Who is they to an Igbo girl? We all know they lie but it's still a shock. We, I. i still believe them, those bite sized words and soothing repitition. It turns out that dangerous behavior is for people who have everything to gain.
I am half way through this book. This post is my intermission. Two years ago this time I forgot Breath Eyes Memory in a coffee shop while on vacation. I told myself I would come back to her work. You know there are time in life were you have to say focused on the everyday or everything will unravel.
Edwidge Danticat will be a part of this years Chicago Humanities Festival. There is a thread that runs through everything.
Edwidge Danticat will be discussing her latest work "The Art of Death" about her dying mother. Cancer. A new addition to a growing pile I've read on the topic. I don't need two identical pieces for this puzzle but I do need them all. The tellings are never the same. I have seen more reflections than I deserve. A small army of women watching thier mother die. Six year old me marches silently. Presently I struggle to understand.
there are women who are old enough to have known thier mother but not old enough to have understood her. Is there a better or worse time to lose a parent?
I imagine at there are worse times, this is the type of thing that only goes in one direction. What we lose is the possibility of better. Eventually manageable but better never. This kind ting. Fragmented and chaotic. Zinzi Clemmons' survey of the experience of losing a parent contains a lot more than the emotional interactions with other people or the rejection of the practice. I love her for it for exposing the "it got me thinking" about real and (ir)relevant things.
My copy is gone, stuffed in my best friends weekender. What color is that book you were telling me about? Eagle eyes on my color coded bookshelf.
Zinzi, my mother effected my choice to become a mother. She was not married. I am her second child. We do not share a father. As far as I know my mother was never married. I have always imagined she choose to have me. made a conscious decision. A photograph is all I have of her. That and my personhood. My sister looks exactly like her. But I do not have her, my sister is her own, far away, a second loss.