Saying Goodbye

“The ability to have somebody to tell your story to is so important… It says: I was here.  I may be gone tomorrow.  But you know I was here.”  Dr. Maya Angelou, talking about the importance of literacy 

In my sadness, I have a story to tell.  My thoughts may be rambling, but they are real.  I have shed quite a few tears in the last couple of days, in different moments of sadness, but one common thread seems to run through my tears… the mention and reminders of mothers.  A mother’s love is encompassing and deep, a love that can be crushing when she is gone, yet cherished and adored just the same, all swirled together at the same time.

Already feeling the loss of a great literary giant, Dr. Maya Angelou, a woman whom I liked to imagine could have easily fit into my family as my mother, my aunt, or a dear first cousin, I watched the news as Kelli Bordeaux’s mother said that final goodbye to her daughter.  She was a soldier who was killed in Fayetteville and hidden away in a shallow grave for over a year, and finally the sad news was recently revealed.  She was so pretty, seemed so full of life, and from all accounts was a fun, vibrant person.  So many people searched for her, including the man who killed her, before he finally was convinced to lead police to the grave where he had buried her.  “Why”, is still not known.  Seeing Ms. Bordeaux’s empty boots, the final roll call was given, and her mom kissed her picture goodbye; the tears flowed again as I said a prayer for her mother.  Mothers should not have to bury their daughters.  The reverse is hard enough.

Earlier in the day, Jordan texted me and broke the news that Maya Angelou had passed.  I was watching TV and doing a little midmorning snoozing after having sat up to watch both Venus and Serena lose during the early morning broadcast of the French Open.  That was a double bummer.  I woke up, stunned, and just sat there, still and quiet.  I thought about the morning that I was pulling into the parking lot at school when Tom Joyner announced that Coretta Scott King had lost her battle with her illness, cancer, if I remember correctly.  I remember sitting in the car, still and stunned, and I just had to give into the tears that began to fall.  I also started thinking about my mom and how much we both loved Maya (and Alice, and Toni…), and a quiet sadness waved over me and made my tears spill onto my cheeks. 

I always could imagine Maya Angelou as a member of my family, laughing and talking and telling stories. Ever since my mom gave me a trilogy of her books for Christmas when I was in ninth grade, back when I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings was listed in the fiction section of the library, when that book and only a few scant others were the only ones found in the "special section for Black lit", that one shelf in the back of the store or in the front to the side so they could watch you, or when the bookstores had no black authors at all--thank God for The Know Bookstore in Durham... ever since all of that, I have loved Maya Angelou. Just thinking out loud and remembering.

I also changed my profile picture briefly in honor of Maya.  I plan to change it back to the “bring back our girls” picture I have posted to represent my profile, as I have not forgotten them, and continue to await hope in vigil with their mothers and those praying across the globe for their safe return.  I am standing by my bulletin board in my old classroom, Room 507, Literature Heaven (my name for my old haunt, and also the name of a wiki page I made back then, circa 2008). That was my picture I took for a project that I did with my homeroom that year, a mini poster introducing ourselves.  When I taught, Maya Angelou was one of my teaching heroes; my other teaching hero and role model was my mother.  One of the many things that they both had in common, and I worked hard to emulate, was their superb storytelling ability.  I try to give my voice a musical cadence when I read, to really become the character of whom I am reading, to break out in song when the music is embedded within the story or just seems to enhance the story and thrill the listeners.  How could I teach Virginia Hamilton’s “The People Could Fly” without introducing the story with a verse of “I’ll Fly Away?”  Even big children love to be read to, in middle school and high school, and I learned how to teach, mesmerize, and instill a love of literature in my students from two of the best role models on the planet!  Zora would be very proud that her legacy for storytelling lives on, from the lips of the famous and the not so famous, everyday sisters, extraordinary teachers like Mary Elizabeth Mayfield Jordan, great legends like Dr. Maya Angelou, and even a good but paling in comparison  storyteller like me.

If I were still teaching, my lesson would have to include Maya in some way. I would make it work, even if I had to table part of my planned lesson. She is that important to the literary world. It would not even be a stretch to deviate. In all of her amazing ways, I know she would have fit—poetry, fiction, writing, history, memoir, informational text... my mind is popping with possibilities... autobio, end of the year road maps, life stories as you say goodbye to middle school, epitaphs, thoughts about "the hyphen", a letter to the author... Oh, how I will miss her.

My mama here on earth is gone. My hero, my shero, Dr. Maya Angelou, born Marguerite Johnson, has gone to the Great Beyond. She broke all of the fettered cages that threatened to silence her voice while on her journey through this life, a life lesson to be admired and to learn from.  Shedding a few tears right now. I will miss your sonorous, melodious voice, so beautiful, rich, and strong. Tell my Mom hello. I know you and she will be sharing poetry tonight. RIP. 

 

“Listen to yourself and in the quietude you might hear the voice of God.”  Dr. Angelou’s last tweet with the world, May 23, 20014