Hey Ma,

So many things were left unsaid.

I understand that it was hard to love the first baby you had to carry. I know you were not rejecting me, your daughter. You were rejecting the experiences surrounding your pregnancy, living with shame, regret, broken promises, grief and loss of your innocence.

When I prayed and asked for guidance and assistance, Ibu Aye took me deep into the river of my own story. I didn’t consider, even for a moment, that I would find you there. But now I see you. I see us. Our stories are intertwined. All the years of shedding pain and grief around those things outside of my control were incomplete without you as part of it. My inability to face you was my inability to face myself. That is part of our story.

I say to you now that I’m sorry.

I realize that your choice to leave this world was not a rejection of me. It was a rejection of a difficult, painful and relentless story that resulted in desparation, hopelessness, feelings of loneliness, confusion, and lovelessness.

You were lied to.

I hope the light I carry shows you this now.

Grandmother loved you.

Grandaddy loved you, he just didn’t know how to love you, but he tried.

I tried to love you but didn’t know how. I’m still learning.

I’m still here. I want to heal our relationship.

I release all the grief, jealousy and loneliness that I felt from you.

I release all pain and resentment I held when I felt you didn’t love me.

I release fear I had of you.

I release the lies you and I were both told about ourselves and our beauty, our blackness, inteligence and potential.

I release the broken promises from men that fed our desparation and starved our happiness.

I release the time I didn’t believe you when you said you loved me, was proud of me, and wished me well.

I embrace what we can be now. You as my ancestor and me as your daughter and ascendent.

I am renewing my commitment to being honest, to love and care for myself.

I love you, Ma.

And I bring you light to carry.