Invisible Blackness

Someone mummy knows through work has died. The wake, viewing, funeral and after funeral gathering took place across four towns in Fairfield county to give his broad cross section of people a chance to pay respects.

This person died at hospice after cancer metastasized and a last ditch surgery removing pieces of liver, gall bladder and other parts failed. Needless to say, he was in pain.


He worked at the job for twenty plus years with largely the same people. No one visited hospice or hospital or home to say, Dog, sorry. I mean, his immediate family yes. His community built up working in health care in close quarters? Dassanope. My mother and one white person from the job showed up to the funeral services. Twenty years. That’s a lot of life. These people work 60, 70+ hour weeks. People flew in from Trinidad, people from his primary (grade) school came to say goodbye. That was beautiful, in contrast.

My mother hates when I talk about race. She corrects, quietly chastises or changes the subject when I do. She is/was also a Trump supporter, but we aren’t citizens, so the world is safe from her vote. Now, she is in her feelings. Disappointed, grieving and calling it out for what it is: racism.


She lives near sunken places (lower Fairfield county Connecticut).

She said, this wasn’t a nobody you know? He was educated! He did well in life. What she means is, he was respectable. But respectability didn’t make him special.


I said, mummy, don’t you notice how in elevators, at grocery stores, the post office, they brush right past you, sometimes bump you without acknowledgement?

Yes! Even the nurses I work with every day, she said, we run into each other at the pharmacy and they pass me straight!


They don’t see you. They didn’t see him. And that’s why they didn’t come.

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