If I close my eyes I can still hear her voice. Sometimes the conversations would begin with a hmmmph, followed by a statement that left no room for interpretation—for she was never anything but crystal clear and to the point. Other times, the hmmmph was preceeded by Child, then an equally observant comment.
We had next to nothing in common other than a shared love for a woman we both worked for, in different capacities, yet, somehow we became friends. I can’t think of her without feeling a twinge of guilt for the privileges that the color of my skin gave me over her, and our conversations were quite possibly the first real ones I’d ever had about race.
Her passing closed a chapter—a period of time in my life that forever changed me. And though she’s gone, she will live forever in my heart.
it's (almost always) about the water... 