June 19, 2020
Abruptly awakened, sleep no longer sound, rest plagued by a pandemic, race riots, protests, and the death of another black man is my new normal. But this normal is not normal at all.
I carry the quiet discomfort of having a son and daughter living in a period of uncertainty and unrest. Phone calls or the lack thereof from them when they are away now startling for fear of what if? Echos of “that could have been my child” lurking in my subconscious.
My heart cries with every mother who has lost a child too soon. Too soon because, as mothers, we should not outlive our children. The cries from the grave of
“I can’t breathe.”
“What are you following me for?”
“It’s not real.”
Cries, screaming in the silence of death. What can I do to quiet the cries?
As a writer, I share my support through words. I believe there is power in the pen, healing in writing, and freedom in expression. Events unfolding from day-to-day, life as we knew it, no longer exists.
I choose to share my pain, passion, and purpose through words, and I wish to share them with you. We can support, encourage, and inspire one another along this journey. As we carry feelings of pain, anger, sorrow, sympathy, and empathy, let us share their combined weight to lighten our own loads.
I am a mother.
I am Black.
I am a Black Mother.
BB Davis
