“For real, ya’ll we got one of the highest murder rates in the country, and it’s time for us to stand up for our babies!” The room erupted in applause.
“I’m just saying we’ve all suffered a loss, and even though my son, Mike Mike, got a lot of media attention, don’t think that I’m not out here telling the same media that there are others just like me right here.”
Pretty soon the room sounded like a down home Baptist church on a Sunday morning.
“So, if I can get media here, then if we riding together, all our children are going to be talked about. Let’s stand together and have each other’s backs. And if one of ya’ll got an event I’m going to be there for ya’ll ten toes down! Let’s show up and show out at political rallies and in these streets! Thank you and I love each and every one of ya’ll!”
Today was a testament of the power of mothers. But, one day, I want there to be an end to the rainbow. I want to run out of Rainbow Mothers. I want our sons and daughters to live. I don’t wish this pain, this struggle, this hurt, this void, this guilt, or this grief on anybody.
After Mike Mike died, I believed we would have justice. I waited for the police to right the wrong, I waited for the county to bring justice to Mike Mike, I waited for the DOJ to discover the truth. The system has failed my son. It has failed me and it has failed all of us. But, now, I know that I can’t wait for anybody else to make change. I must make change, myself, that will be Mike Mike’s legacy; that will be his justice. That’s the truth of it.
EPILOGUE
MOTHER TO SON
I felt like visiting Mike Mike’s grave site today. The sky was clear, and for February in St. Louis, the weather was mild. Usually we got snow and ice, but it was almost 60. I guess I don’t really like coming out here to the cemetery. I put a hat on so nobody recognized me, and I tried to pick a morning when I thought fewer people would be around. I mean how many people would be at a cemetery on a Wednesday at 11:30 in the morning? It was actually peaceful.
I kneeled down and brushed the dirt off the cement plaque that simply read MB. I felt myself start to tremble. “Everybody got somethin’ to say about why I don’t have a headstone for you yet, but it isn’t their business that I wanted the perfect stone, design, and words. I finally got everything the way I want it.” I kneeled down, closed my eyes, and imagined him sitting out here with me.
Dear Mike Mike,
It’s been almost two years, and it still feels like yesterday that you were stolen from me. I’m working on myself, though. Brittanie misses you. Déja misses you. You were her best friend. She figuring out her way in life. She’s going to be a senior in high school next fall. I want her to do everything I couldn’t do when I was her age. Maybe she’ll go to college, too. Moo Moo is a preteen now. I have to keep him on track. I get scared ’cause he a black boy out here, but I got to believe you up there helping to watch over him to make sure he doesn’t get caught up with the wrong crowd. And Jazzy is her sweet self. She always says to me, “Mama, Mike Mike didn’t have no weapon.” And I say, “You right, Jazzy.”
This is real hard, Mike Mike, because you were supposed to be here with us. But I’m going to be strong. I have to be for you. I just got so much I should have said before you left. Then part of me feels like there’s nothing that I could say to you that I haven’t already said. I was always telling you that I loved you and I was there for you. I know you knew that.
At times, as much as I pray, things aren’t changing fast enough. That’s why I have to keep reminding myself to look at everything that’s happened from a spiritual place. I guess I learned that from you. It’s hard to go to the beauty shop. It’s hard to go to the grocery store. It’s still hard to get outta bed some days. It’s hard to go over to your Gun Gun’s ’cause she won’t move from Canfield.
Life now is so different and new to me. It’s funny, I’m not even the type of person who really wears makeup. But I try to keep in mind how things are now, and every time I leave the house, I try to look presentable, because I don’t know who might be watching me.
So there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about you, Mike Mike. I’ve accepted that you were God’s before you were mine. He just let me borrow you for eighteen years. Eighteen of the most incredible, tough, beautiful years of my life.
People always say they OK when tragedy happens and some time passes. Well, I’m not OK, and the way you died wasn’t OK. So I’m not going to say that any of this is OK. I’m confused and lost about why this had to happen to you. Why this happened to me, us. I don’t get it. So what I have to say is really more like a list of wishes.
I wish you were still here. I wish you had been around the house with me. I wish I had been off work. I wish we had been together. I wish you’d been at the house for me to fire up the grill and put you some chicken breasts out there.
I wish, I wish, I wish . . .
There were three people out there on Canfield that day. So there are three sides to the story. The truth hasn’t ever been told. Your truth. You’re not here to tell the world what happened. So I’m gonna represent, baby, as best I can.
Sometimes, when I’m laying in my bed awake because I can’t sleep, you come to me. I see you so vividly, and I know that you are just watching out for Mama, I know. And I know I’ll see you again one day.
I love you,
Mama
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Lezley L. McSpadden-Head wishes to thank: My family the Ewings, and my extended family the Browns and Hathaways, and a host of cousins, friends, and supporters; special thanks to my God, who has covered and kept me thus far; my parents Desuirea and Leslie, without them who am I; my husband Louis who has showed me love without a limit; my sister Brittanie for her sweet, kind, and gentle personality; my #FAV Keyanna for her warrior spirit and keeping me grounded; my hairstylist Lanetha “Necie” Quinn for her positive words and anointed hands; board members of Michael O. D. Brown We Love Our Sons & Daughters Foundation. S/O Eric Chevelle Davis, Sandra Tolbert, Felice G. McClendon, and Lyah B. LeFlore for making my mission and vision a priority and helping keep the legacy of my son alive while fighting for justice. “Truth hurts” is a saying for the guilty. “Truth heals” is a fact for the hurting. . . .
Authors’ Acknowledgements: Special thanks to our agents, B.G. Dilworth of the B.G. Dilworth Agency, and Amy Schiffman, of Intellectual Property Group for your belief, tireless support, and for being fearless champions! Very special thanks to our brilliant editor, Alexis Gargagliano, for your passion, vision, guidance, the many all-nighters that helped us get this beautiful journey to the finish line. And, thanks to the entire Regan Arts family: Judith Regan, Gregory Henry, Richard Ljoenes, Lynne Ciccaglione, Nancy Singer, and Mia Abrahams.
Lyah Beth LeFlore wishes to thank: My loving husband, Eno, for your undying support and unconditional love, and pushing me to keep my eyes on the prize; Bella Grace, my angel, my muse, you are a gift from God and all I do is for you; Mom, Hope, and Jacie, each of you is the wind beneath my wings, your all are my biggest cheerleaders, and its your strength and prayers that have kept me afloat; Daddy, for your watchful eye from above, and being my guardian angel; Cousin Lita, for your spiritual guidance, love, and support; my close circle of girlfriends and cousin friends for having my back; my producing partner and sister, Takia “Tizzi” Green; Rachel Weiss of IPG; Eric Davis, thank you for your support and bringing Lezley and I together; Lezley, for your honesty and strength, and allowing me to capture the powerful journey you shared with your son; and Al Haymon, my longtime mentor, who has always encouraged me.
LEZLEY McSPADDEN is the mother of Michael Brown, and founder of The Michael O. D. Brown We Love Our Sons & Daughters Foundation. The organization advocates for justice, improving health, advancing education, and strengthening families. McSpadden also founded its signature program, Rainbow of Mothers, which was established to support mothers who have suffered the devastating loss of a child. She lives in St. Louis, MO with her family. Visit michaelodbrown.o
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LYAH BETH LeFLORE is the author of eight books, including the novels Last Night a DJ Saved My Life and Wildflowers; the teen book series The Come Up; the New York Times bestseller I Got Your Back, and NAACP Image Award-winning The Strawberry Letter. LeFlore is also a television and film producer who has been profiled in the New York Times, Essence, Ebony, and Entertainment Weekly.
65 Bleecker Street
New York, NY 10012
Copyright © 2016 by Lesley McSpadden
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Regan Arts Subsidiary Rights Department, 65 Bleecker Street, New York, NY 10012.
Names and identifying details of some of the people, events, and places portrayed in this book have been changed.
First Regan Arts hardcover edition, April 2016.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2016932844
ISBN 978-1-942872-52-8
eISBN: 978-1-942872-93-1
Interior design by Nancy Singer
Cover design by Richard Ljoenes
Cover photograph by Mark Seliger
Tell the Truth & Shame the Devil Page 26
