My husband said these words as we talked about George Floyd’s murder. It’s a response he’s come to know well. We are keenly aware of the numbers of black & brown bodies that meet their end at the hands of police. We know these numbers are higher for people of color than they are for white bodies. More than this, we know the lived experience of how police treat him – how they approach him with aggression and commands. We perceive how in these moments his whole person is reduced to the image of dangerous black man against whom harsh treatment is justified. We also see the vastly different way officers respond to me and to my white family members.

A month later, I thought this same thing. It was a week where my husband had to be tested for Covid twice. This is becoming a familiar reaction to a daily life that seems to want to end my husband. We’ve learned the statistics for Covid deaths. We know the significant difference in numbers of black & brown bodies that are brought down and how white bodies fare in comparison. And yes, black doctors, like my husband, are no different – all their medical training, skills and knowledge cannot save them from being black in a system that works against black people living and thriving.

I hate how common it is for us to be thankful for life insurance because this gratitude reflects how threatened his life is. I knew I loved this man when still a teenager. I knew it when I realized how much it pained me to imagine even one day without him. Each time another black person meets their end at the hands of police and racism, I can’t help but imagine life without him. I can’t help but picture how the life that was so carelessly ended could have been his.

We live a reality of racism and violence that daily threatens his life – we cannot deny this. But this is not only true for him. The reality of racism in the US endangers the lives of our 3 children as well. While they’ve been cute and small we’ve been able to better resist fear, but as our children grow, our fear for their safety grows.

Jude, our oldest, is witty, warmhearted and wise beyond his 10 years. He also grew 7 inches this last year. As his voice deepens and his height approaches mine, I wish he would stop growing and maturing. It’s more than a parent’s longing for their little ones to stay small and close. He’s becoming a man. Not just a man, he is becoming a black man.

A black man just like Daunte Wright, who phoned his mom just before police ended his life. A black man like George Floyd who called out for his mama with his last breaths. At the time of this writing, our Jude is just 2 years younger than Tamir Rice was when police ended his life. And as we watch Jude grow, we know our girls are growing too. With their winning smiles, fierce personalities and loving hearts, our little girls are becoming black women. Black women just like Breonna Taylor, Sandra Bland & Michelle Cusseaux.

Sometimes the fear of them growing overshadows the pride and joy in witnessing them flourish. The fear is overwhelming. As they rightly yearn for independence, I feel an urge to keep them close so as to preserve their very breath. I want to keep them safe from a world that would so easily dehumanize and end them.

Please don’t get me wrong, I don’t think police should be shooting and killing anyone. Death at the hands of law enforcement is on the rise. It is a complicated problem and it is a problem we all share – even police officers. Our current system is not working for any of us. However, the truth remains, police brutalize and kill brown and black people more than others – their lives are most in peril and this is where we need to start.

For our family, each time we learn of the death of a black person at the hands of police and watch the subsequent legal proceedings, our sense of justice and safety decrease. Daily as we see our children get bigger, our fears only grow. Justice is rarely served and meaningful change cannot come fast enough.

Today, Jude wants to ride his bike to the playground alone… he sees other kids his age, kids even younger, doing this same thing. “The park is less than 5 minutes away. I’ll take my phone,” he contends. But I see how often police patrol our mostly black and brown neighborhood. Even as I know his request is developmentally appropriate, that giving him small freedoms is necessary and that his maturity makes him capable of it, my answer continues to be, “I’m sorry, my son, that is not safe for you to do.”

Our family knows these things are true; life insurance and hard-earned degrees and education provide nominal comfort in the face of racialized danger, we cannot wish away racism and police cannot be depended upon to preserve black lives. The sooner our country can accept the truths of our shared racialized reality, when we understand how we are all connected to and not served by racism, the sooner we can create change. What changes are yours to make?