Alyssia. i watched her become born. to my daughter. who was 16 years old. This is a …..long?, no, Big?, sorta, uhhhh, a story of some sort… that really wasn't long or big at all at the time, it was a story of a 16 yo girl giving birth. and Alyssia was born and there is no, none, no way to say how much i love her. How much she means to me now as a PERSON. a WOMAN.
you might remember me telling how i had wanted her to be aborted. How the stubborn daughter, Jenny would not.
and here we are. Today. This evening. and we try to have a conversation in the midst of Her Daughter's imploring…PLAY WITH ME, YOU GUYS! in a pandemic when we are all this 3 yr old has to play with…this mother and this old nana and all while the mother and the old nana are also trying to have this conversation that goes back to Anne Frank.
it feels all crazy. and it is. all crazy.
i have finished the book…The Warmth of Other Suns, reading day and night except for holding the hose to give water to Plants, feeding Goats, cooking food, eating, cleaning the plates and pan….finished it. But it's not finished. Pages have turned ears and marks. Dates. Dates of just before i was born. then on, all through my life…i can track my own existence along with the dates of the lives of the three human beings in this book. Where i was. What my own life was at that time. There is much to do after finishing reading.
and then
i go to On Being, the white bougie online thing and find that she has returned Resmaa Menakem and now Robin DiAngelo for conversation and i listen and i go check out DiAngelo's book, White Fragility which is OUT OF STOCK at amazon and hear how exhausted Resmaa Menakem is now, in this moment, today and i try to have this conversation with Alyssia and it's hard because Emrie has a hard time sharing, but
her mother and i need to share
and i think….there is so much at stake in this moment.
windthread 
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