Summary:
In
Ladysitting, novelist and memoirist
Lorene Carey writes candidly and reflectively about the year and a half she
cared for her century-old, ferociously independent paternal grandmother. The
experience became a critical moment for personal and familial discovery. Carey’s
intensive caregiving began when Nana Jackson could not be discharged from the
hospital to the house where, for decades, she had lived by herself. Growing up,
Carey enjoyed enchanted weekends of indulgence in Nana’s sunlit suburban home
in South Jersey, a respite from her family’s life in urban West Philadelphia.
Partly in gratitude for those weekends, partly from a sense of duty, Carey made
physical, emotional, and spiritual space for Nana in the home she shared with
her husband, a minister, and their teenage daughter. Along with Carey’s own artistic,
community, and professional commitments, she also maintained the property
management business that her grandmother ran until her confinement. Carey’s decision
to become Nana’s primary caregiver brought momentary satisfactions along with overwhelming
frustrations.
Carey’s
narrative agilely transitions between present encounters with Nana Jackson and
the past: her own past and her African- and Caribbean-American relations’. By
doing so, Carey tries to make sense of the complicated woman in her care,
herself, and relationships within her family. She discovered generations of
mostly “free-people-of-color,” several financially and politically successful, whose
ambitions confronted Reconstruction, the Jim Crow South, the migration north,
and the “lynchings [that] made sure that every gain would be paid for in blood
and money, if not by [her family], then by other black people, somewhere.” How
might that history, Carey asks, help her understand her family’s generations of
divorces (including her own), alcoholism, deceptions, estrangements, and the elusive
efforts of one generation to build on the accomplishments of the others?
It
took Carey ten years to research and reflect on that question. And then to
write, hoping “to clear away the rage, uncover the simple grief, stored in the
muscles that seized up then and cannot remember how they were before, and to
convince us both, Nana and myself, that she has left this plane. And to
forgive.”
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