Holding My Breath

Dear Mama, it is me, your broken son. Although the earth’s sorrows dimmed your light from us, I trust heaven has bestowed upon you the glory and dignity you deserve. You and I last spoke in February 2005, five days before you passed away. When you succumbed to your illness – which remains a mystery to this day – I was a mere 13-year-old who not only had to adjust to a new school, but also get used to the reality that you would never live to tell intriguing tales of your childhood. A decade has since passed and as I write you this note I have only heard from you once. You appeared in a dream to reprimand us for the culture of begging which we had adopted shortly after we laid you to your final rest. And so begins Holding My Breath, a memoir fashioned in a way that invites the reader to eavesdrop on a broken young man’s heartfelt conversation with his dead mother. Ace’s mother died when he was 13, leaving behind an extremely broken boy in equally broken circumstances. In her death, he writes to her to celebrate and thank her for her strength and resilience, and that of black mothers in general.