One week after my maternal grandmother’s funeral I have finally managed to put together my photo and video study of our day of mourning. They say it is a celebration of life, a “homegoing celebration” in African American pentecostal Christian vernacular, and that is true in one sense. It is also true that, as the minister who preached the eulogy stated, a vital link of our family tree has been taken from us. Whatever the complexities our various relationships to her may have had, that is still a shock to our understanding of our biological family. Calling it a day of mourning may not be “spiritual”, but it is appropriate.
In light of all of the examples we are presently inundated with concerning black people being dehumanized and even murdered in cold blood, I wanted to share this intimate look into my family’s experience. We are not a well-known family born into connections or propelled to the international spotlight due to the circumstances of our loved one’s death. We are everyday people privately living our lives. But on this day I choose to pull back the curtain for just a moment and allow the world in.
We are human, and when one of us dies, whether of natural causes like my 92-year-old grandmother or via some tragedy, we mourn.
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