To: Life Giving.

My grandmother whose birthday we usually celebrate with Mother's Day has finally gotten to the stage of life she called 'Ayo Pancho', which is in effect, her death, that is, in the more human sense. I have made peace with the humor of her soul and the way she would anticipate ancestorship every year at her low-sodium, middle-of-the-week dinner with her closer friends and neighbors. How there would somehow be the odd presence of Royal Castle chicken next to the bowl of Lo Mein. Her rendition of 'Mother's Eyes' and the haunt of Jonnie Walker on the outer carve of her notes.

When she was able, she had the tradition of appeasing the spirits of her deceased parents by preparing saltless food and leaving it out for them once a year, laid out on the dining room table with a shallow bowl with a candle footed in some water. She used the bright red table mats with the stars on them that looked like the old 'Cannings' logo. My family became more Christian and she became less able to do it herself, and eventually it stopped. My documenting of it is the only way I will remember it like it had been. I am not sure how her daughters will treat with Mother's Day today.

My own boyfriend sometimes accuses me of hating men. This is not true. It's only that to this point in my life I have known the strength of so many women in my life, who have given birth to one of my selves, whose stomachs have carried me through the war of the world and who have nurtured the patchwork of song in my spirit. My father is a beautiful man, he has never failed me, not once. My lover is uniquely amazing and I love him beyond all, but the women in my life are the ones who have made me.

For my own mother, and what it means to have a child who identifies strongly with ethnicity, a double world she can only understand on certain levels. The way that my legal studies could make her infinitely happy and the way she works to understand me more, the thing that came out of her, but less from her. The prayers she formed me in. I thank her, she is more of a woman that I could ever thank her for being.

For my aunts, who have helped me tremendously to now, who taught me all I know about family and what it means to keep one. The wishes and proud hopes of my grandmother, Anita, to show me the miracle of the loaves. For Ryan's mom and how her faith feeds mine some days. To the women without blood relations who have shaped me, Aunty Charmaine, Mrs. Marin, Mrs. Singh, Aunty Debbie, Aunty Camille. For the counsel of my sisters. Kel, Ivy, Akilah, Ardene, Dej. This is a celebration of you all. I cannot thank you as you should be thanked. There are blessings that can reach where I cannot.

My Grandmother's Road March.