Time slows down

“Time slows down when you’re grieving,” Donna Hayes told me. She’s an expert on grief, and she’s right. It feels like Palesa died a month ago. How can it only be four days?

It seems years ago that Donna and I made this date to go search for the park where her family celebrated Moose’s fifteenth birthday. She had a vague memory of where the park is, but she wasn’t even sure it was still there, as the city has been selling off land to developers. It’s a small park tucked away in a corner of what was formerly a Black neighborhood, but we found it, shaded by leafy trees with a play structure for children. Perfect.

As readers of my journal know, Moose would have been 22 on August 2, 2021 if he hadn’t been killed by the police in 2017. He lived with Donna most of his life and was her favorite grandson, and since he died she has devoted herself to political efforts to stop racist murders by agents of the State. The birthday party will also be an occasion for making signs for future political protests.

Early this month she was on her way to Detroit to interview mothers of people killed by police when she had what she calls a “mini-stroke” (TIA) on the plane and had to be taken on a stretcher from the plane to a hospital, unable to speak or walk. Two of her sons flew across the country and rented a car to drive her home, as doctors felt being in a pressurized cabin would be dangerous for her. She has recovered enough to be able to walk with a cane, and she was determined to keep our date.

“This is it,” she said as we walked very slowly through the park, her leaning on my arm and holding her cane in her “good” hand. Tears came to her eyes. “I can still see him right over there. He moved like a dancer.” We sat on a bench and she insisted, “Tell me about Palesa.” I told her stories, and she listened. I cried, and she cried with me and told more stories about Moose, all of which I’ve heard before. “Keep talking about her. Keep her name in your mouth. In time you won’t cry as much, but that feeling of being heavy, of your belly being full of tears—that doesn’t go away. Not in my experience.”