Looking up to the sky, as I gaze at the clouds and feel the warmth of the sun beating on my face I wonder what could have been.
I want to let my mind wander a little longer, soaring with the wind as far away from the noise, the hopelessness, the pain ...
But I'm drawn back to reality.
This is my child. His lifeless body lies on the ground. I am denied his touch. I want to hold him in my arms and tell him, "It will be okay, momma's here."
But he can't hear me. I can't get to him. I can't ease his fears.
If only I knew when he left for school. If only I could have kept him home, locked away from this EVIL world. If only I could have sheltered him.
But I worried that if stifled him, he would not become a man.
Where did I fail? I told him to be polite and respect his elders. I told him to do unto others the way he would want them to do unto him.
So, why was he so frightening?
What did he do?
Wait ... He put his hands up? His hands .... His .... skin, flesh, and bones was his weapon?
No. Not my baby!
15 hours ... 15 is what it took to bring him into this world. I pushed for two hours straight. I nursed him. He slept in my arms for two days, I was afraid he would gag in his sleep.
My son. He was afraid on his first day of school. He was scared of the other kids, unsure if they would like him.
He got in trouble for being the class clown. He was awkward because he wanted to fit in. It gave him pleasure to see his friends smile.
He was sad because the dog at the pound was crying. He cried and wanted to take him home. He said, "Mommy, it's not right, that doggy's afraid to be here."
I can see him sharing his lunch with his sister. He would give his last to her or any of his friends. He wasn't selfish. He was caring.
But, he also had a strong sense of justice. He could never stand by, while someone was being unfairly treated, and he would speak up, if he was being unfairly treated.
I fear this sense of right and wrong was his undoing. They said he had no right to demand to be treated fairly?
Of course, I can't blame his executioner, I'm not allowed to.
"If only he had listened to me", they say. (When he stopped and put his hands up)
"If only he had complied." (When he reached for his ID)
"if only he hadn't moved," (Although he was told to move)
"If only he hadn't talked back." (When he asked Why?)
"He shouldn't have run." (When over 200 others were killed by the militia)
"He shouldn't have .... "
No gun, no drugs, no weapon, no threat .... But my baby is now soaring in the sky. His soul has left the vessel that carried it. I long for one more smile; one more hug. If only I could yell at him one more time. I don't care if he annoys me (class clown). I welcome it ....
He's wandering in the wind and I'm left here, asking, "WHY?"
What was his crime? Why was he denied a trial? Why was he executed? Why can't I hold him? How dare you justify murdering him?
15 hours of labor, my flesh, my bones, my blood - MINE!
WHY?
What do I do NOW!
Mr. Executioner, I ask you what would you do?
What DID you do?
