My faith in the human race wavered today for a moment. On a social media news-site a thread dedicated to a grieving mom was desecrated by the most judgemental adults I have ever in all my days had the misfortune to encounter. I got as far as ten comments into the thousands before I slammed the top down on my laptop and cried. I wanted to say something but my words would be lost in a mountain of cruelty.
I don’t cry. I work around death daily, around pain and around the misfortunes of life and have learned not to cry.
I pulled myself together in the hope that my words will strike home today.
She choked on her words today. A mom grieving her nine year old boy. I sat and watched her as well I could with tears pooling in my lower lids. She spoke of how she taught her children to be kind, to be gentle and to love everyone. She spoke of how the meanest people are often the ones that hurt so deeply, and how she explained this to her kids. She sat facing a million viewers and she talked about love. Days after her nine year old son took his own life because he was bullied.
“We have to stop hating each other. We have to show more love and compassion in this world… I appreciate this world for letting me have him for the nine years. But I wish I could have had him longer. And I’m pretty sure I could have if we could have just learned to love.”
Her words should have evoked the strongest sense of empathy, of softness and of compassion. Instead an army of adults attacked her for allowing her nine year old son the opportunity to live his life authentically. Her son was nine. And he had felt supported and loved enough to tell his mom that he was gay. How many children would trust so deeply so as to bring about the revelation. And how does his sexual orientation turn what should be mature adults into a thread full of vile hate filled bullies of a nature I have never witnessed before.
Accusing a parent of bad parenting because the child felt protected and loved. Perhaps a mirror would be beneficial to all the evil that was being spewed across the social media site. A mirror to gaze closely at your own face as your fingers flew to the beat of your horribly disfigured hearts.
The bad parents are YOU. The bad leaders, the bad role models. The bad adults.
You are the worst kind of bully. Incapable of healing from your own wounds you inflict them onto others. You had a job to do in this lifetime. To learn to be kinder than some were to you. To learn that your status in life does not afford you the right to your disgusting narrative. To learn that your anger should be directed toward injustice not at a nine year old boy because he was gay.
All I saw was reference to his sexual identity. No room at all in their hearts for a child, hurt and terrified. All they saw was a gay child. And the reaction was swift, sure and as fatal as the wounds that inflicted his own death.
His nine year old suicide. What part of that did these “adults’ miss before they rampaged like wild savages against the child’s orientation.
A child took his own life. He was nine. He enjoyed making people smile. He was nine years old. He was not his identity sexually or otherwise. He was a little boy. And all they saw was gay. And that was reason enough to be bullied into death. What other reasons will we find now that this precedent has been set? Eye color? Hair color? Left handed? Right handed? Where does the mass approval for bullying begin and end?
They should be hanging their heads in shame. Although I am not a fan of the term karma, I will assure you that at some point in their sorry journey forward that it will most certainly pay a visit.
And in keeping with moms wishes to love one another and be kind, I will extend my hopes to them all that when karma visits, that they are met with the love and support that this little boy deserved and did not receive.
I will finish with….
Get your sanctimonious, holier than thou faces out of your asses and pick up a mirror. What will look back at you is a BULLY. And it’s not pretty. And that’s what you should hate. Your dark heart is staring at you. You might want to clean that mess up.
They are not worthy of my kindness. But I will be kind anyway. For the memory of a nine year old boy names James Myles. He died living his genuine self. Let’s not let him down now.