Originally posted on The Crunk Feminist Collective:
For some reason this week I have been visited by and/or reminded of people who passed away over my lifetime. Their passing was sense-less so it hurt without boundaries or the protection provided by reason.
- Sharon was my stepmother and she was shot at my father’s work league basketball game while cheering for him in the stands. She was 33 years old, a huge sports fanatic, she had big cheeks and my final memory is my 8-year-old self kissing her cheek good-bye at the funeral.
- Johnny was my friend from high school who committed suicide when he was a senior. He was struggling with being successful at a predominantly white high school as a black male and being relevant in a predominantly black neighborhood. He got caught stealing sneakers at a local retailer and hung himself with his Judo rope; he felt that he had dishonored his family. A Judo…
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