Mrs. Martin I am Sorry For the Death of Your Son Trayvon.
I got up this morning and looked at my sons Gregory and
Khalil. All I see are handsome young
boys growing beautifully into manhood.
They are funny, silly and charming.
Gregory, 13 has two things on his mind:
food and cologne and of course basketball. And books when I push and I
always push. Khalil, 10 is the most
gracious and hospitable kid around... he is a social butterfly in the making.
He is goofy and clumsy. The boy has trouble walking, but he can bust a Michael
Jackson move like nobody can! He is a
smooth operator. I love them more than I
can say or express.
I know Mrs. Martin felt the same about her son Trayvon. I am sure she saw a lovely young man who was
fun and smart and a regular teenager filled with angst, rap music, cellphones
and girls... he was 17 years old. I am
sure she had the same hopes and wishes for her son as I do mine.
As I stand in the kitchen looking at my sons, I am looking to see
if they look menacing, is there something about them that would make someone
afraid. Surely if they saw them smile
and laugh they wouldn’t just shoot to kill them. Surely if they knew them, they would know that
they would never seek to harm anyone.
Mrs. Martin must have thought the same thing about Trayvon.
My heart breaks for her and my thoughts drift to the alone
moments that must be unbearable. I can’t
imagine her grief, her pain, her wishing to turn the clocks back just 24
hours. Her child will never again be
hanging around the house, or playing his music a little too loud, or in need of
something...sneakers...new jeans...a ride to the mall.
I don’t know what The Martin’s everyday life was like. I do know that there is a common thread that
runs through mothers. Mothers in Afghanistan,
Mothers in the Sudan, Mothers in Israel, Mothers in Palestine. Mothers in Chicago, New Haven and Florida and
so many places in the world where mothers are mourning the loss of their sons.
I cannot make sense of it all and I don’t want to. I am not going
to accept this as how it is. I am not
going to accept grieving with other mothers helplessly. I want to say to Mr. & Mrs. Martin I am
sorry. Every day as I look upon the
handsome faces of my sons I will quietly whisper your son’s name... Trayvon. It will be a daily prayer of remembrance and
comfort.
Babz Rawls Ivy
Managing Editor
Inner-City News
Penfield Communications, Inc.
New Haven, CT