Chapter Three of my work in progress presents the first portrait of a woman in my life: my mother. As the most influential person in shaping my self-identity and vision of the world, I could not neglect to tell her story. Moreover, given the current reality of our lives as women in 21st century America, where conservative legislators and the women who support them have forced us back into the 1950s and 1960s, my mother’s story becomes even more relevant.

The first draft of this chapter was written in February 2017, shortly after my mother disowned me as her daughter. In revising this chapter six years later during a period of grief, following her death a year ago on August 22nd, I’ve come to realize how much of my mother’s own pain and loss I’m still carrying.

Given my closeness to the subject, I found it difficult to tell her story without bias or judgement. My objective stance faltered during the narration of intense interactions cited in the portrait. Though I know very little of her life over the thirty years of our separation, my siblings have all shared stories of the terror they had endured. Despite my questions, none of them have been forthcoming about the incident or event that unleashed her rage against them and their spouses. My turn came later, following our reunion in 2003.

The story’s time frame is not linear. Prompted by Mother’s tendency to uproot the past during our conversations, the narrative moves back and forth between our time together in Guyana and in Los Angeles, Southern California. Do let me know if you find this confusing.