This will be short—another little blog post trying to answer unanswerable questions, or at least wrestling with the questions.
But I decided to do it publicly because there are people who might need to know that I am standing with them. That as events and scenes unfolded I can link arms and listen to their stories and begin to understand a little what they experience daily. Because we’re the same. We have arms and hands that clutch our little ones close, legs and feet that carry us great distances, lungs that breathe in the beauty and wonder in this world. We have hearts that beat for our little babies and ache to keep them safe in this big, wide world. What happens to all of us matters because we are united by our common humanity.
We shouldn’t have to fear that our children will be man-handled because of the color of their skin.
We shouldn’t have to teach our sons that shots will be fired before questions are asked.
My son and I don’t know that world. But I ache that many mothers and sons do. I see that it is so. I don’t know how I can help—but I’m trying. I see. I am here. And I weep. I am mourning over the darkness that seems to prevail, for the unjustness and the corruption and the hatred that seems to be overpowering right now.
I chose to write because I couldn’t stay silent—there is too much at stake. I want my son to hold hands with yours. I want him to grow up knowing that he has to fight for the things that are unjust, that with his privilege—which wasn’t something he earned but was DNA and chance—comes an opportunity for empathy and a chance to help make the world better for all people.
So much has been lost that can never be replaced.
I won’t stand by while my generation fights for justice. This moment matters.