving for Lyft. During our frequent conversations, you said, "Mom, I was asleep at the wheel." You shared with me your innermost thoughts and all that tormented you. We spoke about forgiveness – asking for and extending it. You poured out as never before. I recognized what I was dealing with and took the proper measures, but this time was different. You left for three days, but you never stopped talking to me. Finally, you told me you had to go away to talk to God in a place where you would not be interrupted. You came home to me, and we shared time talking until you said everything you wanted to say. I see us lying asleep on opposite sides of Hendrix. As the sun rose, I looked at you and laid back down, and when I awakened, you were gone.
Malik, my son, Slim Goody, rest in peace in the radically inclusive, loving arms of God our Savior. I am sure you now know that you are safe in the Master's arms. There will be no depression or voices to torment you. You are free! Whom the Son sets free is free indeed. So enjoy; I look forward to seeing you soon.
Say hello to your father: Arthur Carr; Grandmothers: Rebekka Richardson and Lue Birdie Ross, and brother: Arlandis Jamal Carr.
Bid farewell to your sons: Hendrix Messiah Carr and Matthew Grey Furlow; mother: Marvetta M. Walker; brothers: Arthur Christopher Carr and Brian Hill; nephews and nieces, aunts and uncles and a host of cousins and friends.