I hope you have never had the experience of pulling up to a familiar place, your home, your work, or a friends house, and seeing the immediate signs that something wrong has happened. There is nothing worse then that sinking feeling. In October, 1937, Babu writes:
Monday, October 18th, 1937
This morning Jaime gave me a ride and we remarked about the motorcycle standing in front of my office. I found, when I got upstairs, that Milton Adams, our colored janitor, while cleaning the windows, had lost his balance and fell down 4 stories to the pavement. He died at 10 am. Cooking school and after Johnny Lech, Frankie, and two other boys and us girls went riding. Played football on a golf green.
That is terrible. How sudden…how easy…
There was no reversal.
I hate that Babu sounds so calloused in this passage but I know that is how she records. And she doesn’t emote, but rarely. I feel that just in the way I am honoring his memory and life, so was Babu when she recorded his name and demise.
It just doesn’t seem fair.