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Beautifully Said...

Out of a phone conversation with a person I now like to consider a good friend, I asked the favor of Lashonda Jackson-Holmes to write an article for the blog. Already a published author in her own right, she graciously obliged. Our shared opinions and conversation about the plight of our youth, ignited my desire to share a story with our readers. The story Lashonda Jackson-Holmes writes of, comes from both concerned observance and personal tragedy. I hope that everyone reading this story will take something away from it that will make them compelled to help one youth or individual to become a better self. It is always in helping others that we always help ourselves. Be Blessed! Asha Lashae'



THE PLIGHT OF OUR YOUTH

“…but if you fight with these, you live to see another day,” is spoken to the character Craig by his father in the movie “Friday.” Craig was faced with an impending confrontation.

Time had run out. I couldn’t save him. Michael was on the run. He was running with the intent of escaping an eminent death. The horror of knowing a single bullet had shattered his cranium is-to this day- an image I try hard not to visualize. Even as I looked at him one last time before the casket closed, there are still days the reality of his absence sets off silent screams that only I can hear.

I do not pretend my brother was a saint, for that matter neither was I at his age. The difference is, I survived, and he did not. The irony in it all is the very state he was murdered in, is the state I contemplated sending him to for culinary school.

As I write this piece on the most beautiful of days, it becomes apparent that my moment of reflection is causing me distress. A lady with her children inquires about my well being. I assure her I am alright, or at least I will be. I sit watching her children run after one another. The action in itself is one that bothers me, even with my own children; running didn’t help Michael. I gather my things together and call for my children. They will have to swing on the swings play at the park another day.

The character Craig, who is portrayed by Ice Cube, solution to his problem was one that young people turn to all too often. He sought to handle his problem with a gun.

It seems that the media excessively reminds us how confrontation is handled with our youth on a daily basis. Being a sister who lost a brother to murder by a gun, I can tell you five years later, the pain is still real. Michael was my youngest brother. Eight years separated us. In some ways, he was my baby. As an infant, I helped bathe and dress him; I cuddled him, carried him around and often insisted he slept with me.

January 18th, five years ago, my family found out Michael had been murdered. Our story is no different from any other family that has experienced such a senseless loss. After we laid him to rest, I began to ask God “what about us?” They were my mother, his daughter, his niece, my self, and the others who were left to feel his absence.

I often ponder the idea of whether the gunman thought that far ahead. Had he known my mother cooked “Bettie Burgers” for anyone that entered her home and requested one, would he have cared? Would it have made a difference that many people call her “mom” though not related? If he had known my niece, Michael’s only child, would be haunted by the nightmares, would he have cared? Would it have made a difference had he seen my child, who bore more of a resemblance to “Uncle Michael” than she did her mother, would he have cared? Would knowing my Aunt Dot would have an accelerated death because of the stress, have made a difference? What about the fact Michael had a ninety-two year old great Aunt who was awaiting his visit to Louisiana so she could send someone to buy her great nephew vanilla ice-cream? My answer is always the same, only if he had had a conscience. Never again would my daughter be able to leap into her uncle’s arms and laugh uncontrollably as silliness engulfed them both.

If God’s word had dwelled within him, the Holy Spirit would have been able to intervene. We as parents have done a great disservice to our children. We have failed to introduce our children to God the Father. Proverbs 22: 6 reads,”Train up a child in the way he should go. Even when he is old he will not depart from it.” God’s word is dynamic in that it never changes for He is the same today as He was yesterday and will be forever, proclaims Hebrews 13:8.

After the death and burial of my brother, God was my only solace. He allowed me to draw close. He literally rocked me in his arms and protected my sanity as I grieved at six months pregnant. My unborn child would be denied her uncle as would my son. My mother would grieve into the late night hours. Had he known Michael’s death would cause so much pain, would he have allowed things to get so out of control? Did he think of his own family?

Even as I think about “us”, what about “them?” The mother of the accused, the father of the accused, the siblings, cousins, spouses, of the same. No mother gives birth thinking her child will be a murderer. Their hearts must ache to visit their loved one in jail. There may be many letters and phone calls, but what about the pain. The absence and inability to wrap ones arm around another. They too are victims. How do I know, you ask? I have sat on the side of the accused as well. Did the accused really not know there would be more than one victim?

I continue to watch families grieve unnecessarily. The pain is always the same, especially a mother’s pain. I know that absence from the body on earth is a physical death, the real victims are the individuals left to mourn their loved ones. Even after the casket has been lowered into the ground, the phone calls have ceased, and the visits have stopped, the pain continues. Long after the holidays have gone and the one year anniversary has passed, a void still exists. One can only hope that emotions can be released quickly so that a spirit of depression does not set and cause more heartache to the victim’s family.

Although my brother is feeling no earthly hurt, there are days I look at his daughters face and know that she does feel the hurt That fact alone should make our youth ask, “Who did I really victimize?” Michael never reached his full potential, but then neither did other victims of violence.

I can only pray the Spirit of the Lord continues to comfort those of us who are left with emptiness because of violence. May we look to Him knowing that Ecclesiastes 3:1declares there is a time for everything under the Heavens, including peace.

LaShonda Jackson-Holmes