Ferguson Burning

November 25, 2014

Dear Gareth,

My city is on fire. My city's people are hurting.

At the center of it is a death. A loss. A son ripped from his mother's life. His father's life.

At the center of it is an officer, whom I'm sure had no intention when he got up the morning of August 9th, got ready for work, and stepped into that police car for his shift, that his life would also change in an instant.

People's lives have split. There have become for so many a "before" and an "after." My heart is with everyone trying to make sense of the "afters" of their life. Everyone who wishes beyond reason that they could step back into the "before." Officer Darren Wilson. Mike Brown's family. The Ferguson community. The owners who wake up this morning to find their shops destroyed. The owners of hearts so enraged or hearts so laden with grief that today's usual tasks will seem near impossible.

Everyone has a before and an after.

And in this after I miss you. I stood in the student lounge at work facing the soundless television with images of my city. I took in the press conference words through little headphones meant to keep the noise down so students can study. Meant to keep the peace.

Keep the peace.

I listened and I watched and I wanted to call you.

I drove home from work and I wanted to call you.

I took a break. Played ukulele. Watched a tv show. Walked the dog. Took a nap. And I wanted to call you. Today I am really missing you.

This is exactly the kind of thing we'd be talking about. You, fiercely protective of me and my city, would be feeling this, too. You, sensitive to the hurt of others and to all matters of justice, would be feeling this, too. You would be present for this. For me.

Tonight would have been a night that you would have made a 3-hour drive to be near me.  How convenient, I still think, that I'm only 45 minutes from your apartment now. How I still seem to think that matters.

You would have insisted on tea. "Tea is medicinal!" you'd say. We'd watch the news. You'd ask me questions. You'd talk about similar issues in New Zealand. You'd propose solutions. You'd have insightful things to say. Compassionate things to say.

You would be there, and that would make watching this all unfold a bit more bearable.

Tonight, in just a few moments, before I sleep, I will kneel next to my bed. I will pray for my city and everyone in it. I will pray for anyone feeling the ache. The extreme weight of living in the after. Officer Wilson. Officer Wilson's family. Mike Brown's family. Jurors. Protestors. Police. Community members. Business owners. Young men. Young women. Clergy.

And I will talk to you. I will ask you to be with me in any way you see fit. In memory. In a feeling. In a dream. In the compassion I will have for all involved.

Teach me to love. Keep teaching me to love.

(all photos from cnn.com November 25, 2014)