Last Sunday it all hit me: COVID-19, so many deaths, so many goodbyes and embraces not given. Watching George Floyd murdered while the police officer kept his hand on his pocket so casually. Hearing Floyd call for his mama. Protests, riots, pain upon more pain upon more pain.
As a woman of color, I had no defenses for all the pain and anger being expressed. I have never seen so many black men spontaneously cry from a legacy of old hurts and old wounds. My tears joined their tears, joined their pain, and I sobbed for hours releasing a pain long held in.
I went to a predominantly white high school. I remembered the pain I felt when I repeatedly heard “Oh you are not like the rest of them, you are different, you’re one of the good ones.” Was I supposed to take that as a compliment? Why? Because I did not fit their stereotype of what a Puerto Rican looked like or how a Puerto Rican behaved or how a Puerto Rican did academically?
When my parents tried to realize the American Dream of having a home, we went to a real estate agency, and when the agent left the desk, I happened to glance at the file. What I saw took my breath away: no dogs, no Blacks, no Puerto Ricans!
So many painful memories flooded my heart. I was so exhausted, so tired.
Finally, I realized I could not stay in this place filled with such deep, old hurts and old pain. Yes, I needed to visit this place for a while. I needed to honor those memories that shaped my character, but I could not stay and visit there too long.
So, I got up, I filled my watering can with water, and I found myself outside watering my newly planted bushes and flowers. I watered and I cried and I watered and I cried some more. I talked to the plants. I told them I was so happy that I could nurture their beauty. They brought me much joy and I was grateful to have the privilege of nurturing them and feeling peace in some small way.
Then, I realized that if I, and if all of you, took the time to nurture and love and care for any living thing or any living creature around us, we could nurture a garden, a community or a person in pain. Before we know it, the world would reach for the sun just like my little plants did that afternoon. They were cared for, and they were taken care of, and now they knew they could grow to their full potential.
So, please listen to what you are hearing from the protesters. Listen to our pain.
Love, care, respect and attention, not domination and oppression. Abrazos a todo.
Maria Baeza of Newburgh is a clinical social worker.