you took a polaroid of us,
then discovered,
the rest of the world was black and white,
but we were in screaming color,
and I remember thinking
are we out of the woods yet?
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tw: mentions of death and gun violence.
The soft, rhythmic sound of waves crashing to the shore filled the early morning air as I stood on the beach in Savannah, Georgia. The sky was a gentle shade of lavender, pink, and orange as I gazed out beyond the horizon. It had been a year since I stepped foot on Georgia soil or since I specifically stepped on a beach, and I could feel a small feeling of peace settle in my chest.
Alexander City, Alabama, the place where I was born, was now once again my new home. For a year, I tried my hardest not to think about Georgia, or more specifically my family. But once I clicked a specific link on the internet just a few months ago, that feeling of avoidance crumbled away. The link led to a news article, just another headline about another senseless act of violence. But it was different, on the screen was another fellow police officer– just like Myles.
My breath was caught in my throat as I read the article, reading how the officer was just trying to do his job, and was fatally shot in the chest, leading to him ending up in a coma. I remember reading his fellow officers talking so highly about him, along with the tearful interview his wife gave, as well as his 12-year-old son.
It was heartbreaking.
Once I clicked out of the article, I simply sat in silence, staring at the bright screen of my computer as my mind flooded with thoughts about Myles, my older brother, who was shot and killed in the line of duty. He had a wife, and he had children, yet the person who did the act did not care a bit.
After the funeral and the court dates, I fled Georgia altogether, not even bothering to say a proper goodbye to my grieving parents as I moved back to Alabama. Once I arrived in Alexander City, I hoped that the familiar surroundings would offer me some comfort, some sort of escape from the reality I didn't want to face.
But after I read the article about the fellow King's County sheriff, I knew I had to do something, I had to say something. So from that day forward, I began to write and write, publishing my thoughts, feelings, and experiences for the world to see. I poured my grief into every word, hoping that by sharing my story, I could make a difference. It started with blog posts, just small pieces about Myles, about the pain of losing him, and about the senselessness of gun violence. But the response was both heartwarming and overwhelming.
People from all over reached out, sharing their own stories, and their losses to gun violence. It was like a floodgate had opened, and suddenly, I wasn't alone in my grief. I realized that there were hundreds, thousands, and even millions of people who experienced the same pain, and who were struggling to make sense of their losses, just as I was.
The more I wrote and the more I shared, the more determined I became. I started speaking out, not just on my blog but in person. I reached out to local organizations, offered to speak at events, and used every platform I could to raise awareness about gun violence and the impact it had on families like mine.
