When a child is killed, the media rush to make a spectacle of it. People want to know the hows, the whys, the whens, etc of it. The media gives in to this hysteria to the point where you begin to think there is no other news. I often get caught up in this hysteria and am exhausted by the end of that particular media storm. I have since learned to avoid the news at all costs. You see, depression and the death of children do not work well together and I find it difficult to separate from the tragic news.
Armed with this self protection, I avoided the Trayvon Martin issue as long as I ethically could. Then I joined many of my caring Philly mom blogger friends in Tuesday for Trayvon as we expressed ourselves at this loss of a child. Here’s my post.
I was caught off guard this morning, however, as I made my coffee and heard the 911 call in which Trayvon was begging for his life to be spared. It hit me like a punch in the stomach. I wept. I wept so hard my stomach hurt. I almost lost my appetite. To hear the sound of that child screaming in the background touched a nerve so raw I can’t explain.
Trayvon’s mother was interviewed and said she knew the sound of her child’s voice on the tape. Of course she would, any mother would know their own child’s voice. But no one wants to hear their child begging for mercy. No one.
The sound of that child’s voice could have been my own son’s voice: #1’s voice is not a deep bass like a grown man, but rather the light tenor of a young man. Just like Trayvon’s.
Here’s a pic of my son in a hoodie that he graciously sent me from college. Temple. Big city Philadelphia. Think I don’t have the same fears?
Does he look like a killer?
Trayvon’s mother thought the same thing.
Until justice is served; I am STILL Trayvon Martin’s mother.
And it hurts.