Wednesday, November 9, 2016

Tears in the Dark

It is 6 am in the morning.

You were up at 4:30 again because of the time change. I tried to rock you back to sleep but you were having none of it. I put you back in the crib and couldn't help checking the election results. I was way too tired yesterday to make it past 10 pm and went to bed nervous but hopeful.

I pulled up the screen and my heart flew into my throat. It happened. It actually happened.

And as I lay in the dark, now wide awake, listening to you protest your return to the crib, I tried to wrap my mind around the world you are growing up in.

But I can't.

So I padded quietly back down the hall and picked you up. We sat in the rocking chair, wrapped in a blanket together. I kissed your sweet, dark curls and let silent tears fall on them.

I am so sorry, little boy. So sorry.

So sorry that America isn't a safe place for you.

So sorry that sooner rather than later you are going to experience hate.

So sorry that you, my beautiful boy, are not going to be seen for who you are but for the threat you could possibly be.

So sorry that I can't protect you.

Even as you finally fell back to sleep and now lay peacefully ignorant of the way the world has gone mad, I can't stop crying. I don't know how to tell your brother when he wakes up. I don't know what he will hear today as he goes to school. I don't know how his friends of color will be treated today in the aftermath.

I know I should be saying something like "my hope is in the Lord" and my kingdom is not of this earth. Those are true statements.

But at least for today, I am going to mourn. I am going to lament with my friends who feel less safe today. I am going to choose to be kind and patient and not act in fear because I will not go low.  I am not interested in debating or arguing today.

I am going to continue to teach my children to love today. And do my best to do the same.

And starting tomorrow, I am going to pick myself back up and work my hardest to make sure that by the time my black sons are old enough to understand, things will have changed.

1 comment:

  1. Carolyn, I share your sadness...and fear. Sending you a hug this morning.

    the lady across the street :-(

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