Mama, I’m Through

Just when we thought the world had hit rock bottom with coronavirus, George Floyd’s death plunged the nation into grief and outrage, sparking riots and looting in every major city. We watched in disbelief as a white cop sworn to protect and serve pressed his knee into the neck of a Black man, pinned on the asphalt by three grown men, for a staggering 8 minutes and 46 seconds.

George Floyd was murdered. He was murdered in my state. And we have to talk about it.

One of the things that struck me the hardest was hearing Mr. Floyd cry out for his mother in his final moments. Here was a grown man struggling for breath, and in that desperation, he called out for his mama, who had died two years prior. It was that visceral plea to the other side, knowing he was teetering the line between this life and the next, that shook me to my core.

In Civil War battlefield reports, the final words of dying soldiers were often “mother” and “home.” It’s a full-circle invocation of safety and comfort. Stripped of time to prepare and philosophize our death, this one-word utterance is a stand-in for the rapid-fire processing of our mortality. It represents our values, our fears, and our fragility. And it reminds all of us just how severely important our role is as parents.

After I watched the harrowing video of George Floyd’s death, I got up and tiptoed into each child’s bedroom. His final words, “Mama… I’m through,” rang through my head as I listened to my two boys and my two foster children breathe deeply in their sleep.

We need to do better. I need to do better.

Many of us, myself included, are parenting transracially through foster care or adoption. It’s a challenging road, paved with our own insecurities and worries of not measuring up. Some choose to walk it blindfolded, adhering to the motto that “love is colorblind” and ignorant to the fact that they’re blindly guiding children who see color all around them. Some will shy away from detours that are unfamiliar, and their destinations are unaltered with their changing family dynamic. Those I admire most have found a way to let others walk in front of them and learn from their journey.

This tragedy is fodder for reflection and change. What we do today affects our children’s tomorrow, and our kids are watching our every move. The way we respond shapes the way they think about themselves and the world around them. We could be the person who bypasses police brutality to hyperfocus on political conspiracies in the aftermath of what’s transpired. We could be the person who’s afraid to rock the boat on a politically or racially charged situation so we stay silent instead. Or we could remember that George Floyd was a son, a father, and a person who was worthy of life.

We could step up and do better. We could fight through the awkward growing pains of being a country that doesn’t know how to talk about race. We could actively fight the evil that prevails from the sins of the apathetic. We could mourn with those who mourn. We could look for how to help our community instead of looking for places to hide.

It’s easy to love the beautiful, innocent children lying peacefully in their cribs. It’s harder to move past the warm, fuzzy emotions and do the work to actively love others. Even when you disagree. Even when they’re different from you. Even when it’s uncomfortable.

It’s never too late to be the mama that our children deserve, the mama who is called upon in their darkest hour, the mama who sees her children and values every aspect of who they are.