It is not my story to tell, yet I feel an obligation; it is a story that desires to be told. Her short life was so rich it leaves one aching for details. People need to hear, some need to forgive and most need to heal. Taking the reigns (as I voluntarily have) is bold and ambitious, but exercising audacity is the only option. Besides... writers get creative immunity, so no apology necessary.
Not everything written will be rosy. Relatives and friends will want me to hush, not share her secrets, let her memory remain untarnished (as if her life ever was...black folk and their secrets).
It's my goal to magnify the beautiful-mess- of- a- life she lead. Most importantly, I want to share (and understand) the love/ hate duality she suffered with.
The story calls and thus, I have a duty to answer. This is my voice.