Today is the birthday of a woman who is
almost a sister to me.
She was my roommate, mostly by chance,
during our freshman year of college.
We were each others' roommates, completely by intention,
for the next five years,
through college and then my graduate school.
She was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis
when I was waiting for my first child to be born.
He turned 40 last May.
She is still alive, brave spirit.
She is unable to communicate--
so for the past many years,
ours has been a one-way conversation.
My sister/friend was one of four African American members
of our class when we started college
in the early 60s. (Soon, they were three.)
She was serious and silly, kind beyond measure,
smart, and aware. And, as I said above,
she was a woman of great courage and conviction.
I learned so very much from her.
She is the wife of a dedicated soul,
the mother of two beautiful adults,
and the grandmother of three darling children.
She was a social worker,
an advocate for the disabled and the needy.
While we were in school,
she took on a sense of responsibility
for all the women of color who attended
our mostly Caucasian school
during a time of great societal racial unrest.
She is my hero.
Wherever you are, my cherished friend,
know I love you and I miss you
There is not a day that goes by that I don't think of you.
I say good morning to your picture every day.
How I wish I could talk with you, kid.