When will her heart stop?

Will she take her last breath tonight?

When will my phone ring?

Nobody knows -

Not even her.

Let my silence teach you

what my words

did not

I have heard about your time in Viet Nam,
operating on wounded soldiers.

About your hearing loss due to the bombs.

About your then husbands abuse
that left your unborn child dead.

Your feelings of worthlessness.

And you're angry,
and you should be -

it wasn't fair.

Now when I feel irritated because your TV
is so loud, I try to remember all of this -

I remember my dark times too -

so tonight I close my door against the noise,
and let you be.

I was twenty-five and suicidal, barreling down 35W, the accelerator, pushed to the floor, weaving in and out of traffic.

I heard the siren and paid no attention until I saw the flashing lights in my rearview mirror, I slowed to a stop.

The officer approached my window and motioned for me to roll it down.

"Mam, you were going ninety-seven miles an hour." He looked at my tearstained face. "Are you all right?"

"Offices, I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking."

"Can I call someone for you?" I shook my head. "Ok, I'll let you off with a warning. Please drive carefully." He pulled away as I sat shaking, realizing what I had done.

Now I am writing this memory, knowing I could have killed someone, and acutely aware it was white privilege which allowed me to escape without roadside consequences.

Now when my housemate hurls racial slurs, I tell her to stop.

I am a warrior.
Stronger than her demons.
Braver than the darkness.