eThoughts : May 20, 2007: In Memoriam

We argued when we first met. Not a disrespectful, knock-down, dragged-out assault, but one born of incredulity. She hadn’t wasted any time wondering what I thought, broaching, shortly after hello, the subject of discrimination—after all, she said, I’m in psychology, she in philosophy. In the course of the discussion, I mentioned how I had been discriminated against and she told me I was, well, f—ed-up. Here was a sort-of-established, middle-class, middle-aged Caucasian male—she described me as GQ—telling a newly middle-class, African-American young-adult female, born and raised in the streets—she described herself as having a ghetto background—about experiencing discrimination. She was astonished at what she considered my audacity—what in the world would I know about real discrimination?

But she was a trained philosopher, and born of sharp wit and insightful mind. Her primary agenda was not about personal hierarchy, but about understanding—though she could rip someone a new aperture if they crossed her or were prone to spouting hyperbole. She also had a soft side, an almost motherly approach for those she cared about. Deciding that I was benign, though lost, the motherly side emerged—she was going to take me under her wing and let me know how little I knew. But I’m no cognitive slouch either—even if I have my duh-moments. Philosophers can get into the tiniest of details, which is just fine with me, as long as we plug it all back into the big picture—micro and macro. And so it went, micro and macro over the course of the next few months that we continued the discussion. Eventually, mutual respect was born and I was no longer deemed the errant mind that needed caretaking and she was no longer the mother hen. Over the years, other discussions followed, many other discussions, both as colleagues and as friends.

About eight or nine years ago, her world, beginning with her physical being, began falling apart. Perhaps the die was cast way before that and what could have been running under the radar came to the surface. In any case, when it did, there was no hiding from the very real dangers. For awhile it seemed like she would be able to pull out of all those problems and get back to thinking and teaching and contribution. Finally, the problems went on for too long and had gone too far, and it became clear that she was walking a plank.

Of course those who knew and respected her held out hope, but hope can only last for so long. As her physical problems turned worse, she started becoming lost in her own world—though she could come out of it for small periods of time. The last three times I spoke with her, I could barely understand what she was saying. The last time we spoke, we at least got it clear I would visit at some point, but later when I tried to call to see how she was doing, get directions, and set a time, her phone service had been disconnected. A few days after that attempt, I received word that she had died of a heart attack at age 45.

Her passing is a loss for all of us, not just those that knew her. That was the extent of both her promise and her accomplishments. When we lose someone like her, someone with the ability to see and discourse with such acuity, we lose a much needed compass. That her final years were troubled is not ours to judge—it was her journey, even if we shared some of it with her. One of the lessons she and I both learned from our discussions about discrimination—about dehumanization—was that when we judge another as not knowing, we presume we know enough about the other to make such judgments. We probably don’t, even if we still have to make judgments. Put those two together, not knowing enough yet needing to decide, and one comes around to the combination of power and humility. That’s one of the many paradoxes she faced—that all of us face. In such a paradoxical journey, if one remembers and practices only one side or the other, one misses great elements of both the journey and the journeyer.

Well, we all miss a lot, that’s the guarantee of living. I think it is not so much what we miss that marks who we are, but what we catch. This woman-person did not go by unnoticed or unnoticing, she left some clear markers along a trail of learning that is well worth wandering. That’s a pretty good legacy.

Thanks for the interaction while you were here, Dasiea, and for the interaction that will surely follow—death does not end relationships, it only changes them. I hope you had a peaceful, freeing, and enlightening transition. If there is a cohesive, individual identity after leaving the body, I’m sure you will learn some new and amazing things. And I can’t help but grin knowing that you’ll have a few observations to pass along to other identities, along with a few worthwhile challenges for them as well.