When Babies are Murdered

I texted my supervisor at 7:00am and told her I was taking off today because conducting myself like “business as usual” wasn’t going to cut it today.

As I laid in silence, grappling with my thoughts, above the birds chirping and engines starting, I heard a joyful child chanting, “Let’s go O’s! Let’s go O’s! Let’s go O’s!”

I wondered if the child recently watched a baseball game on television or attended a game with family. I also wondered if the same joy was exuded by the students at Robb Elementary in Uvalde, Texas before they went to school yesterday.

I was born and raised in one of the deadliest places on Earth — Baltimore. We shoot for fun. We shoot for respect. We shoot because it’s frigid. We shoot because “it’s hot out this bitch and that’s a good enough reason” like 50 Cent once said. We shoot fathers. We shoot mothers. We shoot senior citizens. We shoot babies. Citizens shoot citizens, and law enforcement shoot citizens, too.

With so many bullets flying, the names of the victims keep adding up and the tears of those devastated never fully stop flowing.

I wanted to take a “business as usual” approach to my day today. I typically do. I think most of us just keep moving when calamitous events happen. Kendrick Lamar recently reminded us, but I think we were well aware that we as a country either “grieve different” or don’t grieve at all.

I’m not here to tell anyone how to process murder, pain, or misfortune. I don’t think I have the credentials or expertise for that type of prescription. However, when babies die, I wonder how the world manages to keep spinning.

Right now, parents are broken. Right now, families in Texas are hoping that their children are somewhere hiding and will reemerge unscathed — but they won’t. Right now, communities from Baltimore and Buffalo to Texas and Togo are trying to conceive a world without someone who was murdered and died prematurely.

I wish I had some comforting words to say to those suffering. I wish I could combine the right nouns and verbs to say the thing that could usurp agony and replace it with comfort, but I don’t know if I have it.

When children die, so much more than just the body of the child is taken from us. When we murder children, we murder laughter, we murder doctors, judges, activists, and scientists. When we murder children, we murder friendships, vacations, field trips, and first kisses.

When we murder children, we prohibit them from developing into adults. We take away marriages. We take away their offspring, which means we take away potentially hundreds if not thousands of other people. We decimate lineages.

As I lay across my bed with my room slightly illuminated by the sunlight, I continue to hear birds chirping and car doors closing. Parents are readying to drive their children to school as they do everyday, but I am sure there is an extra feeling of uneasiness when they pull away from the school and their children wave them goodbye.

I hope that our children still find joy and hope in being the children they are. I also hope the extra hugs and kisses parents provide today will fortify the bond and serve as extra protection for our youngest learners.

If schools decide to boost security, I hope the security is more like the NOI and less like the FBI. I don’t want our children trying to learn in a police state.

And to the child who shouted “Let’s go O’s!” before jumping in the car this morning, thank you for bringing me some hope on a day that feels completely hopeless.