“It’s 5 o’clock in the morning”
I sang this song to myself as I clipped the leash on the dogs, grabbed a flashlight and let them outside pre dawn to do their business.
It’s a song I sing often, substituting with 3 o’clock, seven o’clock, etc based on the time their bladders demand relief.
Back inside, I grabbed a water and pit stop myself, turning to Instagram for a quick scroll before heading back to bed, intending to read a few messages and be back to slumber soon.
And then my heart was broken by the announcement of John Lewis’ passing, posted by a friend.
Now it’s 5:30 in the morning and I can’t sleep.
The sadness comes in waves and I’m reminded of the essay on grief that helped me through losses before.
it’s hard to accept that this strong, capable, brave black man who fought for his civil rights, marched with Doctor King, served in Congress most of my lifetime and lived to see Barack Obama serve in office is gone.
He’s gone at a time when our nation is, once again, grappling with racial inequality. As he fought for equal voting rights, Lewis would have likely commented that inequality never went away, it was just ignored.
He’ll never see Trump leave office and hope restored.
He will never see the fullness of his work realized and enjoyed by those he fought for.
While he was only 80 years old, his life was not one of ease. This is a man who was arrested for daring to use a “whites only” toilet and who was beaten on more than one occasion. It’s been shown that the body catalogs the stress and pain from traumatic events. And how do we expect octogenarians to keep working grueling schedules when they have earned their rest?
In times like now, I really miss my stuff. The boxes and furniture all got stuffed into a POD and shipped to Kansas and sits 100 miles away, waiting for the POD franchisee to decide if they’ll deliver it to my home, as promised.
In one of those boxes, packed tightly among the others, are three books written on the life of John Lewis and illustrated as a graphic novel.
I first heard of March from The Rachel Maddow Show and when I read them I finally understood the hype. I’m not ashamed to admit that I cried reading about his life, from preaching to the chickens on the family farm to being arrested, watching his friends be assassinated, to standing at the capital and watching the first black president take the oath of office.
In a country so bitterly divided, it’s hard to imagine our politicians as heroes. John Lewis earned his stripes on the streets and I can only imagine the young black men and women who will follow in his footsteps.
It is a day of great loss for America. For those who are mourning at the news and even those who don’t give a damn. Because that’s the thing about activists: they fight for your equality and freedom whether you stand for or against them.