A year ago I had a group of friends sitting around a fire in my front yard.
A year ago we were sipping cider, talking about life as young professionals, saying goodbye to summer and hello to fall. I fell asleep with the smell of smoke from the fire still in the air.
I had no idea that when I woke up the next morning, my whole world would come crumbing down. I woke up to my phone ringing so much it fell off the night stand.
My eyes groggy I was trying to read the dozens of messages while also trying to call them back.
Our baby had been killed.
I didn’t understand. I must have been too tired or too in shock to believe them. Tears on the other line confirmed it.
I had to call my part time job and tell them I couldn’t come in.
Our baby had been killed.
I apologized through tears, He also apologized and said not to worry.
Not to worry.
Not to worry but our baby had been killed and I couldn’t seem to get off the floor.
A year and one month ago… that baby had been volunteering at the center. He was raising a little girl. He had breath in his lungs.
And in an instant. That ended.
I couldn’t protect him.
For a year now I have questioned whether or not being alive is worth it. Whether being in this job, in this city, in this body even makes sense.
I’ve had so much hate built up in my soul that it’s slowly killing me… at least that’s what the drs tell me. I have nothing to offer his little girl, his siblings, his mom. Because the hollowness feels contagious and I fear spreading it with hope, joy, memories is more harmful than helpful. I know that can’t be true. But it’s how I feel.
Grief is weird. Heavy. Sticky.
It keeps me up at night and asleep during the day. It makes me more angry to the so called friends that left him on the ground than the boy who shot him.
I know shooters. But more unfortunately I know cowards. This city is full of them.
I watch their stories, see them in the neighborhoods they do nothing to support. No amount of T shirts made or tattoos added to skin will remove the reality of them being cowards. And perhaps I am one too. Because I’ve allowed a system, institution, fear… keep me from stepping to them toe to toe. They have a sickness I wish I could remove because they refuse to do better, be better, dream or live. And I know I’m not supposed to think that way, but sun touches us all.
I am ashamed that I’m still here. My desire to see people free from grief, bondage, sickness, addiction and lies somehow keeps me from targeting the very people that keep us reliving this pain day after day, year after year.
A year ago I fell asleep saying goodbye to summer not knowing I’d be stuck in fall the rest of my life.
Perpetual death. Browning plants. Dark hours creeping up more than light. Coldness wherever I go. I’ve lost loved ones before. And I’ve lost them since. But for some reason. When they killed our baby, they took me too. As if it were the final nail in my coffin. Maybe I wanted to go with him. Maybe I wish I could trade him places. I do know I want him here, with us… I’m not sure how I feel. But I am exhausted at thinking days keep going by and every single time fall comes, I am reminded of how they took our baby.
I wish desperately to ask them why. I do my best to tell the next wave of kids just how exactly things have been or should be. All I can do is pray… or is it? My fight is almost nearly gone. But some days I get a good sense to keep going. Others, I really just want to lay down and close my eyes and not worry about having to open them back up. I don’t question God anymore. All my questions are for the humans he created. And let this serve as an open invitation for questions, for a conversation. I’m not scared to be threatened or to die. I’m more worried that a coward controls the narrative of my life.
