Life doesn’t stop because you’re dissertating. That’s why “Ordinary African Student” narrates the fullness of my experiences as I navigate this process. In celebration of National Siblings Day, which takes place every year on April 10th, today’s blog post is dedicated to my older sister, Patricia Owusu, who passed on January 9, 2014. On the 10th anniversary of her passing, I asked my partner to interview me about her (I know, real academic of me), so that I could have the space I’ve been longing for to speak about her more freely and extensively. I am dividing the conversation into 2 blog posts. In the first blog post, I share about who she is and what she means to me. In the second post, I will share about how I make meaning about grief/grieving after navigating it intimately for 10 years.
For someone like me who didn’t know Patricia, what are memories you can share that captured her essence?
When Patricia passed, I wrote memories of her in a journal, so I wouldn’t forget them. It’s almost like I knew that over time, I would have fewer opportunities to talk about her and my memories of her. And of course, I don’t have my journal with me, so these are memories that have stayed with me:
Trisha always gave people nicknames. These nicknames seemingly had nothing to do with the person’s actual name and they always evolved over time. For example, my given name is Margaret, and the nickname for Margaret is Peggy. Trisha abbreviated Peggy to P.G. because she thought that I was “so wholesome and innoncent” like PG, the movie rating. Back then, I was really tall (which I still am) and skinny, so she thought it was both fitting and ironic to call me “Big P.G.,” which she later pronounced, “Big Peeg.” Then she went with Na-o-mi-mi (pronounced Nay-Oh-Me-Me and inspired by Naomi Campbell) because, “I looked like a model.” As absurd as her nicknames were, I always loved them because it was her way of hyping me up. She was and still is my biggest fan.
She was really playful, which was expressed in her funny sayings. So one time she owed me money, which, looking back at it, probably only amounted to about $25. If I’m being real, she paid everything for me, so in actuality, I owed her. But that’s beside the point. When I would ask for the money she owed me, she would remind me, “As long as I owe you, you’ll never be broke.” Needless to say, she still owes me, and my ass is still broke!
She was an incredible writer. I often think about how she would have grown as a writer/artist. With her wit, humor, and insight she would’ve definitely gone viral on the socials a couple of times. She was even better at editing. When I was in college, there wasn’t a paper I wrote that she didn’t edit for me. In the beginning, she would edit my paper and email it back to me, claiming she made “a couple of key changes,” which meant she basically rewrote the whole paper. I began studying her edits, so by senior year, she forreal only made a few key changes. Sometimes I feel and call on her spirit when I am writing this dissertation/struggling to write it. Now, Trisha’s key changes are felt deeply in my big sister Rose’s edits. They have different styles, but they both always understand the assignment.
She definitely had a way with words. She was my rap translator. I remember when she broke down Biggie Small’s “What’s Beef.” I would always go hard when he said, “Beef is when I see you, guarantee to be in ICU,” because I noticed that’s the part of the song when she went the hardest. Until she broke it down for me, I didn’t know what the ICU unit was, so I didn’t realize Biggie was talking about sending folks to the hospital in a dire state! She also broke down the literary genius of Kanye West’s personification in his love letter to Chicago in “Homecoming.”(I know, cause Kanye right now….but I’m trying to make a point here). I’m sure there are a lot of lyrics that are going over my head right now, but I understand and can spit verbatim (some) hip hop classics because of her.
What’s something you could always count on Patricia for?
Calling me. One time she left me a message on Facebook and was like, “Where have you been? I haven’t even used my six call quota today!” Like a typical Black mama, she would leave me voicemails announcing herself as if I couldn’t tell it was her. I could always count on her to be there. Available. Always ready to pull up. And, you know, I am mindful of celebrating this while I’m in a space where boundaries are so important to me. At the same time, I’m trying to highlight the sacred bond between siblings. They, for many of us, are our first friends, frenemies, roommates, and loves. I could always depend on Patricia when I needed her most. Whether or not she was with me, she was a constant in my life. She is a constant in my life.
What are things that feel painfully incomplete in her absence?
Beautiful question. This is why I asked you to do this for me! It is hard for me to fully access my childhood memories in her absence. Oftentimes when we’re trying to recall childhood memories, we have to call on those who were witnesses to these sacred moments. We may have different accounts of what happened, where, and how, but we are able to use everyone’s collective memory to fill in the missing gaps. Patricia was such an integral part of my childhood, so in her absence, I feel like I’ve lost an important witness — some of my memories are either not there or incomplete. I have so many people in my community who are my mirrors. They reflect back to me what they see in me, which helps me see myself more fully and honestly. I am eternally grateful for them. And I feel like I’m missing Patricia’s perspective, which is a gap that cannot be filled. In this stage of my life, I long for her perspective. She knew me deeply, and was able to see everything possible for me from this knowing. As I prepare to enter another transition in my life without her counsel, I feel her absence so strongly.
If you could sit with her one last time, what would you tell her?
I wouldn’t tell her something; I would ask her something. I would ask, “How are you doing? Forreal?” As a Type I diabetic, Patricia was taxed mentally and physically in ways that I will never fully comprehend. Her vibrance masked her suffering, which made her suffering easier for those around her (myself included) to digest and sometimes ignore. In the end, I know I was an incredible sister to her. At the same time, my growth and awareness has enabled me to retrospectively attune to what she was navigating on a daily basis. So I would just want to create the space for her that she needed and offered to others so graciously.
Over the years, I have found it healing to share about Trisha’s memory in community with others. Below are a few messages that folks wrote on the 10th anniversary of her passing (scroll to the end of the blog). If you knew Trisha, I would love for you to share a memory of her, an affirmation, etc. If you didn’t know her, after reading this post, you’ve learned a bit about her, so I invite you to share as well. If you would like to honor a loved one who has passed and still remains with you, I welcome that as well. Despite what Western society tries to convince us, we were meant to grieve in community instead of suffering in silence.
I hope you all take good care of yourselves this week and always.
With gratitude,
Mimi
