Monica’s Story: MISSION Story Slam Transcript
Read Monica’s story she told at MISSION Story Slam.
“I’m going to tell you a story that starts with grief—something we all feel but often don’t want to acknowledge. We don’t want to admit it. We don’t want to face it. But grief has a way of becoming a story—one that begins in loss and can evolve into legacy and commemoration. This is the story of my parents’ passing.
A year and a half ago, both of my parents passed in rapid succession, just a few months apart. It devastated me. It shook my world to its core. I’m an only child from a very small family, and my parents meant everything to me. My mom passed away from Alzheimer’s and dementia, and my dad from heart failure. Both of those chronic illnesses run in my family. But even if it is my genetic legacy to forget—or to have a faulty, broken heart—I am determined to ensure that my parents, who are now my ancestors, are never forgotten.
In the ache of missing them, as I sat alone in our home and the silence became deafening, I began to really see what was there. There were letters. There were books. Photos, scrapbooks, and little notes tucked inside birthday and anniversary cards. And all of that helped me realize what they truly left me: their stories.
From one of my mom’s diaries—it’s okay, I can read it now—I learned that in her early teens she was a daredevil. She grew up in Chocolate City, Washington, D.C., with two sisters and a brother, and she loved riding motorcycles—secretly and rebelliously. She and her siblings would ride through the neighborhood and crash into the same neighbor’s basement—three times. The same basement. Wild.
My dad, I later learned through corresponding with his alma mater, was a student activist during the Civil Rights era. He fought alongside other Black students to help establish the first African American Studies department at Harvard University. He even received a W\.E.B. Du Bois Award for his work. I never knew that about him.
As I looked deeper through the house, I discovered more than just stories. I found a collection—an archive—spanning a lifetime. My father was a professor, a scholar of Black history, an author, and a genealogist. My mother was an artist, a deeply faithful Christian, and an educator. Over the years, they had collected an astounding amount of art, books, historical materials, photographs, and memorabilia. We’re still counting, but we estimate between 7,000 and 8,000 items in this archive. That is the story they left behind—not just of their lives, but a tribute to ancestors, to human history, to global majority cultures.
There’s also a wealth of books on mental health and well-being. My dad was a psychologist too. And so, with everything they left me—their stories, their spirit, their love—I asked myself: what do I do with all this? I’m a museum curator, among other things. I decided to take the skills I have and use the archive as fuel to keep the legacy going.
That’s how the DiasporaDNA Story Center was born. A new kind of cultural center. One that goes to where the people are. One that brings the archive to life, hosts pop-up performances and exhibits, introduces art therapy, and offers creative tools to help people heal.
Just this past weekend, we held our first major pop-up in the world. I’m a former UArts professor—shout out to the UArts family!—and we were honored to be part of the UArts Celebration of Life. The real estate developer who acquired the building opened the doors for everyone—faculty, students, alumni, and the public—to return and celebrate the creative spirit that had lived there for generations. We brought our signature programming—art therapy and archives—and filled Hamilton Hall with the vibrancy of memory and culture. Faculty, students, and onlookers laughed, cried, danced, created poetry, made art, and honored their ancestors and mine.
This work is spirit-led. My parents are up in the heavens, guiding the way. It’s not easy to start anything in this world, much less a nonprofit, much less a mobile nonprofit that tries to help people through art, story, and healing. But that’s what my parents put in motion. And that’s what they placed in my heart to carry forward.
So, if I can leave you with one thing: don’t wait. Don’t wait to tell your story. Don’t wait to hug your loved ones. Don’t wait to share your truth. Because even in the midst of sorrow, there is strength. And your story—just like mine—has the power to transform grief into grace.
Thank you.”