A Promise to My Niece

Dear Laila Rae,

I love you. I did not know how to start this letter so I will start with with my love for you. I love you more than I have ever loved another human. You are the first human I loved before I knew you. When your mother told me she was pregnant my eyes pricked with tears of joy and I felt my heart expand with a new love for you. I did not know your name or gender. In fact the sonogram picture indicated there was a good chance you would be an alien. But I loved you so much. Even today I cannot describe the feeling except to say that in that moment I knew I loved you more than I had ever loved anyone. It was a bit of a relief actually, to finally know I might not be hopelessly selfish, because up until that day I always loved myself first.

I’ll admit, I was hoping your mom would have a boy. We are a family of females and there was a part of me that wanted a little Palmer boy. Then I found out your gender, and your mom wanted to name you after me so I decided having a girl would be alright. If you shared my name you were bound for awesomeness. But really, I was excited at the possibility of being apart of the life of another strong, independent, and fierce Palmer girl. Us Palmer girls, we are pretty incredible. We are stubborn, bossy, determined, and nasty women.

This brings me to why I am writing you this letter. I am writing you this letter because I failed you. White women failed you. White Christians failed you. White privileged people failed you. I am all of these things. Laila, we elected a man into office who is against so much of what I believe in, he is the antithesis of what I dream for you. I don’t know what to tell you. When I woke up the morning after he was elected I felt relief in your tender age of two. I thought, at least we don’t have to explain this to you. But that feels dishonest because he will affect your future and I absolutely have the responsibility to explain this to you because I failed you.

This letter is part apology, part an explanation for what I think happened, and part a promise for what I will do in the future to ensure I do not fail you again. My apology is pretty simple. I am sorry I allowed my privilege to blind me. I was one of those people who said no way can Trump win the Republican nomination. Then I started to feel fear but was still pretty confident that there was no way Trump could win the presidency. Then election night I sat watching the numbers come in and felt shocked. I was stunned that this could happen in my democracy. I went through so many emotions. I was horrified, angry, sad, and hysterical. Eva Dog thought I lost my mind. Laila, I have always believed that I was a pretty strong advocate and ally for those in need. In my self-righteous quests for justice I forgot about some marginalized communities, which is inexcusable because I live in one of those communities. I forgot about poor white people.

It was my white, economic privilege that allowed me to disregard this population, and for that I am sorry. I have not listened to their pain, concerns and fears. I have done nothing to be a peacemaker in these communities so I have to accept responsibility for why they voted for Donald Trump. Laila, even though I voted for Hillary Clinton, and was so excited at the prospect that many of your formative years would be under a female president, I still have to accept responsibility for the presidency we were given. From my position of economic and educational privilege I decided whose and what needs were more important and ignored some of the struggles in my own community.

Laila, I am not trying to excuse the actions of anyone. I am horrified that white people were able to hold their noses and cover their eyes and endorse Donald Trump. They knew what he is and ignored it in favor of their own comfort. They are fully responsible for hatred and blatant acts of aggression engulfing children and adults of color, those in the LGBTQ community, those in the Muslim communities. White privilege is a very real thing. It is something I have struggled with for many years. I have accepted my own white privilege and have been working to make sure I am an ally for people of color, but there are a lot of white people who resent the term white privilege and I understand why.

You have spend a lot of time on the Eastern Shore and you probably think it is a weird place. People have funny accents and drive large, noisy trucks that smell horrible. You have been to our beaches and seen the large mansions that dot the coast. You have also driven through small farm towns where people live in much smaller, and sometimes rundown houses. Worcester county is a strange place, Laila. It is a very rich county in an even richer state. But the majority of the people who live here don’t have very much money. All the wealth and fancy houses are owned by a small fraction of the population. Most of the people, both white and of color, work really hard.

Right now, I am going to try to explain the white people to you. They live paycheck to paycheck, many right on the poverty line. These people are the butt of jokes, but receive no sympathy because of their whiteness. They don’t want to hear about their white privilege when they work sunup to sundown and do not have economic freedom. They have to believe that if people work hard enough they will succeed. This idea is central to their self-worth, because as others like to point out, they have white privilege. Which they do; I’m not denying that. But to them, the message of white privilege also says, if they are not succeeding, it is their own fault. They had no institutional racism standing in their way. If they are not succeeding they are the lazy ones, the unintelligent ones, the lesser citizen. So they deny white privilege. I don’t want to oversimplify anything, and the situation is much more complicated, but this is one dynamic that self-righteous, white privileged activists like to ignore (just to clarify that’s me). Donald Trump spoke for these people. He told them their lack of success is not their fault. People felt like Donald Trump gave them a voice so they voted for him.

Another dynamic is race. I would be lying to you if I did not tell you this election is a white backlash against eight years of a black president. It is a whitelash against the Black Lives Matter movement, immigration fears and Islamophobia. Donald Trump did not create the racism in our society but he allowed it a voice. He told people their fears, albeit irrational and unfounded, were justified. In this justification he gave people the freedom to publicly vocalize their racism, and now they feel justified in following their words with acts of racism. I am scared for you and I am scared for your brother.

You will grow up in a strange world, Laila. It is difficult for me to understand what your struggle will be because you are white and you are also black. It will be difficult for you to understand these two very different histories that make up a large part of who you are and who you will become. You do not look entirely white, and you do not look entirely black. You have a hue to your skin and a tight curls. Right now it is an afro. You are also incredibly beautiful. You have been told this a lot, and will continue to hear it for many years. Physically, you are very appealing. I struggle with this because I want you confidence to come from your existence; I want you to be proud of your appearance but I never want you defined by it. So right now I am trying to teach you to tell people your beauty is genetic and unattainable. Which is true.

I’m getting sidetracked, which is easy for me to do because there are so many things I want to tell you, teach you, and learn from you. You will be raised by a white mother and have the influence of your white aunts. You currently live in a gentrified neighborhood and will be offered economic privileges. You will not fit into a niche and while that will be difficult I know it will make you a nasty woman I will be proud to call my niece.

I will make a promise to you. I will continue to work as a peacemaker. I will be more diligent and I will put my own comfort aside for the rights of my brothers and sisters of color. I will sacrifice my own white privilege and economic privilege in favor of a just world. I will also listen to the needs of those I have previously cast aside. I will not allow myself to feel helpless because I am still in control. I still live in a democracy and I still have a voice. Sometimes I have quieted my voice in favor of making other comfortable. I have been in situations where I avoided making comments or having conversations to not “rock the boat.” Laila, I promise you I will do that no longer. Many people will call me obnoxious. I might lose some friends but I will gain others. But I will do this all from a place of love. I will love my neighbor and I will love my enemy. I don’t want you to grow up in a hateful world, and I will do all I can in the next few years to hopefully repair it as much as possible before you get much older. But even if I fail, I want you to remember how much you are loved, and I want you to love the world. Even the white, privileged, Christians that failed you.

Right now there are people out there defacing prayer rooms, taunting gay and transgender teenagers, threatening Muslim families, and boys grabbing girls vaginas. In spite of this hatred, I want you to remember, people are more that the worst thing they have ever done. Don’t get me wrong, these people need to be held accountable, and their actions need to be condemned and stopped, but they too are redeemable. In order to be real peacemakers we need to listen to all sides, not just the side we think is justified. I made that mistake and now we have Donald Trump as president. Unfortunately for me, it is up to white people to fix this. I read a blog and the author, John Pavlovitz said this:

“Oppressed people aren’t obliged to make nice with their oppressors.

The bullied don’t owe anything to the bullies.

Victims don’t have to make their assailants feel better.

Young children of color aren’t responsible to educate racist children—or their parents.”

So, again I promise you, Laila. I will try to fix this.

Love,

Aunt Whitney Rae

Loving My Neighbor Is Hard Today

I am from Trump country. I grew up in Trump country, went away to college, moved abroad, then moved back to Trump country. Most of my neighbors and co-workers voted for Trump. I knew they would be voting for him before the election and while it was painful I had some peace of mind because while we live on the rural Eastern Shore we are still in the very blue state of Maryland. I was pretty confident in a Clinton win, and while knew I would have conversations about healing racial divides, I thought those conversations would come as the “winner.” I was not thrilled with a Clinton presidency but I did not think I would have the fear I feel today.

I understand Trump voters and I deeply love many Trump voters. People who are from the Eastern Shore are ridiculed in Maryland. DC and Baltimore people, I love you too, but you know you sigh and shake your heads at our “backward ways.” You can’t understand our accents or our conservative values. While I live on the Eastern Shore I also live in one of the richest counties in Maryland, so our county is pretty rich. Worcester County has Ocean City and waterfront properties. We have a lot of money that comes in from real estate and tourism. But this money comes from a very small part of the county and the wealth is held in an even smaller number of hands. If you drive down Route 113 out of Ocean City and towards Snow Hill (or Slow Hill as many like to call it) you will find small family farms.

My neighbors are the subjects of jokes, experience the reality of poverty, but receive no sympathy. They are white. They don’t want to hear about their white privilege when they live paycheck to paycheck, right on the poverty line, and literally work sunup to sundown. They work hard and believe if they just work hard enough they will succeed. This idea is central to their self-worth, because as others like to point out, they have white privilege. Which they do; I’m not denying that. But to them, the message of white privilege also says, if they are not succeeding, it is their own fault. They had no institutional racism standing in their way. If they are not succeeding they are the lazy ones, the unintelligent ones, the lesser citizen. So they deny white privilege. I understand the situation is more complicated and there are other dynamics, but this is one major dynamic in my community. My community has not felt that it has a voice. It is a group of Americans with conservative values and not much money living in a rich county in a very blue state. So they voted for Trump.

Yesterday, the day after the election, I took a mental health day. I did not know how I was going to go to work and be nice to my neighbors. I was angry and did not know how I would continue to love my community or speak kindly. I wanted to lecture them on how they voted against their own interests and demand they explain to me how they are not xenophobic, misogynist, and racist. I went through so many emotions yesterday. I yoyo-ed between boiling rage, sobbing tears, and hope. My poor dog must have thought I lost my mind.

But I need to be hopeful. I am an optimistic person and am most productive when I am hopeful. I

want to have faith in our democracy. I need to believe that our country can work together to heal racial divides. Today I went back to work. Today I spoke to my Trump supporting neighbors, whom I still love. I gave them hugs and then had hard conversations. Most of my co-workers avoid political conversations with me because they know we generally disagree. I have allowed people to avoid these conversations for the sake of their comfort but I won’t allow it anymore. I told them even though they voted for Trump I still love them. We will still be friends but I need you to understand why I am hurting. I am hurting because I am afraid. I am not, and have never been, afraid of a Republican presidency. I am afraid of a Trump presidency. I am afraid of our president elect because of the very real threats he has made against women, immigrants, Muslims, and people of color. I am afraid of Mike Pence and his desire to take away rights of LGBTQ people and reproductive rights. I am fearful of the white supremacists who feel emboldened by a Trump presidency. I am not scared for myself. I have a lot of privilege and economic power; I will be fine.

My neighbors constantly tell me they are not xenophobic, misogynist, or racist. They voted for Trump due to his economic policy. I asked, what are you going to do to work against the white nationalists that just yesterday made real threats against people of color? How are you going to join in the fight to protect the rights of those whom Trump has threatened? This conversation made a lot of people uncomfortable but I refuse to be silent for the sake of comfort. I will continue to ask the uncomfortable conversations and demand answers. I will continue to work for peace and justice. I will continue to love my neighbor.

Dear Donald

Dear Donald,

Congratulations. You are the 45th President of the United States. At the moment I am writing you this it appears you did not win the popular vote. I’m not upset about this. I actually support the electoral college because I believe it is important that our smaller, less populated states have a voice in our government. I did not vote for you. I actually vomited when I learned you would be my president. But it’s okay. You are now my president. You have a very tough job ahead of you and I am not jealous the path you have chosen. You see, Donald, you are now accountable to me. You are accountable to all of your supporters, but you are also the president of, and therefore accountable to over half the population that did not vote for you. I’m nervous for you, Donald. I don’t think you have ever been held accountable to anyone but yourself in your entire life. You will be responsible for everyone in this country. I’m hope you understand what this means because I don’t think you will like it.

You will be criticized everyday of your life for the next four, heck, maybe even eight years. You have not accepted criticism graciously in the past. I will criticize you everyday. Now, Donald, this is not me being a sore loser. I voted for President Obama twice and I have criticized him everyday for the last eight years. I believe that we need criticism in order to grown and constantly seek something better. I have never found good enough acceptable. I also believe criticism needs to be accepted graciously. You are free to disagree with my critiques, but you must accept it graciously because you are accountable to me. You represent me, whether you like it or not, and you have to listen to my voice.

You say you will work to bridge divides and unite our country. I hope you can, and I will work with you for this goal. While am a registered Democrat I do not vote solely along party lines. I actually want a mixed Senate because I want policies passed that represent the interests of our entire country. I hope you can accomplish this. I hope you can keep our unemployment at record lows and create an increase in wages. It is still unclear to me how your current proposals will accomplish this, but I want you to succeed. Donald, I want you to know I will hold you accountable to this promise. You have a Republican majority in Congress so you don’t get a pass. You have one chance to do this right and I want to help you do this.

I want you to succeed, Donald. Your success is my success. But I need something from you. It is a big thing. It is a thing I am not sure you are willing to give me.

I need an apology.

Your words about women during your campaign have wounded me and torn me apart. You have hurt so many people in the country with language filled with hate and fear. There are many people you should apologize to but today I am going to speak to my own experience as a white woman.

I understand the words that came out of the Hollywood Access tape are over ten years old. But you see, ten years is not a long time to a girl who has been sexually assaulted. Donald, time does not matter. Sexual assault stays with us forever. It never goes away. You claim your words were “locker room banter.” You say you apologized. You never apologized. You excused your words and invalidated me. You invalidated the experience of women; those of us who have experienced sexual assault, and those of us who have not. It was not just one tape that has wounded me so deeply. Your words have constantly demeaned my gender and undermined my self-worth. You can’t understand my experience, and I don’t claim to understand yours. So when I say you have broken my heart you don’t get to say, “it was locker room banter.” You don’t get a pass as president. You are held to a higher standard. You have to acknowledge that my pain and fear for my reproductive rights are real. And that you created the pain and fear.

You are now my president. You are now accountable to me and as I told you earlier I don’t think you will like it. I know you don’t want to apologize to me for all the demeaning remarks you have made about women. But you need to if you want to heal this country. You have a lot of people to whom you need to apologize.

No one wants to admit when they are wrong but you will be wrong many times during your presidency. It is inevitable. You are human and you will make mistakes. That’s okay, and I hope we as a country can help you navigate those mistakes. But you will have to apologize. You will have to express remorse and you will have to accept responsibility for your actions. Your actions will now impact the entire world. I hope you are ready for that.

With Tremendous Love,

Whitney

"But if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together.”

When I graduated from college I lived in Guatemala. It saved me. I was one of those activists in college. You know, the ones that you sometimes avoid because they make you feel guilty.  Not always intentionally, but you feel guilty for not doing enough. I was busy - planning something, writing something, doing something. I was also angry. I was angry at my friends who did not care as much as I did. I was angry at unjust systems and inequalities. I was angry with government officials. I was angry at the world. My anger was fuel. Whenever I became exasperated, or just too tired, I remembered my anger and it helped me keep moving. It helped me keep fighting.

Then I moved to Guatemala, angry. In the beginning it was hard for me to understand the worldview of the community I served. The community that served me. I saw them as apathetic and complicit in unjust systems. Their acceptance annoyed me. I learned how wrong I was. Their silence was not weakness, it was not silence at all. My community embraced me as an outsider, they loved me. They had a sense of community loyalty that was so beautiful it baffled me. Guatemalans were really good at forgiving. The real kind of forgiving where the situation is never brought up again. It is not forgotten, just forgiven. Guatemala taught me how to forgive and it saved me. It freed me from the anger I carried in my heart that was quickly turning into hatred. I did not want to hate. I fought that hatred and tried to overcompensate with a love that was paternalistic in many ways. In Guatemala I learned how to let go of my anger and love genuinely. Guatemala saved my life.

That was four years ago and since then I have been living a happy life, full of love and forgiveness and empty of anger. I have felt light and free. I have also felt antsy and empty of passion. This summer I felt a spark of that old anger and quickly tried to subside it and instead filled my heart full of love and forgiveness. It worked for a few months. Now I am angry again. I am full of the same anger and passion I used to feel in college and I am relieved. For a while I was scared I would turn into someone who went through the motions of life. I am trying to find a balance between overwhelming anger that consumes me and turns to hatred with an anger that is born out of love.

Martin Luther King, Jr. preached about the danger of a well-adjusted life. There are some things in our world to which we must be maladjusted. He also said “human salvation lies in the hands of the creatively maladjusted.” I believe the racial prejudices and discrepancies in our world is something to which I must be maladjusted. I am angry about these injustices out of love for my neighbor and my love for humanity. I will remember my love for my black neighbors, my brown neighbors, my white neighbors, and my neighbors that are police officers. This not a fight of black against white, or black against cop. This is a fight for the future of our country. The future that does not depend on a military strength or a police force that is given more and more “draconian power” without being held accountable.

I hear white people say, “civil rights happened over 50 years ago.” I say, “Wake up.” Yes, we have made strides in many ways, but we have backtracked in others. Don’t ignore white privilege. Don’t ignore the need for a hastag such as #blacklives matter. A lot of people want to criticize the hastag #blacklivesmatter and say #alllivesmatter. Yes, all lives matter but you are clearly missing the point. It is unfortunate but true that we must say #blacklivesmatter to remind people of their humanity. I saw a tweet that said, “WTF is the impulse behind changing #blacklivesmatter to #alllivesmatter. Do you crash a strangers’ funeral shouting I TOO HAVE FELT LOSS!” This is funny but accurate. Please don’t invalidate the experiences of your neighbor. We can close our eyes to their pain and suffering, but Dr. King also said, “A riot is the language of the unheard.” We can not treat people of color as third rate citizens and not expect something to happen.  People can only take so much.

Don’t live as a conformist. Please don’t adopt a worldview that is ambiguous and scared to make a statement. Don’t fill your heart with so much anger there is no room for love. Don’t look at people as entities or things. Don’t look at individuals as a collective. Look at them and see their humanness. Have the strength to understand your neighbor’s pain, their loss. Have the strength to speak out, to act with your neighbor. Have the strength to love. Not the fake, self-serving love, but radical love. The kind that brings you tears full of pain and joy at the same time. In the words of an Aboriginal activist, “If you have come here to help me, you are wasting our time. But if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together.”

Food Day

October 24 was Food Day. Somehow, I missed it. I missed it because I was preoccupied snuggling my sweet little niece and nephew. Since I missed this very important day I am celebrating today. What is Food Day? Food Day happens every year on October 24 and not only encourages people to make healthy changes in their diets but also to take action to solve food-related problems in our communities at the local, state, and national level. This year Food Day was focused around food justice and farm workers.

While I was in undergrad I was busy developing pretentious but naive worldviews that came crashing down the moment I graduated. I was devoted to a variety of social justice movements but I must have slept through the lecture of food issues. I’m not sure how that happened. I grew up in an area where the majority of the population are either farm workers or food service workers. But somewhere I missed the connection between what I ate and the effects it had on others.

It took moving to Guatemala for me to see and understand the importance of food issues. When I moved back to the States the first lifestyle change I made was in my diet and the way I viewed food. The first breakdown I had was in the supermarket when I became utterly overwhelmed by all the stuff. As I looked at the food I thought about all the farm workers who contributed to those products. I thought about their working and living conditions and the never-ending cycle of modern day slavery. I thought about all the energy being used in the overly air-conditioned building with it’s too bright lights. I thought about the underpaid employees of the store. If there was a swooning couch in that store I would have gracefully swooned while dramatically throwing my arm over my eyes. Instead I ran out to the car cried with a snotty, runny nose. Much less graceful but equally dramatic. So I changed the way I viewed and bought food in the United States.

Supermarkets make it easy for us to forget all the work that goes into growing our food. We forget to think about the millions of farmworkers who allow us to eat. Essentially, we forget about the people who nourish and provide us with life. Farm workers are invisible in our society despite the fact that there are about three million farm workers concentrated in California, Texas, Washington, Oregon, Florida, and North Carolina. Farm work is the eighth lowest paid job in the country. Workers make an average income between $10,000 and $12,500 per year even though farm work is one of the most dangerous occupations. Farm workers are also among the most exploited in the U.S., which is not solely due to the fact that more than half of all farm workers are undocumented. Farm workers have to endure wage theft, sexual harassment, intimidation, and in some cases, physical beatings.

I am so grateful for these human beings that provide our nation with fruits and vegetables. Gratitude has always been an important binding factor in my life. It helps me empathize with people. I have to visualize their suffering and feel compassion and humility. Often I feel angry and other times overwhelmingly sad. No matter which emotion is evoked I am filled with a need to act. In different situations those actions vary, but today I want to support the rights of farm workers.

The Coalition of Immokalee Workers (CIW) is a pretty inspiring organization. CIW has a Fair Food Program where participating corporations pay an extra penny per pound for their tomatoes, which doubles the wages of workers who pick the fruit. It also demands a Code of Conduct in the fields, which ensures the human dignity of each worker. The Fair Food Program has six main elements which you should check out here along with other ways you can take action on behalf of those workers that allow the rest of the nation access to food.

There are so many ways we as individual consumers can make small or larger changes that have far-reaching impacts. We can support farm workers that work on large farms and we can support our small local farmers. We can chose foods that are environmentally sustainable. We can cut back on certain foods that are bad for our own health and the health of others. These actions bind us to others and humble us. They unite us as human beings and make us more caring and consciousness individuals.

Embracing Sorrow: Part 2

My friend Leron died. I wrote about my initial reactions in this blog post last week. I wrote about how I needed to embrace the sorrow and suffering I felt.  I wrote about it.  I knew I needed to do it but was unable.

I was in the car with my sister when I heard he died.  I went into shock.  I wanted it to be untrue but I knew it was. I barely shed a few tears.  The next day I flew out to Arizona to help a friend drive across the country.  We talked a little bit about Leron but I felt numb. As soon as we arrived in Maryland there was a beautiful memorial for Leron. I wanted to be there but I was nervous.  You see, I'm usually uncomfortable in large groups. In the past Leron was always the person I looked forward to seeing in those types of situations.  When I saw Leron I felt lighter; he did that to everyone. I went to his memorial and he was not there. I mingled.  I struggled to talk about Leron.  I had not processed his death and I had not processed his life.  The words I had felt shallow and overused.  Leron deserved more than my superficial words. I cried for about 2 minutes on the ride home and wrote my first blog. My words were true but I had yet to really connect and feel those words.

I went through the rest of the week in a haze.  It was a long week.  I was a grump at work.  I went home and sat on the couch.  I barely went to the gym, studied or played with my dog.  I talked to people but I was numb. Every time I had to do something, anything really, I just did not have the energy to care.  It was so strange that I did not care.  I am an introvert and I keep my feelings inside but I feel things deeply.  I knew things were supposed to be happy, funny, sad, etc but I only felt those emotions on the surface.  I wanted to mourn but I was stuck.  And terrified.

Leron's funeral was yesterday. As I walked up to look at his body I saw his profile in the coffin.  It did not look like Leron.  I could not bring myself to look at the body.  I went and sat down and was afraid I would go through the entire funeral without crying. But as soon as the music started I lost it.  I started sobbing.  It was cathartic.  It was needed.  I cried through most of the service.

After the service we went to a local bar and I saw people I had not seen in years.  In high school my sister and I used to have people at our house most weekends.  We decided to have everyone over to our parents house to reminisce. It was joyous and sad and perfect.  We told stories about Leron and my cheeks hurt from smiling so much.  We talked about the kindness of his soul.  Leron had life figured out.  He loved people.  He never judged.  He did not care who you were, what you had done or what you were going to do.  He did not have acquaintances; he only had friends. Not many people have that gift. When we were seniors in high school Leron was interviewed.  He was asked how he thought our graduating class would be remembered and he said he thought we would be remembered as, "a squad of unity."  I never thought about our class that way but that was how Leron saw the world.  There was no difference or barrier that stood in his way when it came to relationships.

One person commented that Leron was the glue that held us all together.  A lot of people do not live in the area any more and said coming home will forever be different.  They talked about how they have mourned Leron.  They were open about the pain they have suffered and helped me mourn. I laughed last night and I cried.  Yesterday I finally embraced the pain and sorrow I was feeling and I hope it will make me a better person.  I made real and true human connections last night. I suffered with people in a way I have never experienced. My heart hurts in a way I have never felt before. I want to live my life more like Leron.  I want to make connections everywhere I go.  I want to accept people as they are.  I also want to cultivate the relationships I have.  I want to tell people that I love them and I want them to believe it.  I want to love more people.

I also want to thank everyone that helped me yesterday.  I'm finally moving forward.  I am becoming more compassionate and humble.  I am really working on the vulnerable thing but it is going to take some time.  Maybe I am little wiser than I was two days ago.  I'm not sure I would have been able to embrace my feelings without you.  Even though Leron is gone I think he will always be the glue because we will never stop loving and learning from him.  Leron, I loved you so much and I will miss you more than I ever realized.

Embracing Sorrow

I am struggling. I am struggling and stumbling to understand the death of a friend who was so young and so full of life. A friend who brought so much joy to the people around him and had a soul full of love and laughter. This friend had an infectious personality and when you were around him you had a smile on your face. Leron was friends with everyone because he invited friendship. He had the gift of making you feel comfortable around him; the gift of putting people at ease.

I don't form friendships easily and there are very few people in my life with whom I am open. Leron was not one of those people with whom I am close but I love him. I will always love his laughter, goofy antics, and joy for life. You see, I felt comfortable and at ease around Leron and I can not say that for many people. Leron was my prom date. He spent countless weekends sleeping on my couch in high school. Leron, for me, was one of those friends that even if I had not spoken with him in months, or years, I felt like I could pick up where we left off. There is not one unkind thing I could say about Leron. I saw him live out his life with kindness and lived in the moment. When you spoke with him he payed attention to the conversation. He lived his life being present. It is not that he was perfect, he was full imperfections because he was human. And now he is gone.

There are so many people suffering Leron's death right now. He is never coming back. I will never again pull on his elbow skin or give him a crushing hug. I will never awkwardly stroke his cheek. I'm sure that sounds strange, and it was. But with Leron there were not many boundaries which is part of what made him so wonderful. All that is left are the memories. Life will move forward without him and that seems impossible to to so many. Leron's close friends were his family and I am sure they can not imagine that their children will never know him. Leron ran in a pack and it is weird for me to think that when I see his best friends I will not see him pop around the corner.

I have experienced loss in my life but Leron's death has been harder on me. Honestly, I am still in shock, one week later. I have only shed a few tears when I know part of me wants to sob myself to sleep. I feel directionless anger, sadness and confusion. Mostly I feel confused. I don't understand why this happened. I don't know how to deal with my grief, with the injustice of his death. I want to find closure but I don't know if I ever will. His death feels irrational to me and I want to make sense of it; I want it to fit into my worldview. I want an explanation. I want an explanation beyond the results of an autopsy. My rational mind wants this explanation but my heart wants one too.

Deep down I know that explaining or blaming his death away will not help me escape the pain I feel. I am a fixer. When I don't like something in my life I simply change it. It has always seemed simple to me. This pain is not something that I can escape, resolve or fix. Deep down I know I must embrace this pain but I am pushing back against it. I am pushing back hard. Every time I feel myself breaking down I try to occupy my mind with something else. But this pain must be suffered. I have to allow it to crash over me and allow myself to feel the sadness, the anger and the confusion.

I believe this sorrow will make me better. It will allow me to share common grief and common sorrow with others who loved him as well. Embracing my feelings will make me vulnerable and humble, two traits I resent. Maybe it will also teach me wisdom. Hopefully it will make me more compassionate to the struggles of others. It will help me move forward. Life is sometimes cold and cruel. It is full of pain and heartbreak. But it is also unfathomably beautiful, and generous, and good. It is also full of love and joy. Leron is the proof of all those things.