elegy for an aunt

a week ago today, i found out that my loved aunt conita, whom i wrote about in january's pink ribbon , passed away. my cousins asked me to give remarks on behalf of the family at the funeral, which i was honored but somewhat reluctant to do. how do you sum up years of multi-layered memories? "but fortunately our memories don't cease," i wrote, "only the ability to make more memories in this place / at this time / in this town / in this skin / in this realm / on this earth..."

her "homegoing ceremony," as we call it, was the kind of celebration of her life and works that aunt co deserved. my uncle's church was packed with well-wishers, neighbors, friends, church colleagues, and other community members. all of the women in the family wore pink. the music was joyously uplifting. the remarks from church, community, and family (mine included) were well-received. my cousin reggie, now a minister in his own right, gave a fantastic eulogy - as i sat there listening in amazement i thought "this was my little cousin whom i watched grow up?" later, as we drove the country road from the church to the cemetery with literally half a mile of cars in the procession, folks both black and white pulled over on the opposite side of the road as a sign of respect.

on the trip home, i wondered if such an outpouring of love and support would be possible in an urban area outside of the south, since many of the attendees were part of aunt co's church communities or were friends of the family from their youth in the tightly-knit pre-integration black community of winston-salem. would people in the bay area, for example, take a day off work to participate in a homegoing for someone unrelated but important?

going home always makes me appreciate and savor the graciousness of my southern roots.