If you had a friend you knew you would never see again, what would you say? If you could do one last thing for someone you love, what would it be?
Say it, do it, don’t wait… Nothing lasts forever.
June 9th, 2017 will always be a vivid day, my biggest nightmare. Throughout high school even in my freshman year of college, I was the girl who slept until 2 p.m.especially during the summer. On this particular day, for some “weird” reason, my phone kept ringing repeatedly. I started to get frustrated and decided to place my phone on Do not disturb . However, that did not stop the calls from coming. Once I realized it kept ringing, I felt compelled to wake up and answer. The way my phone would not stop, the ringing was alarming. Someone really needed me. After ignoring multiple calls, I Finally, I answered the phone call. The person calling was my best friend in an emotional and unbearable state. About five seconds into the phone call, I felt my face turning pale. The words that came through the phone hit me as if someone had stabbed me directly in the Chest.
“He’s dead.” “What? Who”?! I stared at the phone with a blank expression, trying to process what was going on, with everything being said. The first thing that ran through my mind was, “This has to be a joke”. I rummaged through social media and saw that other friends were posting “R.I.P.” “I will always miss you.” “This is not fair.” I closed my apps immediately and sat in silence.My MacBook was open, which allowed other calls to come in. The next one is from a man that I truly respect and love, crying his eyes out. Distress and grief were in his tone as he tried to come up with words to say. The sadness in his voice was confirmed. My nightmare was true; my brother was killed, and there was nothing I could do. Besides sulking it all in and remaining silent in my room. Left to my own thoughts, I played back the two conversations I just had. “My brother was killed”. He did not die of anything else besides a gun. Another individual decided to take his life in the most violent way possible. This seemed unbelievable to me, but for others, this was the norm. It did not hit me how much we normalized this behavior. And When I say we, I mean African Americans.
Let me share a distinct moment that occurred on Memorial Day. I attended several different cook outs in Newark, NJ. For those who don’t know Newark, the city is one of the most violent crime areas in the United States. As I walked out of a cookout, I overheard a conversation that bothered my spirit. There was a couple in front of my cousins and me who shared a sense of excitement and happiness. The woman said to her man, “Wow babe, there were no shootings today” and he replied, “I know, babe. We lit. “The whole hood is lit.” To see people actually happy that there were no shootings occurred was beyond me, almost like they were prepared for killings to occur. My cousin and I walked down the street towards my car while eight cop cars were on the street, siring away. In the background, I heard the man say as he took a joint out.
“Man, I love this ghetto heaven.” I was appalled at him lighting his joint while the police cars dashed by. “They don’t care because they’re too worried about the bodies.” Where Did he see this as heaven? All I saw was pain and suffering within our community, within our country! I spoke to my cousin, anxious about the whole ordeal. It frustrated me when he told me the hood would never change. This will always be a black individual’s situation, so we make the best out of it. The worst part about that is how true it is that most African Americans are born into and placed into these situations. How could I even be mad at him for believing something that is present to him every day? Usually, when there are helicopters in the sky, it means a body is being transferred. The way one in the hood is familiar with the presence of death is shocking. The unfavorable part about this is that not only are we dealing with the inequality of society, but our violence stems from each other.
Not only is the world against us, but we are against each other as well. Black men carry guns in order to feel safe or to protect their loved ones.These weapons are brought anywhere and everywhere, which carries on the violence. Funeral after funeral, we bury our young loved ones as a result of beef, gang rivals, police brutality, and innocent crossfires. The struggle for blacks not only includes the injustice we receive but also the harm we cause each other. As I tell my cousins and friends, “The streets don’t love anyone; don’t be anywhere you aren’t cared for.” It was at the funeral of my brother that I realized something sadly. This nightmare of mine, the one I prayed to God would never happen and dreaded deeply, was a reality to my cousins and a majority of my own people. Death is always just around the corner for any person of color in America at any time. Withholding all this pain,How could one not be damaged or deterred in some way? When will our pain end? His death sparked me into understanding life is short; don’t waste memories or time. What you do and say matters in this life. Don’t take it for granted.
