More Than Enough: A Tribute to Malcolm-Jamal Warner

Here we are yet again. Culturally rocked to our core by another fallen icon. A high school crush. An adopted brother. Everyone’s favorite cousin in their head—Malcolm-Jamal Warner. 

Fortunately, unlike most, I did not learn of his tragic passing from the often abrupt and unwelcoming news that opening our respective social media apps unwillingly launches us into each day. In fact, it was a rare day that I needed the noise silenced and logged into nothing. What I received instead was a call from my sister whose conversation opened with a question we’ve both asked each other more times than we care to count over the years when the untimely passing of an icon rocks us to the core: “Did you hear who passed?!  

Michael. 

Whitney. 

Prince. 

Kobe. 

Chadwick. 

Malcolm….

Ironically, it’s often the loss of those icons who aren’t intentionally in our faces; the ones not commanding every moment or needing constant adoration that hits the hardest. It’s something about those modest yet illuminating souls that seem both related and relatable, like that HBCU professor uncle that shows up for Thanksgiving dinner or the entrepreneurial goods-baking aunt that makes a rare appearance at the family reunion that are those persons who are doper than they ever realize but who elevate just from their mere existence; by showing up in those familiar places, departing wisdom, and showering us with love. When that effortless outpouring and tangibility leaves a space, a void is indeed felt whether you knew them personally or simply watched them on TV. And that is what Malcolm meant to me and so many of us left in the sunset of his tragic passing on July 20, 2025.

It's a void that has hit me harder than I expected, much like the painstakingly heartbreak I felt from the death of movie star-yet-fellow-Howard-University alumna Chadwick Boseman in 2020. Perhaps with Malcolm, the pain is compounded by my habitual daily routine of watching the 80s award-winning television institution known as “The Cosby Show," which cemented Warner--and all of those Cosby kids--in a forever place in our hearts and as a permanent relic of our childhoods despite the swift passing of time. Yet having not deep dived into the many lives Malcolm carved out for himself post child actor to adult star to poet to musician to podcaster to husband to father, whenever and wherever his face appeared, he still felt familiar; comforting; tangible—a superpower in itself particularly in an industry known for stripping (child) actors of any respectability or normalcy. And for which countless celebrity peers have all praised him for being: that all-around good dude who took the time to encourage others, depart wisdom, or simply flash that all-too-familiar smile, which will undoubtedly be cherished and missed the most.

Not surprisingly, a plethora of clips have flooded social media the past few days posthumously paying tribute to and giving us more glimpses into the many facets of Malcolm’s life. Yet most notably for me was a snippet of a 2017 interview with late famed journalist Larry King posted on Instagram by Oscar- winning actress Viola Davis. In it, King closes his interview with a series of rapid-fire questions posed to Warner ranging from weirdest job he ever had to the actor he most wished to work with (it was Davis, by the way, most likely motivating her to share the video). However, most haunting yet most humane was one of King’s concluding questions to Malcolm: 

“Tell me something people don’t know about you?”

Malcolm’s answer: “I have more of a struggle than people realize with owning that I’m enough….”

Unfortunately, it’s usually not until we leave this earth when the best speeches, accolades, and adorations are heaped upon us. When we’re no longer here to hear those impactful sentiments that we might have used as motivation to achieve our next goal or as the acknowledgement we needed to hear to fully settle into the satisfaction of what we’ve already accomplished. Instead we struggle with imposter syndrome; the imprisonment of ego; the suffocation of delusions of grandeur; and the unfashionable nature of faking it 'til we make it, making it oddly comforting to know--despite his celebrity--Malcolm may have juggled and been saddled with those same doubts many of us share, unknowingly moving through time and space, blindly unaware of exactly who he was and what he meant to so many: Trailblazer. Icon. Star. Family Man. Human.

Yet for him—like for all of us—my prayer is that he eventually found that assurance that ultimately silenced the wondering. I suspect, as most parents do, that was ushered in by the simple joy of raising his only child—a love he displayed in a impromptu social media video he posted in which he wore a lone dandelion behind his ear given to him by his 8-year-old daughter; a daughter who we are now learning he was with just moments before on that tragic day--a day when fate transitioned him into a guardian angel for her and all of those he loved. Eternally still loving. Still watching. Still giving. 

Enough. Malcolm, you were. 

Rest in peace, brother, and thank you for your legacy but more so for being a steady reminder of what a cool, calm, collected, talented, and culturally aware Black Man looks like in a time when the world wants us to forget the relevancy, power, and impact of such. From sporting your infamous Gordon Gartrell shirt as Theodore Aloysius Huxtable to donning scrubs as Dr. AJ "The Raptor" Austin to belting out tunes as the front man of Miles Long to so many other countless accolades, your star will forever shine brightly for all of us who need a reminder that when all else fails, consistency, authenticity, and integrity is not only sufficient—it’s the standard. 

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Hold On: Turbulence Ahead

Sometimes nature gives us the simplest reminders. As I departed for a mid-winter cruise vacation recently, it would be safe to say that with the recent tragic midair collision of American Airlines Flight 5342 and an Army helicopter near Washington D.C.'s Ronald Reagan National Airport on February 3rd--the deadliest U.S. air disaster since 2001--frighteningly followed by a few half a dozen more plane collisions or near misses, my usual love for flying was tempered. Relatively, in always being an anxious take off and landing kinda girl, my already heightened anxiety was elevated by an unexpected rainy, foggy morning. Add to that a late departure thanks to a tardy flight attendant and another delay on the tarmac due to the pilots awaiting a lift off command from the destination airport (never heard of that before) and I was seriously thinking I should’ve packed my Bible and checked the gift shop for Rosary beads beforehand. But armed with morning prayer and, as always, faith, as the rain continued to blanket the cabin windows, I decided to let go and let God. I closed my eyes, inhaled, deep exhaled, and leaned back into the ascension. 

Less than five minutes later I opened my eyes to a clear sky and, dare I say, sunlight?! I’m often tickled by the reminder that when flying at 30,000 feet, you are most likely above storm clouds and any turbulence experienced on the way up quickly becomes a thing of the past. This realization was the perfect reminder for me—and for whoever needs to hear this at this moment in history—in what is shaping up to be one of the most turbulent times citizens of this United States have faced in this century sans the pandemic (ironically under the same "leadership" and a similar administration). Although no virus of the epidemic kind has shutdown the productivity of our country (God forbid not yet) the same uncertainties around job security, food scarcity, and potential stock and housing market crashes abound. The feelings of hopelessness and helplessness have begun to take root. And dreams for any normal tomorrows have been suspended indefinitely. The question that ultimately beckons: So what do we do in this meantime? In the words of my late father, “Hang in and hold on.” 

Photo credit: Erica Kennedy

As if the coincidental nod from nature was not enough of a reinforced reminder, on the last day of the cruise, I took in a session entitled "For Women Only" led by female artists who headlined the cruise from Grammy-winning percussionist Sheila E. to Grammy-nominated R&B/Jazz singer Maysa--a session not about music, the business, or entertainment, but for women to exhale, lay their burdens down, and discuss surviving in these unpredictable times, while also being reminded of the importance of sisterhood and supporting one another but not at the sacrifice of self care. Yet, in the blink of an eye, those words were put to the ultimate test when an audience member underwent a medical emergency forcing the session into a frenzy and then an eerie halt. 

As event and ship staff broke into action administering aid to the woman, a spiritual stillness fell over the room. Without prompting, someone began to pray out loud, and arms were extended outward toward the woman in spiritual solidarity. At the conclusion of the prayer, the proverbial "fellowship baton" was passed and another woman broke into the familiar gospel song, "I Love You (Lord Today)" that everyone quietly yet reverently joined in singing. Empathetic tears began to fall down attendees faces and comforting hugs were shared between attendees who mere minutes before were strangers but who now felt like family. As the woman was stabilized and prepared to be taken to the infirmary for further observation, the purpose of the session took on a new, more tangible meaning as the power of unity was realized in real time, blessing many of us in ways we never expected, and further motivating me to pen this blog post although I had already drafted the first half with clearly no inkling of what was to come. 

So, yes, in these unpredictable times, we will pray. But we will also remember to practice self care. The journey may be long and tiresome, so we must also eliminate dead weight in the form of everything from toxic relationships to unnecessary expenses to literal tangible baggage and clutter that will “weigh down our flight” and crowd clarity of thought. We must remind ourselves to invest in the social capital of those villages that support us and tap into those networks that inform us and speak truth to power. We must turn our face towards whatever “rainbows” we can find be it our favorite book or our favorite song or simply a walk through our favorite park. We must shout like no one’s listening but also take time to dance like no one’s watching. We must create and advocate without abandon. We must turn up the volume as loud as we can on positivity wherever and whenever it emerges to drown out the noise of fear and negativity. And we must also plan as best we can for tomorrow but not at the expense of finding what we can appreciate today. And, as the old folks say, trust that “trouble won’t last always.”

As author Robert Fulghum once said, "Peace is not something you wish for, it is something you make, something you are, [and] something you do.... ” Yes, we are a resilient people. It is the gift of our ancestors and the torch that lights our tomorrow. And, yes, it’s going to be a bumpy ride, but we must remain steadfast in protecting our peace in the meantime as we wait to ascend to a familiar place once again where the sun shines ever so brightly just above the clouds. Stay strong, everyone.

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