Dear Maya and Toni

Dear Dr. Maya Angelou and Ms. Toni Morrison:

I imagine that, in your places of rest, you’re unburdened of the tragedies and injustices of the living world. I imagine you’re sleeping peacefully under the stars. I imagine your days are full of laughter, food that edifies your bodies and souls, passionate discussion, and art. If you’ll indulge me I hope you’ll read the letters that I’ve written to both of you.

Dear Dr. Angelou,

Thank you and thank God for your life. I am not saddened by your passing because your 86 years have and will continue to shape generations to come. You lived unabashedly and with a freedom that most only dream of, and you did so when you were poor and anonymous, world-renowned, up until the day that you made your transition from this earth.

You taught me courage. I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings was the first in the series of your memoirs that I have read and own. From that book and onward, including All God’s Children Need Traveling Shoes (when you traveled to Ghana), to The Heart of a Woman (when you immersed yourself in writing in Harlem and was unafraid to listen to your heart when you fell in love with an African freedom fighter), to Mom & Me & Mom (when you gave us more of your relationship with your glamorous and resourceful mother), your work has resonated with me.

Do you know that your life represents the embodiment of the power and necessity of self-revelation? You affirmed my desire to gain knowledge, and taught me that speaking is courageous. That living authentically and passionately is courageous and awe-inducing, and leads to happiness.

I have to tell you, I thought you lost it when you met and married your partner then picked up your whole life to move with him to Ghana, Africa. I couldn't imagine making such audacious decisions. As I got older I understood how you can have a love and relationship that is so joyous and bright that making major life-changing decisions like uprooting your whole life to move to another continent makes perfect sense. I was inspired to do the same with my former partner. We were going to move to the Amalfi Coast and live out our dreams.

There also aren’t many people who would forego the reliability of an established life to move to Harlem to start dancing. Or who would then fall in with a group of creatives, writing, and, Singin’ and Swingin’ and Gettin’ Merry Like Christmas. Your life and work are pioneering in that they inspire and teach me. I am committed to creating a career as a full-time writer. Your bravery was a template for me when I decided to stop practicing law and go to graduate school. Your example also inspires me to embrace how a life of trauma shapes me, while also holding on to the notion that I can be happy in spite of that trauma. You taught me that struggling is nothing to be ashamed of.

Reading your work made me feel as though you were the grandmother I never had. I imagine you as the elder griot at whose knees I sat, looking up at you admiringly while greedily anticipating your next word. You helped me believe in the value of my voice.

With utmost gratitude,

Takeia

Dear Ms. Morrison,

The news of your passing hit me in my chest.

Even though you won’t be creating new art, you left me and this world so much of your teaching and writing that we will probably be unpacking the nuances of your work for generations.

Beloved is such a uniquely told story. Throughout the course of the novel, the narrator’s voice went from third-person omniscient to first-person in the final chapter. You saved Sethe’s voice, waiting until after the other characters told her story. You gave Sethe the final say, after everyone else in her life interpreted and judged her actions. You honored Sethe by allowing her to explain why she killed Beloved, her baby girl, because she refused to have Beloved grow up a slave. For Sethe, death was freedom. Death was love. Death was sacrifice.

Sethe told her story, leaving no room for misinterpretation. She is one of the most powerful icons of narrative reclamation I’ve ever read.

Thank you for taking on the heart-work of uncovering Margaret Garner’s story and for creating unforgettable characters in your empathetic and compassionate retelling that story.

Beloved settled in my gut nearly 20 years ago, when I was a college student at the University of Southern California. I invited Sethe, Beloved, and the real-life Margaret Garner to occupy space in my consciousness. And I thank the Ancestors that they never left. Instead, they commune with Celie from Alice Walker’s The Color Purple and Janie from Zora Neale Hurston’s Their Eyes Were Watching God. They invite new Black women writers to their storytellers’ table. I embody the words of each of them, characters and authors. You’re all my ancestors and I honor you. Thank you, Ms. Morrison, for setting the table and for welcoming more Black women writers to join you.

With admiration and gratitude,

Takeia