How do we begin to mourn the 137 voices, minds, hearts, souls, fathers, brothers, cousins, sons, boyfriends, best friends, teammates, memories, hopes, and dreams, that have been shot and left their blood on our streets this year? How do we move on and read other articles after Facebook livestreams a dead black man in the front seat of his car as his significant other prays for his life, prays for mercy, and his daughter watches? How do we repent for our involvement? How do we change? How do we get out of the sea of calling this anything close to normal news? I want change, I know that. I can never fully understand, I know that. My heart is breaking only in the tiniest way in comparison, I know that.
I know my incredibly talented, beautiful, intelligent, strong black friends send their sons to school--and worry every time the phone rings. Not about falling off a swing, but about police brutality. I know they cry over these news articles at work not only because of the injustice, but because their husband could be pulled over for anything on his way home from work tonight and not be able to tuck the kids into bed. I know they call their brothers, their cousins, their fathers, their nephews and tell them one more time to be careful. But know that the advice to be careful feels less and less valuable, is their anyway of protecting yourself from these things?
I know that I don’t know the answer. I know there isn’t a simple one. I know that I’m mourning with you to whatever extent I can. I know that I’m sorry for the times I was silent. I know that I’m praying. I know that I’ll walk with you however I can.