Mississippi Native: Katrina Byrd
"It takes a lot of courage to live a life of devastation and demand the best from yourself, give more than you have to a cause you believe in and to see hope when despair is all that is visible. "
What does it mean to call Mississippi home? Why do people choose to leave or live in this weird, wonderful, and sometimes infuriating place? Today we hear from Jackson-based writer and playwright Katrina Byrd, who has dealt with the grief of losing her longtime partner Dora by launching herself into ALS advocacy.
Where are you from?
I am from Jackson, MS.
How long have you lived in Mississippi?
I have lived in Mississippi all of my life—50 years.
What does “home” mean to you? How does Mississippi fit into that definition?
Home is a whistling tea kettle on the stove, a blue sky and a welcoming front porch. Blooming flowers, tall trees, and fresh cut grass. It’s a gentle rain on a summer day, unscheduled hugs and sweet, encouraging words. It’s purring cats, calm dogs and Black Beauty tomatoes ripening in the Mississippi July heat. It’s poverty, a long list of don’ts, can’ts, and nevers. It’s courage, rising up, standing with a special needs girl being denied the right to participate in her high school graduation, a man dying of cancer, a white dead kitty in the road.
[Home is] purring cats, calm dogs and Black Beauty tomatoes ripening in the Mississippi July heat. It’s poverty, a long list of don’ts, can’ts, and nevers.
It’s being called a nigger to my face, it’s writing about the incidents, then being told, “nobody would ever call you that to your face.” It’s being disabled, devalued and dismissed. It’s homemade ice cream, blackberry cobbler and fresh turnip greens. It’s a church and liquor store on every corner. It’s a welcoming Buddhist community, the search for love, meaning and purpose. It’s amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS). It’s taking an ass whoopin’—financially, verbally, physically and mentally. It’s high water bills, undrinkable water, and government betrayal. It’s two shots of bourbon and a fire in the fire pit as the speakers bump with Denise LaSalle’s “Give Me Yo Most Strongest Whiskey.”
How have you cultivated community in Mississippi? Who are the people who have made you feel rooted here?
Consider, If you will, a small chapel in Ridgeland, MS. People gathered to celebrate Dora’s life. I sat in the back at Dora’s family’s request. Where I sat was a reflection of her family guild, hate and narrow mindedness. Who sat with me on those back rows is a reflection of the community Dora and I cultivated. A beautiful mix of souls—Millsaps College, Mississippi University for Women, MissiHIPPY Belly Dance troop, Drake’s Designs, Aunt Mary, and Mama. Surrounding me spiritually on those back pews were writers, musicians, Whites, actors, Chinese, Blacks, maids, Democrats, Republicans, preachers, professors, Buddhists, teachers, booty shakers, Christians, men, women, Jews, gay, straight, pets, trees, Dora’s blooming daffodils, her magnolia tree and the red and pink camellias.
As a visually impaired, bisexual, poor woman from Mississippi, I’m accustomed to not being heard, to having the whitest person in the room given credit for my work.
How has living in Mississippi affected your identity and your life’s path?
Presently, I am a broken hearted writer advocating for a cure for a 100% fatal disease. As a visually impaired, bisexual, poor woman from Mississippi, I’m accustomed to not being heard, to having the whitest person in the room given credit for my work. I’m used to being overlooked for opportunities because of lack of money or because I lack the connections that others have. I identify as the twenty-five cent item on a Walmart shelf nobody wants to buy.
Through my first three years of grieving, I realized my self-deprecating attitude must change and that I am a lot stronger than I ever knew. It takes a lot of courage to live a life of devastation and demand the best from yourself, give more than you have to a cause you believe in and to see hope when despair is all that is visible.
It takes a lot of courage to live a life of devastation and demand the best from yourself, give more than you have to a cause you believe in and to see hope when despair is all that is visible.
If you had one billion dollars to invest in Mississippi, how would you spend your money?
I would spend my billion dollars on providing a K-12 liberal arts education for all students. An interdisciplinary education is crucial to navigating life’s varied and challenging paths. I would also allocate funds for health literacy, infrastructure and wealth-building literacy. I would establish ALS clinics of excellence and fund ALS care and research.
What or who do you want to shamelessly promote? (It can absolutely be a project you’re working on, or something you are involved in.)
On February 2, 2020, I found Dora, my partner of 23 years, dead due to ALS. Her diagnosis seventy-six days earlier launched her body’s rapid decline. A few weeks after her death I joined I AM ALS, an organization revolutionizing ALS advocacy. In three years I’ve published several essays about caring for Dora, served on panels and participated in listening sessions. I serve on six of I AM ALS’s community-led teams and I work with six ALS organizations including R1, started by Sandy Morris before her death in August 2022. R1’s main project right now is rating ALS Clinics. Please take and share the ALS Clinic Survey! I flounce my boa at you!
Oh, Katrina, I miss Dora's laugh so much, and I think of you two often. This is beautifully written!
What an inspiration!