My sister Tracy was born with a congenital heart defect. For an oh-too-short 18 months Mom and Dad crisscrossed the country, with Tracy, in search of a cure … in search of a surgeon with a new procedure … in search of hope. They accrued unsurmountable financial debt in an unimaginably heartbreaking and unsuccessful attempt to save her life. All the while, Mom and Dad also had other children at home. What about Mike, Kim, and Scott? What about me? Didn’t our lives and our futures matter to our parents, as well? They invested everything they had and more; they accepted decades of debt in an attempt to save Tracy. What would be left for us? Their money, time and energy were spent on Tracy. Was this fair? Didn’t our lives matter, too?
YES. ABSOLUTELY. Our lives mattered, but we were not in jeopardy. Tracy was.
I think of my parents, now, when I encounter the Black Lives Matter (BLM) movement. I think of my friends and relatives who argue that all lives matter, too. Yes, all lives matter, but all lives are not endangered.
I am the mother of a White son. Not once have I worried when Drew goes for a jog or is out living his life. I never think about it. As the obsessing, overprotective mom that I am, I worry about him all the time, but I never worry that harm will come to him because he is a White man. I never worry that he will be pre-judged and found dangerous, a threat, or less worthy. Sadly, Black mothers cannot say the same. This is why BLM.
Admittedly, I do not know what it is like to be Black, to be the parent of Black children, or to live in a society that sees Black-ness before Human-ness. So, what can I do? I am not Black; I do not understand.
Through the social justice movement, today I have the opportunity to open my eyes and heart to the pain and suffering of my Black brothers and sisters. By doing so, I do not diminish the lives of my White siblings.
When my parents searched for hope, people responded. Most had never faced losing a child; most did not understand. But … but they helped. They offered childcare, shopping duties, cooking; they opened their homes for lodging, and they opened their hearts. They did not have to understand, they simply had to accept that the struggles, fears and heartaches Mom and Dad endured were real. And, they did not demand equal attention for themselves or their own children, after all, their children were not dying.
Once again, I am indebted to my son, Drew. When I mentioned that I feel helpless, and inadequate finding my niche in the fight for social justice and human rights, he reminded me that I have a voice and a love for writing. He suggested that I use my gifts to speak up. And so, I too, encourage you to do the same. Together, united, we can use our strengths and hearts to make this world worthy of our children and grandchildren.
A wonderful essay, Kelly. It certainly puts into perspective the issues we face today and so much better than what we read in the media!
I also read your blog on anniversaries & birthdays. It’s right about this time of the year that we first met — 1983 — so we are nearing the 37th anniversary of that meeting and subsequent relationship at Angleton ISD.
Drew was right. You are a gifted writer and you can serve through your writing. Please continue to do so. Best wishes to you and David.
Geeeez thanks. I have been perfectly content and smug to tout that All Lives Matter. It is easier not to think about this but that ship has sailed. Can’t sleep. Geeeez thanks.
Rupert,
I sympathize with the sleep issue. For me, personal growth is usually painful and comes at a cost. But not growing is also painful and the cost is unacceptable. You can do this; we, all, can do this!
Once again, my friend, you knocked it out of the park! Thank you for your willingness to speak up and speak out in the basic ways that all can understand. This is a sensitive time. We have an extraordinary opportunity to be the Change that needs to happen in our world. We speak out and then we go out to love and serve our neighbors.
Thank you, Barbara. I needed to hear your wisdom this morning and the reminder that speaking up is only my first step. I hope you don’t mind that I tuck, “…and then we go out to love and serve our neighbors” into my pocket and carry it around for a while.