Dear Historians of the future…

I don’t know what my mother looked like when she was young. I don’t have an idea of her as a child nor in her 20s, 30s, 40s... The two photos I have of her are from much, much later in her life, from after time and loss took their toll on her mind and body. Now I am in my late 20s and they tell me that I look like her. They say that I have smile or eyes. But what her about dimples? How about those eyes, smile, and humor that matured into—my imagined mother is my model. My knowledge of her is limited to what people say about her or about me as part of her in ways I can only imagine.

There can be a hopelessness in not knowing and dispare in knowing that I may never actually know anything real about her.

But I know who I am.

I know who I do not want to be.

Maybe because I dreamed me up right alongside her, we got to grow together.

My mother was smart and kind.

I want to be just like her when I grow up.

But her smartness and kindness are not merely fictious.

To imagine my mom, I had to do research. So I found Toni Morrison and in the archive, more data to design my mother.

My resources were limitless for making her.

A kind touch on the arm by a nurse with mischievous eyes.

I can do this too.

To my future children, the many dreams making themselves up as they go, hello, Dear Historians.