As we approach Transgender Day of Remembrance, I can’t help but to flashback on that dreadful night that it all hit home. I can remember being in my kitchen, cooking dinner for my family, when my son came in and said, “They got Mesha.” My response was, “What do you mean, got?” I thought he might have been referring that Mesha was robbed or assaulted. Instead, he said, “They found her body on an abandoned road in a ditch.” I instantly started looking online at news websites and on social media to verify this awful news. Unfortunately, it was true!
In disarray, shock, and astonishment, yet numbed by the reality, I finished dinner so my husband and kids could eat. My appetite was gone. In an instant, life as I knew it was gone. I sat there and thought in silence. A great feeling of pain overcame me. I could not believe what I was seeing and hearing. Mesha had recently visited my home. My husband asked me if I was ok, and I looked at him and said, “No, I don’t think so. This one hurts!”
We had been down this road before. A trans woman of color from Louisiana who was a relative had disappeared and was later found dead. But Mesha was like a sister to me. We had been friends for more than 20 years. A few days prior, she sat on my couch. We laughed about our history and we talked about our future plans ahead. The thought of losing my friend and my sister was unbelievable. It hurts even now to tell this story. Her death impacted me so much.
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