For You, Breonna — On Christmas Eve
From what I can tell you loved Christmas. You are not here for me to ask you so I can only glean this from tidbits left on your social media. You should be here. I waited and waited for more people to focus on who you were, Breonna. A murdered hero. Taken in the night by those who work for the state. They did not even bother to knock. Were you scared? You had to have been scared. Since you’ve been gone a lot has happened but also not enough. I won’t get into that though and will instead focus on you, the hole you’ve left with your absence. I hope you know you are missed. I hope you know that there are many Black women who see you and think of you and wonder how you were feeling. Wonder about who you were and are enraged at how and why you are gone.
As a hero, you often interfaced with people and from your smile you were likely compassionate. A warm hug. A calming voice when there is chaos going on. And yet another group of alleged heroes took you. It does not seem heroic, when you consider that. You, on the other hand, were a hero. Bre, can I call you Bre?, I imagine this year would have been hard for you too. From the other healthcare workers I know, this is one of the hardest years of their career and I imagine it would have been no different for you. I do not want you here to experience this hardship. I want you here because there is no reason you should not be.
It is Christmas Eve and another one of our sisters sent me a tweet of you hoping for children at Christmas this year. I hope you are bouncing some beautiful babies on your knees on the other side. In my heart I am praying that you are there with your granny or aunties or play cousins or whoever else transitioned that you loved. You should’ve been able to be here wrapping gifts for your own bundle of joy, though.
I know you are caring because of who you loved and what you did. And I am a stranger. I never had the chance of getting to know you or meeting you because when I learned your name it was for an unthinkable reason. To be robbed of peace while resting. They have a lot to say about the guys you like too. They always have something to say. I’m glad you don’t have to hear any of it and that instead you are up there in the sky winning Christmas decorating contests and giggling about who knows what. I am hoping that peace has found you. That maybe a semblance of the peace you gave those Black men that the state frequently took from you. I know what it means to love men who others doubt and diminish. “Bad boys” they call them. But you know and I know who they are when you are delicately braiding their hair, or laying with them quietly. You know that strength and that tenderness. You’ve heard those words they share where you learn their brokenness and see that broken piece of yourself there too. And so you, Breonna, with all that love and joy held them in your heart and in your home and in your mind and you did not distance yourself like so many demand. You did not turn your back on the men who you felt needed you. You were so frequently needed. And I think that’s why on Christmas Eve I am thinking of you. Thinking of what it means for Black women to not even find peace in our own homes and what it means to be judged for who you love and care for. Like our loving is the problem.
You know better than that though and that’s why every picture of you I see, I feel this deep sadness. So many are angry but I am so sad. Sad that you did not get to do all you dreamed. Sad that you were not here long enough to continue to demonstrate that you will love who you please and do what you want. I did see that you went to Vegas and it looked like you had fun. I’m glad you lived to the fullest while here. That light still shines earthside, Bre.
While you’re up there I do hope you get to “sleep in heavenly peace” like the song Silent Night says. Not sure if you liked that Christmas tune but so many Christmas lovers like it. I want to believe your soul is at peace even though in many ways justice has evaded your name. Your soul has to have ascended to the great abyss. The land of plenty and milk and honey. Up there with your loved ones who can hold you and call you “baby” and rock you back and forth. That kind of peace. I pray you have that, Breonna. Merry Christmas to you, Breonna Taylor. You will never be forgotten.
