Journal Entries @ MindSay 
I think the hardest thing I have ever done is to tell my children that their cousin had died. We knew she was very sick, we knew that her time was short, even having only a few hours left. I have never, not ever experienced pain and grief such as this before. For the baby that never had a chance to live a full life, for myself, I can't bear the thought of losing my child, for my sister and her husband who did loose their child, for my children, whose sorrow and grief are great.
There was a web site set up to update us all on Crystal's progress, and we wold leave messages there in the gurst book. I am currantly making a scrap book of the journal and guest book entries for my sister. I had to sort the entries for the day she died, the ones before she died and the ones after she died. I just read all the entries form that day. I've copied the entries of my two oldest children. Their pain is nearly unbearable for me.
My dear baby girl, I love you so much. I never thought I would have to say goodbye. I don't know how to say it either. I didn't get to see you a lot but you meant so much to me. Being your oldest girl cousin I feel I need to be there to talk to you about boys, school, life, and everything else. Now I will never get the chance to do that. From lack of spending time with you I don't know that much about you but the one thing I do know is that you were always a fighter. With everything that you went through you always stayed with us. Now your rest.
Cindy and Cliff- Just remember Life is Beautiful. She might not of had the best life being in the hospital but she was a beautiful child and I love her so much. I will miss you forever and always.
Your loving cousin Stephie
Dear Crystal,
I don't know how to say goodbye. You never made sense to me. I never had the chance to be your friend. All I wanted was to be there when you had your first school play, or piano recital, or basketball game. I just wanted to do the things, an oldest cuzin is supposed to do. But that was not to be. I never had the chance, just like you never had the chance, to get to know me. I'm sorry I couldn't have been there for you more often, even though you might not understand, I very much wanted to be. Now, I will never get to see you smile again. I'm going to miss you.
Love, Cuzin Gus.
I weep for my sisters loss, I weep for the loss of this tiny life, and I weep for the grief of my children...........
When I found out I was pregnant, I began keeping a separate journal for the baby. At first it was supposed to be a journal about my pregnancy experiences, but it evolved into a journal that recorded all of the big events in our lives. I have entries about tropical storm Allison, the 2000 Election, September 11th, and now Hurricane Katrina. Below is the entry I wrote about September 11th;
September 11, 2001
I can't believe what happened today. It's like a bad dream. We slept late. You didn't wake mommy up until 9:22 a.m. I immediately jumped up and got you ready for daycare. You were a good little girl and not as fussy as usual.
When we got into the car, no music was playing on the radio. The announcers said that a plane crashed into one of the towers of the World Trade Center. That's in a city called New York, little one. As I heard the announcer talking about it, I was still thinking it was an accident until they started using the word "attack". They said a few minutes later another plane crashed into the other tower! I don't know why I continued driving to the daycare. I think I was on auto pilot. The daycare lady, Mrs. Hunt, told us they we closed. That's when it dawned on me. America was under attack!
I raced home and called your Grandpa. He works for the Federal Aviation Administration (FAA). Your Pa Pa's job is to make sure the radar tower at Ellington Field is working in tip top shape. I couldn't reach him at all and I started to worry. As I drove home, I started thinking about all of my students who were back at school. Since you were born in August, Mommy didn't have go to work for the first three weeks of school. I knew the kids would be scared.
I also started thinking about who could have done such a terrible thing. I have a hunch it's a bad guy named bin Laden. He blew up some big U.S. Navy ships last year and bombed a big building in Kenya. He's a very bad man. I hope they catch him soon.
When we got home, I couldn't stop holding you. I wouldn't even put you down when your daddy got home. I kept thinking, I'd never let anyone hurt you. I waited 40 weeks for you to come into my life and NO ONE is going to threaten to cut that short. I would gladly fight to the death for you. Mommy is a fighter and she always will be. Mommy will always go down fighting.
I am in the beautiful, pastel, breezy old capitol (of all West Africa, in fact) of St. Louis. May as well be in Barcelona. Though St. Louis has this abandoned air about it. We are staying in the colorful Café des Arts, the cheapest auberge listed in my now filthy Lonely Planet. But it is clean and cozy and the bathroom has hot water! A little. But it’s the idea that counts. How I wish I could have seen this place in its hay day—the crumbling colonial structures speak of a bygone era. Granted, an unhappy one. Maybe. Would probably be good to brush up on the history of the place before wishing myself to a slave trade center. The European Quarter, the island, looks and smells and feels like Europe. Well, not really at all. Still all of the tiny cluttered boutiques. Mosques at every corner. Just one tangana. Last night we went to a Vietnamese restaurant….though the prices were too steep to actually stay and eat. But I was in awe of the splendor. Set tables. Cloth napkins. A polished bar. I think that there was even a fish tank. Ahh I keep on forgetting where I am. Except when we crossed the bridge into the fisherman’s village…where the desperation, poverty and chaos became painfully palpable again. Fish guts and flies everywhere. Little kids rolling in dirty sand. A tiny girl peeing on the sidewalk. Yet, the sidewalks were still in existence. And relatively clean. The laundry hanging from absolutely every fixed point. And then the fishermen’s graveyard. Lumps of sand marked by bits of driftwood inscribed with fading Islamic prayers. Goats munching on Allah knows what. Lots of goats. Don’t want to think about why. I want an apartment here. Admittedly, in the European quarter. A big balcony encircling the entire building just below the roof, an airy courtyard in the middle. I’d fix it up, bring in jazz musicians for small concerts (jazz is huge here). Am feeling very colonial. Have been reading too much Austen and Anna Karenina.
Am shaken. To the point of nausea. And physical pain. The other day Thioro and Amadou came into my hut. Thioro had a toothache and they wondered if I had any medicaments for her metis (pain). I produced some Advil and explained, at least five times, how it should be taken. Translating “one should not exceed 4 pills in 24 hours” into Frolof proved a bit difficult. But we pulled through and she feels better and, so far, does not appear to have ODed on Advil. Then tonight a whole throng of kids comes in. Pindas explains that her big uncle (?) has a stomach problem and asked if I have any medicaments for him. I pulled out my bottle of Pepto and some Imodium. She lead me outside where an older man I had never seen before was lying on the grass mats clutching his chest. They roused him and he slowly started to unwind a band of cloth tied around his chest/middle. The kids gathered around him, one of them holding a gas lamp, and I sat beside him to get a better look. The old man had a growth, a tumor I’m assuming, unlike anything I had ever seen before. Not only was it huge and red and blue, but from its sides sprouted multiple growths. Looked as though his heart had sprung from his chest. Don’t know if I gasped in revulsion or grew a bit pale, but family sensed something was wrong. Explained had no medicaments for his problem and needed to consult someone with a bit more ham ham (knowledge). Still clutching my Pepto, I took Pindas with me to go find Marian. Finally found her at Gilda’s. She wanted to enlist Ass to translate. Felt some urgency, even though he had apparently been living with the tumor for the past ten years. Finally brought Marian and Ass back and they convened in my old room with Amadou and Pindas. I’m not good with this stuff. Blood. Growths. Death. But I stood in the doorway and listened. He was in pain, but had lived with it for so long. Marian was insistent that he see a doctor. He could come back to Dakar with us. She could put him up somewhere if they didn’t have family in the area. But she couldn’t fit the hospital bills. How much? Amadou asked. A mere consultation was around 20,000 CFA. And then surgery would be necessary and that could be quite expensive. Even with the vast family support system, the Diaws don’t have the money. The old man clearly doesn’t want to be a burden and Amadou looked crushed. Couldn’t stay the whole way through. Had to lie down. To reflect. To do this.
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