Hello, my name is Lulu Delacre, and I’m the author of this book, Alicia Afterimage. The book is not only the memoir of a young girl seen through her friends’ eyes, but it’s also an exploration in teen grief. And I’m going to read just a brief passage from the viewpoint of Mama at the end of the book.
“Two mourning doves splashed in the waterfall, and a tiny frog sunbathed on a lily pad. Mama sat on the weathered teak bench by the pond, under the Japanese maple tree, and took off her straw hat. A squirrel climbing up the papery bark of a river birch made her look up, and she breathed in the sweet scent of day lilies.
“These days, two months shy of the second anniversary of Alicia’s death, Mama felt mostly proud and grateful. She was proud of being Alicia’s mother. She believed Alicia had accomplished what she was supposed to in life. She hoped that as a result of Alicia’s accident, many teenagers were now more careful on the road, and that the adults in their lives were more aware of the dangers of teen driving.
“Mama knew she was blessed with the love of family, friends, and total strangers who had helped her heal in a myriad of ways. She was grateful for Alicia’s friends, who had so loved her daughter, and in whom she now saw bits and pieces of her. Mama was comforted by the certainty that there were still four members in her immediate family.
“The bond of love had never broken, so how could Alicia cease to be? And the driver, Mama had hugged him. He had woken from his coma convinced that he had walked Alicia to her front door, and delivered her home safely. He remembered her warm hug. Mama believed that Alicia had visited the driver in a dream.
“If Alicia could do that, release him, why shouldn’t Mama? He was so young, inexperienced. A light breeze blew through the garden and the sound of the wind chimes brought back last Sunday morning.”
Thank you.