This post has been edited for clarity of thought, but the original message and intent remains.
This has been a tough month and, honestly, I haven’t had the heart, intestinal fortitude, emotional strength, or desire to write anything. All of the words that I would share, all of the feelings I would express, everything has already been put out there. If you’re unsure about how I feel about the televised execution of another Black man or the senseless murder of a Black woman sleeping in her bed, feel free to check out my Facebook page or my Twitter feed. And if you have a differing opinion, my words aren’t going to change your mind, so go ahead and unfollow me now, because there are many things we can disagree on, but the extrajudicial murders of my Black brothers and sisters is not one of them.
I was watching an interview with Mr. Floyd’s family, when the camera cut to Mr. Floyd’s baby girl. The tears just started and wouldn’t stop. I just imagined one day that little girl opening up a history book and seeing the image of her father with that officer’s knee on his neck.
That broke me.
Right now, her family can kind of protect her, but one day she’s going to find out the truth… “Daddy died because he couldn’t breathe…” is going to become a discussion about how her father’s murder changed a nation.
The mom in me cried for Mr. Floyd crying out for his mother with his dying breath. The mom in me cried for the little girl who’s going to cry out for her daddy in the future. I cried for Breonna Taylor and the countless other Black women who’ve been murdered with no justice. I cried for the Black bodies swinging from the trees in California, New York, and Texas… I cried for the Black families who will continue to lose loved ones until something changes.
This has to end. Black Lives Matter.