We got word last night. He died outta the blue. All lives matter. You think that’s just a slogan. What about Pervy who died so young as a black pastor but as sixth graders taught me how to play basketball. We die. We got the word last night. A really good, good man, paler shade of brown than black. My wife and I wept. I stood at the kitchen window and talked to God—WHY? What is the reason? What a bruise. All lives matter is a slogan—Really. Then you haven’t lived long enough for enough loved ones to die. What about Charlie, my best friend who at 19 shot himself in the heart, a heart that only longed to be loved. Or what about Tim, my best friend who died in an instant, the wrong place at the wrong time. If he had sneezed getting out of bed that morning he would have lived. Or her, my dear friend who died awash in alcohol or my dad who was the greatest man I ever knew. We die. Or what about my wife’s parents who left her motherless and fatherless on the same day, my great uncle murdered, my neighbor and then his Godly, young daughter. We die in ways unimaginable to the sweetness that we know as life. All lives matter is not a slogan that we say to assuage us from one color of us dying. It is a deeply held understanding for those of us who have loved enough to know enough of those we loved, who’ve died; that every one of us die—die, and that is the most heinous evil there is—death. Is it possible that when we say “All Lives Matter” it is us stating a truth that you just haven’t learned yet because most of those you love are still alive? This newfound outrage is an outrage we have lived with longer than most of you have been alive. Death came to our door again last night and got what he was looking for. Death by murder or mystery is heinous because truly, all lives do matter.
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| My old friend Pervy was joined by my new friend Lamar |
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