I Am Terrell Jones #Blacklivesmatter

Thoughts Before Dying

The sky never looked as dull. The clouds never seemed so far, but yet, so close. Everyone around me seemed so far away, and I couldn't find the energy to bring them closer. My vision blurred as everything around me became inaudible. I couldn't understand how quickly my life could change in seconds: seconds that I could've used to be a better son, brother, and friend.

Being a kid, you don't understand what your Mom goes through daily—trying to keep food on the table, working, and keeping her two black sons safe. Safe in a white man's world.

I put my Mom through hell, listened to her cry through the walls of our home. All she ever wanted was for my brother, Tyler, and me to have a better life. I spent more time fighting with her than telling her I loved her. I know that because I can't remember the last time I told her, and I should have. Instead, I argued with her.

Why do we have to live like this?

Why don't you ever have money?

Why can I never have what other teenagers have?

I regret not taking the time to appreciate the sleepless nights she spent working and bringing whatever she could to the table. She tried her best, and I disappointed her. I took her for granted. Now, she's here crying for me, by my side like she always has been.

I couldn't speak. I couldn't move. I couldn't tell my mother I loved her one last time.

I wanted to give her the world. I wanted to show her there's more to life than struggling, but that was taken from me.

I wanted to be a better older brother by being a mentor to Tyler. I wanted to be the one to teach him about racism in the world, that we're more than threats. We're more than what society sees us as and more than being frowned upon by our skin color. I wanted to teach him that no matter what happens, it's an honor to be black. I wish I could have informed him about all the people that lost their lives for their skin color.

What I didn't know was that I'd be the next victim.

My brother will never be able to talk to me, never have someone to look up to, and never have any memory of me. He has to walk through life, listening to our mother cry, wondering if he could've done anything to change it when he grows up.

Will anyone remember me?

No, I haven't been the best person, but I deserve to live. I didn't deserve to be shot and seen as a threat because of my skin color.

I couldn't help but think that if I changed something about today, would I have a better chance of staying alive? If I didn't walk to the store, would I be alive? If I didn't match the description of whoever the cops were looking for because I'm black.

I had so many dreams I wanted to achieve. I wanted to join the NFL and make a difference for my people. I wanted to make a change in this world, helping young black kids that didn't have the funds or the support they needed to achieve their own dreams. Is that so much to ask for? Is it so much to ask for us not to be targeted? We're all the same.

Everyone in this world eats, bleeds, and works for a living, but they hate us.

The very people that are supposed to save us hate us. We're supposed to call 911 if we're in danger, but black people are in danger every day. We have to pray that we're not going to be killed going to the store. Fear if we're the only black person in a room full of white people. Wondering if we'll get the job because of the color of our skin. Police officers are supposed to help me, not kill me.

I lost track of how many white women hid their purses as I walked into the store – or how many times I was followed because I was black.

I never stole anything in my life.

I'll never be good enough. We'll never be good enough. And I never got that chance.

My life was supposed to matter.

What about my Mom? What does she do now? Does the police officer feel any remorse? My life was slipping away, and I had no control over it.

My heart slowed down as I felt myself letting go. It hurt to blink, it hurt to move, or breathe.

As I found the strength to open my eyes again, I saw a blurry picture above me. It must have been my Mom. I wonder what she feels. Is she crying? Will my people fight for me? Or will I be remembered as a threat? Cops get away with anything. I wonder if they'll lie and make me out as the bad guy.

I wanted nothing more than to hug my Mom and tell her I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to be a better version of myself. I'm sorry I didn't get the opportunity to give her the world.

I had so much more life to give. I could've graduated, gone to college, and joined the football league. I could've gotten married one day and had kids of my own. Hell, I could've made a difference.

I blinked, but it got harder. I felt the warm tear slide down my cheek as I fought to breathe. Every second felt harder. I couldn't feel any pain; I felt numb. But I knew I was dying. I tried opening my mouth to speak but couldn't. My mouth was dry, and I felt weak.

Please make a change for me, for us. Make a change for the mothers who have to lose their children because of the racism in the world. Make a change for the kids who lose their parents because we're black.

Let the world know we're tired of looking over our shoulders. Let the world know that I was killed because I looked like a man that committed a crime days before. But the truth will always be that it happened because I was black. We look alike because of the color of our skin. It was no mistake.

It's too late for me to make a change, but it's not for you.

I am Terrell Jones, and I was murdered for being me.

Being black.