Beloved Valerie
It feels surreal to place your picture on my altar, to watch the flames of each candle wick dance across the contours of your smiling face. There are no words that suffice, no string of syllables that sound as comforting as your laugh, no way for me to express how much you are loved or how grateful I am for your gift of friendship.
And so I have taken the time to listen - to follow your example and embrace the strength of silence and distill what my body, my spirit, my heart is telling me as I consider your passing.
I think of you and am reminded of boisterous meals, misplaced parking tickets, and electrifying brainstorms. I found a kindred spirit who took baths as seriously - if not more- than I do and learned the genius of having a snack cabinet with a never ending supply of chocolate. We held hands and shared many waffles, hunted for the best green juice that Eatonton could offer, obsessed over stripper wings, and found that I have no real talent for picking wine.
I would thumb the edges of my insecurity and wonder why you were so confident in me - I wondered why a woman who widened the doors of the literary world for so many, would turn to outstretch her hand to mine and make room. I think of you and relish your unwavering belief that we - those of us shaped by the margins - belonged on bookshelves, bestsellers lists, syllabi, dance floors, and at the head of the table in executive meetings. You will always be a luminous possibility model and embodiment of brilliant Black feminist magic.
I think of you and hear the chorus of your laughter. We’d joke about our throuple-esque marriage, keeping my credit card on file for all your future publications, and the bevy of television shows about Black womanhood that were the same recipe just in different fonts (Harlem is still my favorite of the bunch). You never let me feel ashamed for feeling my way through life so deeply and my penchant for overusing dashes. You reminded me that sometimes the best balm is the delicious melding of ink on paper and the writer’s privilege of creation on a blank page. Sometimes the most courageous thing we can do is to tell our stories. I am so lucky that you are a part of mine.
I join countless others who cannot imagine the trajectory of our lives without your friendship, mentorship, support, and gentle shade. I voraciously read “Wrapped in Rainbows” and knew that if Zora was your literary grandmother with Alice as your mother, then I’d happily sit at your feet with you as my most favorite and gentle auntie. In this season of life, I am “Gathering Blossoms” with the certainty that their bloom will be as effervescent as your beautiful spirit.
I know that in this quiet space, you are still with us - a beloved ancestor gently swaying to Songs in the Key of Life, enjoying a decadent chocolate croissant,and encouraging us to savor each precious moment of sisterhood and kinship. You left us earth-side wrapped in rainbows, but you my friend remain the sun.
Rest in Peace, Valerie Jean Boyd 1963-2022
