By: Angela D. Odom

I started the year with such high hopes in anticipation for this year’s National Black Lesbian Conference.  I was going to set up a booth to promote FemmeNoir and I had plans of doing so much while there.  Christine and I unfortunately missed the last conference.  We both wanted to go and actually paid to attend, but she was not feeling well and we had to cancel and donate the funds for someone else to attend.  This year, I wanted to go because I knew, if Christine were alive today, not only would she have attended the conference, I'm sure she would have been involved as well.  I can almost see her, African garbed and head adorned with one of her many Kofi hats. 

By mid-February, I was unsure whether I would attend this year’s conference.  I began the year reorganizing and started placing one foot back into business, then one leg, and finally my whole being.  I started planning for expansion, worked on my business plans, set goals, considered future investments in equipment and software.  By the end of February, I knew I would not be able to make the necessary commitment for setting up a vendor space at the conference.  The weekend before March 8, the day of my brother’s accident, I knew all plans for the conference were off.  After my brother’s accident, everything was set aside. 

Earlier this month, after re-posting and subsequently re-reading my own Commentary, Our Story, I realized I needed to make a concerted effort to attend and support this national organization for lesbians of color – Zuna.  It would be better for me to go and sit even if I did nothing more, in the company of my sisters, than not go at all.  On the very last day to register online I submitted my registration for the conference wondering what day, if any, I could attend. 

I first thought I could get to the conference on Friday evening after visiting with my brother.  My plan was to spend an hour visiting with him and then head off to the hotel.  Well, I ended up at the hospital for almost six hours having a very emotional conversation with him.  It was more important for me to spend time with him going over old times, hugging, crying and just plain ole fashioned down home talking.  We spent a beautiful evening together, albeit quite emotional, but a beautiful evening nonetheless.  I went home spent that evening and thought “well, maybe Saturday.”

On Saturday, I knew I would accompany my mother to retrieve personal items from my brother’s car.  This was the first time I would see his car up close and personal.  My mother broke down in tears when I retrieved the shoes my brother wore the night of the accident from beneath the gas and brake pedals.  I, on the other hand, could not break down.  I very seldom let my emotions get in the way when I have a job to do – afterwards, I knew I would break down too.  The first thing I thought when I took in the totality of my brother’s car was “there is a God.”  How my brother survived that accident and how they got him out of that car eludes me.  I was visibly shocked, but I continued to look all over that jaws-of-life bitten car for everything he wanted retrieved.  I had to pretend I was not seeing what I was seeing.  Afterwards, I returned home, changed clothes and headed for the hotel to briefly look around, maybe greet some folks and head off to the hospital to visit my brother. 

Well, the 405 Freeway would have me for a more than an hour before I could arrive at the hotel with barely enough time to go in and go out.  I shot in, saw some wonderful artwork, grabbed a card and shot out and off to the hospital.  I don’t think I was there 20 minutes, if that, before I was off again.  At the hospital, I spent as much time as I could with him and talked about his car.  In his condition, unable to move about as most of us too often take for granted, he wanted the details about his car.  What did it look like?  What did you see?  He wanted the visuals; he wanted the eyes of someone who can walk outside and see to describe for him the colors of the world.  I gave it my best shot and became just as depressed as he.  When visiting hours were over, I headed for home again spent and again thinking, “well, maybe tomorrow.” 

When I got home, I sat down hard in my office chair and the reality of my brother’s car hit me – I was afraid, I was very afraid at how close he came to death.  As tears welled in my eyes, I turned, as if by some unknown power and made a phone call to one of the women I knew was staying at the hotel and told her I was on my way back to the hotel and to look for me near the location for the evening’s party.  I believe I did this to ensure I’d get off my butt, get out of that house and go somewhere, anywhere, but I could not stay there. 

On the way to the hotel, latent images of my brother’s car played like a video in my head and brought me untold fear.  I imagined the tire penetrating the driver’s side floor, the dashboard and how it moved further into the car, the door sitting in the front seat, the glass everywhere, I could not shake the images from my head.  I was now driving, in the rain, fearing I too would have an accident.  Would I survive?  The pain he must have experienced as they pulled him him from the car.  Oh, I couldn’t see straight and then I remembered the words of June Jordan, “what turns my head in the opposite of fear is someone who talks to me.” 

I had to be in the company of my sisters, to be enjoined in the arms of women who embrace with love, to feel the kisses that take all the hurt away, to hear the voices melodic and strong, to know women will be there who have seen and suffered much themselves and realize this too shall pass, to hear the joy in their laughter, to experience a woman’s wit and charm, to take in their beauty – I had to continue on.  I had to go.

At the hotel, I walked in and greeted a few women I knew, some were familiar to me while others were not.  There were many women there I did not know and it was just good to be in their company whether I knew them or not.  It was good to look at women without questioning eyes.  One woman told me there was a picture of Christine on the wall around the corner.  I got up and took a walk down the corridor where I saw, Pat Parker, Ruth Ellis and then Christine Tripp.  She was there cuddling little Destiny Diva Dawg.  She was there.  If I did nothing else that evening, seeing her beautiful picture and bio on the wall would have been enough for me.  I stood there, looked at her picture and thought “you made it girlfriend, you are here.” 

I returned, happy, purchased a glass of chardonnay, sat back in an easy chair and took in the sights and sounds of women.  I didn’t do as much as I had hoped; I have very little energy these days.  I didn’t participate in any of the events or hear any of the speakers, but it did my heart good just to sit, in the company of my sisters.  It was good to see them move about the floor, talk, smile, laugh, and/or dance.  It was good to see folks I had not seen in such a long, long time.  While there I got a chance to meet a sister from the FemmeNoir family and it did my heart good to talk, chat and laugh with this wonderful sister and listen to her talk about her acceptance of self and the remarkable changes in her life.  I salute and applaud her; she truly was so good for my soul. 

As I left the hotel that night and journeyed home, I remembered the words of a Teddy Pendergrass song “I didn’t realize at first that it could have been worse.  I am truly blessed.”  And so I am.  I spent an evening in the company of my sisters who could laugh freely and bring joy to my heart.  Who embraced with the arms of love and melted away my fears.  Who turned my head in the opposite of fear and talked to me.  Who walked about sharing, freely, their love for one another and there was no beautiful sight than two women in love who freely shared their love for one another.  It was a beautiful evening and I am glad I was there. 

Zuna’s conferences are biannual and I hope, if you were not at this conference, you do plan, mark your calendars, and make preparations to attend the next conference in 2005.  If you do nothing more than what I did, sit in the company of our sisters, it will be well with your soul if you do.  In the meantime, as we prepare in anticipation for the next conference, support your local and national Black lesbian organizations.  Without them, our tireless – or maybe right now our very tired advocates, we are destined to return to the dark ages.  And now, while I’m on the begging platform, GIVE MONEY, $1, $5, $10, whatever you can to support these organizations.  It ain’t gonna fall from the sky, I’ve been standing out there and no money has fallen.  We all have a right to live and love freely.  They need our support, we need to help each other, and we need to stand together because a house divided . . .

I got a little closer to full attendance this year and realized the best balm comes from women.  See you at the next conference -- God Willing and The Creek Don't Rise.