PORCH LIFE
a few steps removed
Normally,
when a newspaper reports a shooting, I read the article and can only
imagine what the victim’s family is experiencing. The closest I had been
to a violent death was in the mid-60s, the murder/suicide by an uncle
by marriage and his two young children.
My
experience on Wednesday, September 26 and on the following days
determined that my observations would never again be far removed.
Gunshots fired at 6:30 initiated the progression of a very long week at
the corner of Fourth and Bates. From the continuous activity at the
De’Koda Mar’ta Galtney memorial, to attending De’Koda’s wake and funeral
service, I was more emotionally involved than I could ever have
imagined. Through those several days I was blessed to briefly talk with,
and exchange hugs with De’Koda’s mom, sisters, and others who lost, in
De’Koda’s passing, a brother, nephew, friend, son, father. In this point
of reference, the only thing that matters is that a loved one passed
from this life; only that hearts are breaking and people are hurting.
Over
the week and a half, I observed and heard a gamut of emotions. Some
neighbors contributed food and kind words to the mourners. What
disturbed me was the extreme other end of the gamut - the anger. Not
anger focused on losing someone, or toward the murderer, but the anger
that lashed out wildly and the more pent up anger that whined as if
trying to escape from a tiny hole. - anger that came from a few people
keeping vigil at the memorial and from a few people who live in the many
blocks in this lower Dayton’s Bluff area. Anger, a normal emotion and
feeling we sometimes encounter as we work through grief and other
difficult situations. How long and how tightly we carry it , though, can
destroy us and others. Words spoken in anger can cause damage long
after being spoken. Words meant to intimidate or carry threats can
create distrust in friends and acquaintances. What is the source of this
anger? Where might it take root?
Inner
anger and grief nagged me for days before I could finally identify the
reasons behind my own emotions. Yes, I grieved for De’Koda’s family and
friends. My heart cried every night for the young men and women across
the street from my porch. I grieved for the god-uncle who came early
Sunday to find the memorial in ashes. Alone on the porch, late into the
night and into early mornings, I prayed silently and I sang praise songs
aloud. At other times, friends came silently onto the porch just to be
with me. It helped to talk through what I was seeing and feeling. But it
didn’t take away the ache or the anger. I felt so useless in what I
could do. Even now, tears flow.
Much
of this culminated on Sunday evening as Chanelle and her and De’Koda’s
precious baby. Charitie, visited on my porch with two friends and me.
Seeing Chanelle and then my friend hold little Charitee solidified the
concept of ‘community’ and its sometimes delicate balance.
I know a few other people may find offense with my approach or framing
of these past days. Some may revert to social judgments, condemnations
and stereotypes of fatherless children, lives of crime, and related
spiels. This isn’t the place. This is the time and place when we ask,
‘What does a community response to such a tragedy look like?’ and ‘Who is the community?’ I hope that this could be the start of a dialogue that builds stronger relationships within a community - within a city.
(note to self: expand on this)
sage holben/originally written for Dayton's Bluff Forum, 11/2011
