My Sister Called to Say Mom Had Died, While Mom Was Standing Right Beside Me

Not in black. Not in mourning.

She chose white.

A crisp suit. Pearls at her throat. A gold handled cane she had not needed in months but carried anyway, like punctuation.

“You look like yourself again,” I told her.

“I never stopped being myself,” she said. “I just stopped letting her write the story.”

Ebenezer Baptist stood solid and red brick against continue reading …