Imagine this. You wake up in the morning and start going about your day as usual. Then later in that same ordinary day you learn that YOUR son – who you have loved, fed and clothed everyday for 16, 17, 18 years or more – is violently killed. YOUR unarmed son…was…killed and those who are sworn to serve and protect are doing just that… for… your… son’s… killer.
Right then is when the only thing you feel is pain, a pain so excruciating that your only wish is to not feel this.
I have not had the day described here, but as the mother of a black boy, every time this day happens to these mothers I too feel an intense pain that leaves me with only the desire to NEVER FEEL THIS FEELING AGAIN. Black mothers have been facing this awful feeling for centuries now – and that is a travesty. When I see their sons I see my son. I see my son who is not perfect, but who is loved and who is loving. I see my son who has hopes and dreams and big plans. I see my son who every once in a while still wants a hug from his mom even though he is taller than me and even has a few muscles. I see my son who has a lot to learn and who has a lot of living to do. I see my son who has a lifetime of experiences waiting for him to have. I see my son who changed my life for the better the second he was conceived. When I see their sons dead in the street, their dreams halted, their futures stolen…I see my son.
Regardless of the color of your skin If you can see YOUR son, YOUR brother, YOUR uncle, YOUR cousin when you see THEIR sons then raise your voice with me and let’s do something to stop this so that none of us has to ever feel this feeling again.
Here’s what you can do right now:
When talking to your friends about this issue keep the main thing the main thing – An unarmed teenager is dead.
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