emptyWhile I should, under no circumstances, have to explain the events surrounding Lunchie's death; and while it is perhaps the most painful and cruel thing for a mother to have to do when I haven't even been able to grieve for my child as all I've done since Sunday is defend myself and my baby; I feel the need to describe what happened to my child.
My parents live in the middle of nowhere. Rural, farm-land Louisiana, in a town which is so small that it doesn't have a stop light or fast food place or Wal-Mart. Fuck, we don't even have a REAL gas station. The entire town is built around a lake. That my parents live on. And everyone who lives on the lake are farmers and fisherman, and they have puppies and chickens and kitties and cows, and all the animals play together and run around and catch lizards and squirrels and eat each other's dinner. There is no such thing as a leash law here. For the most part, it is unnecessary. If a dog runs away, it will be returned within the hour, because everyone knows who's dog is who's. I graduated with ELEVEN people in my senior class. I basically live on a community farm.
Lunchbox has never been happier than the day she died, running around with all the other puppies and chasing people and eating grass and prancing like a reindeer. And an old man and old woman were driving home from the Baptist church in their Sunday clothes in this stupid grey Mark VI van. And they hit her. While I will never forgive myself for her being outside, that is where the dogs GO when you live in rural St. Joseph, Louisiana, and no human being in Atlanta or Texas or fucking BOLIVIA has the right to tell me that I didn't take care of my baby because she was there.
You don't know me. You don't know how I grieve. You don't know my guilt. You don't know what the loss of my child has been like. I did not kill her. And fuck you for saying so, and for making a mockery of that baby's memorial with the hatefulness and cruelty with which the subject has been addressed.
Lunchbox is dead. I had no idea that it could get any worse than that. And yet a stranger, who has never seen that baby's face or known the unconditional and unbridled love I had for her, has made her death something that I cannot even emotionally address. Does it really mean that much to you? Will calling me a bad mother and making shitty non-accurate pop culture references towards my character and/or appearance bring my baby back to me?
I cannot believe that these things are still being allowed to be said to me. You have no idea how that simple memorial post has devastated me and disrespected the memory of my little girl. I did not know such cruelty would ever be allowed here.
--A
