But hearing it again, knowing that we’re not invincible — that I’m no longer 20, and he is no longer here — was odd. It’s as if the song died with him.
We become heavy when a loved one passes away. Weight in the form of tears and wails. Yesterday, my godmother, Lola Maxima, used a concoction of wine and steaming hot water to cleanse guests in the home of the recently departed—my uncle Mike, a loving father to three cousins with whom I grew up, a wonderful husband to my aunt Genie (my father’s older sister), and an always warm, lighthearted person with a perpetual smile. I first participated in this family tradition when my father’s father died years ago. (I took the… Read More