I have finally decided to deactivate my Facebook account. This year has taken a toll and I find myself churned up all the time.
I thought turning 65 would include new wisdom. I thought I would find myself exploring new interests and having more time for reading and writing and gardening. I thought I would find topics of interest to women my age to write about every day.
Here we are, almost six months into this new year and I am having to face the reality that life is full of bumps and falls and Covid 19 and sheltering in place and senseless cruelty and the discovery that social media allows otherwise kind and gentle human beings to become bullies.
We think, myself included, that we want to share thoughts and opinions. We think, that we can tolerate having our opinions criticized and even when we have taken great pains to share a thought or perception without stepping on anyone's toes, someone will take offense. Someone will ALWAYS take offense.
I'm not up to the challenge of confrontation. I am so saddened by the disrespect our President receives. Whether you voted for him or not, he deserves better simply because he holds the office. I am saddened that George Floyd was killed by a policeman that apparently gave many the idea that that policeman symbolized all policemen and women. I am saddened that when I tried to voice an opinion that reflected my own belief that regardless of skin color or spiritual belief or sexual preference, YOU MATTER, friends that I cared deeply for, thought it was okay to love me but put me in my place and express their disappointment in me...on Facebook.
I learned a very important lesson.... if someone says, "I love you, BUT...", they don't. There is no BUT after I love you, you do or you don't.
I have had to say Good bye to my daughter, my Mother, my Father, my Brother. I am sad all the damn time, but I keep breathing, keep putting one foot in front of the other, and thank God every day that my husband is patient and after 46 years, still holds my hand in public.
I watched parts of a four hour celebration of George Floyd's life, on every channel yesterday. I watched singing and praying and eulogizing. I watched as a horse drawn carriage carried his gold casket to his final resting place next to his Mother. I saw the beautiful church and the huge flower arrangements. I watched Al Sharpton and Joe Biden share their thoughts and I couldn't help thinking.... Why? I'm sure that Big Floyd was a gentle giant. He deserved better than to have his life end the way it did but he was not innocent. Celebrities paid for his elaborate funeral. Mourners traveled from all over the country to support the family. Strangers with cell phones and fancy hats and back packs came to celebrate his life.
It seems that somewhere in the back of my mind I remember President Kennedy being carried by a horse drawn carriage, a flag draped over his casket.
Images that I have seen on TV for the last two weeks filled my mind. Protesters setting fire to Police cars. Breaking windows. Destroying lives. Stealing. Looting. Behaving like barbarians and for what? Had the people they were hurting done anything to them? Who was going to step up to pay for rebuilding their businesses? Who was going to offer to pay for David Dorn's funeral? If the protesters were so peaceful why didn't they stop the rioters? I know there were good people in the midst of the bad, but they were probably pushed aside by the "pack mentality" determined to create chaos.
This will not end tomorrow or even the next day. I will hope and pray that it will end but we are human beings and we are flawed. We will make mistakes and we will hurt one another but just a month ago, we were watching the world take care of those in need. Images of songs of support from balconies, visits with family through panes of glass, sheltering in place to avoid putting another in harms way, applauding our essential workers and the doctors and nurses who were tireless and selfless in their willingness to care for those who were suffering alone. How quickly we switch from loving one another to hating one another. We are a fickle lot.
No, I cannot understand how it feels to grow up black in America, anymore than I can understand how it feels to be red or yellow or brown. Maybe we can't understand how it feels to have grown up poor or homeless or wealthy or famous. We play the hand we are dealt. We are victims if that is what we choose. We are criminals if that is what we choose. We are heros if that is what we choose. We are kind or generous or thoughtful or spiritual or determined, if that is what we choose.
Some days I choose to be pitiful. Others, I am angry or judgmental or afraid of the dropping of the other shoe. Those days, thank goodness are few...that is my choice.
So is taking a break. The world is overflowing with beauty and I am choosing ...