Toni Morrison

To me, Toni Morrison's death is like the death of some intrinsic part of me that found a sense of belonging in feeling some of the pain of others even if I have not lived it. I can't know what it is to be Black/African American, but I do know what it is to hurt and to question and to keep seeking for truth and to be angry and to be silent because the words can't come. Her death moves me more than the death of any other person of note in the Arts in so long I can't remember. I shared my favorite books a few weeks ago, and Beloved was on that list. I can remember the first time I read it. I felt confused, often. I had to keep rereading lines and passages. I wasn't sure where the story line was going nor if I was understanding what was happening, and if I was understanding it, it was so horrible that I could hardly bear to think about the characters in that novel. Others weep for their beloved movie stars and music icons. I do, too, but this loss is a hard one for me. Harder than those. I realize she was 88, but that doesn't soften the blow all that much. I feel a great disturbance in the force, but I think that is Toni asking us all to think about what we can do, how we can help, how we must do what we believe can make this world a place where all can feel welcome. May she speak to you this night and empower you to empower yourself and others.