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'I'm gonna die' is a text no mother wants to receive. Mine always feared she would 'I'm gonna die' is a text no mother wants to receive. Mine always feared she would
(2 months later)
Related: Omar Mateen's interest in gay men makes this no ordinary act of terrorism | David Shariatmadari
I can’t sleep. I keep thinking about Orlando. I am particularly haunted by the final text messages sent by 30-year-old Eddie Justice to his mother Mina in the last moments of his life. “Mommy, I love you,” he wrote. “In club they shooting.” Moments later, he said, “Trapp in bathroom.”I can’t sleep. I keep thinking about Orlando. I am particularly haunted by the final text messages sent by 30-year-old Eddie Justice to his mother Mina in the last moments of his life. “Mommy, I love you,” he wrote. “In club they shooting.” Moments later, he said, “Trapp in bathroom.”
Justice was one of a group of victims who hid out in LGBT nightclub Pulse’s restroom. All of them were slaughtered at close range by gunman Omar Mateen.Justice was one of a group of victims who hid out in LGBT nightclub Pulse’s restroom. All of them were slaughtered at close range by gunman Omar Mateen.
“He’s coming,” Justice told his mother. “I’m gonna die.”“He’s coming,” Justice told his mother. “I’m gonna die.”
When something is too horrible to contemplate, we say, “I can’t imagine what it must have been like in that club.”When something is too horrible to contemplate, we say, “I can’t imagine what it must have been like in that club.”
The problem is that I can imagine it. I can’t stop imagining it – crammed into a tiny space with people shaking, screaming, crying, begging God to save them. Then the end, a lethal hail of hot lead and fire. Screams, then nothing.The problem is that I can imagine it. I can’t stop imagining it – crammed into a tiny space with people shaking, screaming, crying, begging God to save them. Then the end, a lethal hail of hot lead and fire. Screams, then nothing.
A police officer described the nightmare scene of the aftermath, total silence except for the ghastly sound of the dead people’s cellphones ringing and ringing as loved ones frantically tried to find out if they were alive.A police officer described the nightmare scene of the aftermath, total silence except for the ghastly sound of the dead people’s cellphones ringing and ringing as loved ones frantically tried to find out if they were alive.
And now I can’t sleep.And now I can’t sleep.
I can’t stop thinking about Mina Justice, about the icy terror that must have gripped her heart. It is the kind of call or message that every mother of a queer kid dreads, “Someone is trying to kill me because of who I am.”I can’t stop thinking about Mina Justice, about the icy terror that must have gripped her heart. It is the kind of call or message that every mother of a queer kid dreads, “Someone is trying to kill me because of who I am.”
I came out to my mother when I was 14. It was 1982 in Columbus, Georgia. She hugged me, told me that she would always support me and always have my back, then started to cry.I came out to my mother when I was 14. It was 1982 in Columbus, Georgia. She hugged me, told me that she would always support me and always have my back, then started to cry.
“Why are you crying?” I asked her.“Why are you crying?” I asked her.
“Because I’m afraid someone will try to hurt you,” she said. “This world isn’t kind to gay men.”“Because I’m afraid someone will try to hurt you,” she said. “This world isn’t kind to gay men.”
She knew. A number of her close friends were LGBT. She sang opera in college and made friends with a number of gay and lesbian singers, writers and musicians – many of whom died far too young, victims of violence, addiction, Aids and suicide.She knew. A number of her close friends were LGBT. She sang opera in college and made friends with a number of gay and lesbian singers, writers and musicians – many of whom died far too young, victims of violence, addiction, Aids and suicide.
Up until her death from metastatic liver cancer in July of 2014, I know that every time the phone rang late at night, every time a police car went too slowly past the house, every time I went too many days without calling, my mother worried.Up until her death from metastatic liver cancer in July of 2014, I know that every time the phone rang late at night, every time a police car went too slowly past the house, every time I went too many days without calling, my mother worried.
She worried that someone would attack a gay club when I was there. She worried that I would get beat up – a very real concern in south Georgia in the early 80s – or even beaten to death.She worried that someone would attack a gay club when I was there. She worried that I would get beat up – a very real concern in south Georgia in the early 80s – or even beaten to death.
Many of these concerns were valid. I didn’t see it that way at the time, of course. I loved being outrageous, shocking people with my in-your-face queerness. It made grownups wonderfully uncomfortable and served as a kind of litmus test for new people. If you found my gayness off-putting, you weren’t someone I wanted in my life.Many of these concerns were valid. I didn’t see it that way at the time, of course. I loved being outrageous, shocking people with my in-your-face queerness. It made grownups wonderfully uncomfortable and served as a kind of litmus test for new people. If you found my gayness off-putting, you weren’t someone I wanted in my life.
Then, during my sophomore year of high school, my twin brother borrowed one of my jackets to walk with a friend to the movie theater. On the way there, they were set upon by a gang of teenage boys who beat them mercilessly, knocking them to the ground and stomping and kicking.Then, during my sophomore year of high school, my twin brother borrowed one of my jackets to walk with a friend to the movie theater. On the way there, they were set upon by a gang of teenage boys who beat them mercilessly, knocking them to the ground and stomping and kicking.
My brother got the worst of it, a concussion, broken ribs, defensive wounds to his arms and hands. I felt sick with guilt. The guys who beat them up, I was sure, were looking for me, not my straight brother.My brother got the worst of it, a concussion, broken ribs, defensive wounds to his arms and hands. I felt sick with guilt. The guys who beat them up, I was sure, were looking for me, not my straight brother.
I’m glad that my mother never lived to get the kind of message from me that Mina Justice got from her son. The time I was nearly attacked in downtown Athens, Georgia, was after she passed, thankfully. If I had told her about it, she would have worried herself sick about it happening again.I’m glad that my mother never lived to get the kind of message from me that Mina Justice got from her son. The time I was nearly attacked in downtown Athens, Georgia, was after she passed, thankfully. If I had told her about it, she would have worried herself sick about it happening again.
As an openly queer person in the United States, I have learned that we are almost never safe. Even in our own homes we can come under attack, and depending upon where you live, the police may or may not give a damn.As an openly queer person in the United States, I have learned that we are almost never safe. Even in our own homes we can come under attack, and depending upon where you live, the police may or may not give a damn.
For LGBT people of color, there are even fewer safety zones where they can be themselves without being subject to attack or abuse. Pulse was one such safe place, or so everyone believed until Saturday night.For LGBT people of color, there are even fewer safety zones where they can be themselves without being subject to attack or abuse. Pulse was one such safe place, or so everyone believed until Saturday night.
On Sunday my heart physically hurt, like it was torn and leaking blood into my chest. I am sad for the victims and deeply sad for the loved ones they left behind, especially the mothers, who have spent years hoping against hope that this sort of violence would never touch their children.On Sunday my heart physically hurt, like it was torn and leaking blood into my chest. I am sad for the victims and deeply sad for the loved ones they left behind, especially the mothers, who have spent years hoping against hope that this sort of violence would never touch their children.
I hope that someday the mothers of LGBT kids won’t have any more reason to fear for their children’s safety than any other parents. But as the events of the weekend show, we aren’t anywhere close to that now.I hope that someday the mothers of LGBT kids won’t have any more reason to fear for their children’s safety than any other parents. But as the events of the weekend show, we aren’t anywhere close to that now.