Sometimes there are things that happen that don’t make sense. Trying to understand the why’s and how’s is exhausting and infuriating. What sits here is sadness. Deep, deep sadness. I am not a lawyer nor will I claim to be any sort of expert at law or the events of the trial or the night of the death of young Trayvon Martin. I am simply a mother.
I am a white mother with a white son and my grief and sorrow and perceived injustice are as big as I can comprehend and yet it is nothing. It is a drop of water in the ocean of grief and bone-weary pain that a mother with a black son or daughter is feeling right now. I sit here with my head shaking and my fingers furiously typing to find the next essay or article to email or share on my social wall but when I look at my son I do not gasp with fear the way I hear so many gasping for the future of their children today.
I want to jump into the rush of emotions and offer support and encircle friends who are aching today with unconditional love. I wrote to friends last night and it felt like the right thing to do.
Today it feels obnoxious. How dare I?
I can never understand what it means to feel this dread, this angst, this panic, this fear. That I dared insert myself into other people’s grief is pathetic.
And yet I grieve. I am not a black mother. I will never know, fully know, truly know. But I am sorry for your loss.