and coming together
I have spent the last week grieving.
For lives I never knew personally, but know all too well.
For the trickle-down effect that a mass shooting has not only on the victims themselves but for their loves, the ones that survived, the ones that work at Club Q and don’t have access to any of their personal belongings, things we don’t think twice about. the wallets, the purses, keys, make-up. The things we just have everyday, that are expensive and quite frankly,a pain in the ass to replace.
For the communities like mine across the world that watched on. It could’ve been us. It can always be us.
And for my love, a brown trans man that goes to sleep every night with a very specific kind of grief that I can hold, but will never have a full understanding of. While there was grief, there was also the other side of my specific way of coping-
I had the opportunity and honor of helping a very small, but very mighty non-profit here in Denver, Bread & Roses, organize a fundraiser for those impacted by the shooting. I vacillate between feeling pride for my community and absolute rage that it even had to be done. So, so many people came together. Our community itself and also artists and makers, performers and folks that shared their rituals with us. Local restaurants, bakeries, breweries and tattoo artists.
It was beautiful and it was devastating.
Last I heard, we raised roughly 25K for the folks that work at Club Q. That might sound like a ton of money, but when you break it down, that is barely enough to cover their rent for the month of December. Even still, how are you supposed to pick up that many broken pieces in 31 days?
I wish I had answers and I don’t know how many more times we’re going to have to do this.
I don’t know how many more times it’ll take until people start acting instead of closing their eyes to what is going on around them, quite literally, every single day.
I am tired, ya’ll. But because I know in my bones that nothing will ever change if we continue to sweep things under the rug, turn a blind eye, and skirt around the idea that the LGBTQIA+ community, specifically trans, and more specifically yet, Black and brown trans folks are dying at an alarming rate every single year, action must be taken.
Don’t know where to start?
Google the rates in which trans folks are killed. Start having conversations with your friends and families, not just about gun violence, that’s a given, but about humanizing the people in my life that I love. Donate to local trans-youth organizations. Don’t have one? Find the one closest or start one of your own.
In the meantime, you can donate directly to the efforts we specifically fundraised for this past weekend here or to Bread & Roses so that they can continue doing the type of work they do for our community,
I have no fluff this week. I am not reading or listening to much with the exception of Mariah Carey’s Christmas album that Anaya turns on in the car in an effort to cheer me up. I bounced back and forth between Should I Cook or Should I Not last Thursday, and I actually did, and thank goddess because we have sustained on nothing but beige food and coffee ever since.
Like so many others, we are picking up the pieces in our own way here, and I holdfast to the day where it won’t be this way.
Take care of yourselves, your loves, call out the shitbags, and cling to the good.
All my love,