Emmitt Till's Eye
When asked, as I was many times, what the most significant change I've noticed since becoming a mother was, I'd usually lie. "Oh, heh-heh," I'd chuckle, "bigger boobs!" or "can't wear as much black anymore -- spit-up stains, har-dee-har-har!" But the truth? The biggest change is -- I shudder more. I shudder a lot more.When El was around three months old and we were in a rare transitory period when all she did was nurse, nap and coo, I blissfully rested with her on the couch, the ever-present Boppy and bottled water at hand, and watched a little television. A documentary about Emmitt Till came on. Revolutionary civil rights upstart that I am (oh, wait, that's not me, that's Rosa Parks, but I digress ...) I hunkered down to watch.
Emmitt Till was a young black man who was lynched in 1955 for the heinous crime of flirting with a white shopkeeper's wife. During the course of the program, the documentary featured interviews with Till's mother. She described the condition of her son's body following his murder. Despite the morticians' best efforts, he was still mutilated beyond recognition. Mamie Till said the only thing she saw that told her that this truly was her son was his one remaining eye.
His eye. Her son's eye. Her baby boy's eye.
My own babe in arms, I started weeping.
Her eye. My daughter's eye. My baby girl's eye.
From that moment on, I morbidly began obsessing over every parent who'd ever had to identify their dead child. Knowing how I pored over every inch of my new little love, how I knew every inch of her precious body, how I might know it was her body in a morgue when I saw it. Or how I might not know.
Even though she was urged to have the coffin closed for his service, Till's mother refused. She wanted the world to see what hatred had done to her boy. I considered this as well. Could I do the same? Could I put aside my revulsion and grief for the greater good? Would I have the fortitude and certainty that she had?
No.
I would selfishly cling to the perfection of the moment, my new child resting her head on my chest, snoring slightly, sleeping safely.
And now? Nearly three years and another baby later? My babies' gorgeous, moist, blinking and living eyes.
And the shuddering.
posted by tumpover @ 11:40 AM
1 Comments:
actually, i'm beyond words.
but it is very very clear to me why you and i are friends.
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