A Song for Brennan

Because I am a mother. Because I am black. Because I feel pain. I wrote this piece.

 

“A Song for Brennan”

Almost seven years ago, I birthed a king

Difficult conception, difficult delivery, but I had faith

You see I knew death from diseases that you weren’t supposed to get

I knew what it was like to see someone you love lying in a casket as people wept

Silently

 

But I prayed

I prayed for peace

I prayed for my seed growing in my womb

I prayed for you my son

 

I imagined your face being a combination of me and your daddy’s

I imagined singing you to sleep every night with songs I created in my mind

Why?

Because Rock-a-Bye-Baby scared the hell out of me

No way were you going to be up in a tree in a cradle

With the dang wind blowing?

What kind of foolishness was that?

Mess I said

Besides I knew I would never let you fall

 

My job was to protect you

Like wings of an eagle, I would always be there

You were the angel in my womb

God’s favor over my life defined

My chance at redemption

 

I changed

I became a fanatic

Reading everything I could get my hands on

I wanted to nurture you physically, mentally and spiritually

I vowed to protect you

Always

No greater love

 

It’s been an incredible journey my sweet boy

You’ve taught me how to love beyond measure

You challenge me

You inspire me

You love me

You question me

 

But I’ve lied dear sweet boy

Not because I wanted too, but because I had too

I couldn’t tell you the truth when you asked me about the police

I smiled away my tears as allergies when you caught me crying

I laughed and kissed you and said “Mommy loves you so much”

When you questioned the sadness in my eyes the next morning

 

“Is it me Mommy?” You asked

“Are you mad at me?” You questioned

“No baby” I responded

 

Truth is love

That I’m crying for all those mothers that lose

Lose their sons

For walking home from the store

For playing in the park

For walking to school

For

For

 

Being black

Because being black in this damn world

Is killing me

It angers me

That our children are dying

That you will never know

That in the midst of my tears for injustice

That I scream the names

For Trayvon Martin, Eric Garner

Michael Brown, John Crawford,

Jonathan Ferrell, Tamir Rice and the countless others

Who have lost their life

Because my dear sweet baby boy

I want you to know that

Black lives matter

You matter

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Never Stop Marching

I am a woman. I am black. I can’t change the color of my skin anymore than I can change the fabric of my gender. I have so many complexities to who I am that I sometimes have to consistently remind myself of which battle I’m fighting today. With that being said, I’m addressing the post, Why I Will Not March for Eric Garner written by Kimberly Foster, founder of one of my favorite blogs “For Harriet”. I read each word of her post with pain in my heart. I was hurt that one of the women that I admired in regards to feminism was saying that she would cry tears and mourn for him, but that she would not give empathy to black men when it is not returned to black women.

I was sitting at my computer in tears reading this piece. I had to comment. I had to say something. I had to try to reach her with love and pleading in my heart. Would she read it? I don’t know. The comments had been amassed to 973 by the time I wanted to post (24 hours after posted), but still I posted. I couldn’t understand how we could ever deny the fact that all life matters and we should all fight for one another. We are a nation divided and how can we explain that to the younger generation? How can we not support or march for Eric Garner or any man that is tragically murdered in a questionable way?

So, I literally typed “I don’t agree with this. I understand your choice to choose battles, but as a human being, all life is valuable. I have one child. A son who is six. I can’t imagine losing him to foolishness (i.e. Eric Garner or Trayvon Martin) and I would never want another woman to tell me that she will cry for him, but won’t march for him (if he were killed senselessly) because black men aren’t there for black women. We are all one and I can never understand that. I birthed a king and I pray that through my educating him on Malcolm, Martin, Mahalia, Maya, Assata Shakur or the many other important black men and women in history that he will march for black women because his mother is black and he respects and supports the struggle for black women.” There. I had said it. I said what I felt was the truth. We are women. We are black. We matter.

I am the giver of life and I know how the death of this man has sparked a fire in our community once again, but we can’t continue to turn away from each other and stand divided. I have a son. I have to protect him. I am a woman. I am black, but more importantly I am a mother and I will always choose to march and protect the rights of everyone. If not me then who? I know that the author was just tired of the black men who may not defend us. I could hear the despair, but I have your back and so do a lot of other women. Hold my hand when you get tired, but we should never stop fighting or marching for one another because we are all God’s children.