Maya Angelou and Black Women of her Age

I was explaining to my grand nephew, Alex, who I love so very dearly, that he has exceptionally long fingers because his great grandfather had very long fingers, as are mine. And I told him that his great grandfather was my father; his mother's grandfather.
As I spoke these words, I realized for the first time, the real meaning of the very short distance in time between a great grandson and his great grandfather. It hit me, this incredibly short span of years, and here I was bridging the gap. It hit me square in the heart. This 12 year old was talking to me, his grand aunt who is his grandmother's age, and our father is this beautiful boy's great grandfather.

Then I remembered hearing on NPR, a true story about an embroidered pillow case being donated to the soon to be National Museum of African American History and Culture. This story struck my heart, I cried hearing it; its poignancy has stayed with me. For days now I've been thinking about Black women of Maya Angelou's age. Their great grandmothers would have been slaves.

A young slave hastily embroidered a pillowcase, to give to her young daughter, telling her that she will always be near her, she is precious to her, she will always love her. She will always love her. She knew she was being sold the next morning, and would never see her beloved daughter again. The pillow case was the only way she could be sure her daughter would know she was loved, she had a mother who loved her, who would always love her.

This story has stayed in my heart for days now, and makes me shudder at the sheer dread, fear, pain, heart and soul pain, earthshaking pain, howling pain, unbearable pain that the great grandmothers of women of Maya Angelou's age went through. Maya and Black Women, African American Women of her age are so very close to a sort of pain, a societal brutality and callousness that we may never appreciate. A ruthless disruption of bonding, the dear human need for continuity, love, bonding. Such ruthless disruption made normal. We may never know the depth of the scaring of lives and souls, as close as a great grandmother.