His Name Was Drew.

His name was Drew.
I never got the chance to meet him,
but I know he was a kind soul.
I looked through his instagram and saw so many photos of him
and his boyfriend, Juan.
They were so happy,
you could see it in their smiling faces,
their silly pictures.
Their love shone through a screen and hit me straight in the gut.
His name was Drew.
His mother loved him,
you could hear it in the way she talked about him,
He visited Seaworld that day, and his Mom
told him she loved him.
His name was Drew.
I never got the chance to meet him.
I was told from an early age,
that there would be people who wouldn't like me because I was a girl.
Because my parents were divorced.
Because I am Native American.
Later I was told people would hate me because I was a single mother, living on foodstamps and government assistance,
I would be hated because I like both boys and girls.
I would be hated because my children had two different dads.
I decided I wouldn't let that hate bring me down.
I wouldn't let someone else's opinion of me hurt me, or drag me to their level.
Being who I am is a radical act.
Drew, being who he was, was a radical act.
Drew was at Pulse along with his boyfriend, and over 300 other people,
drinking their last drinks
in the wee hours of a sunday morning.
I won't pretend to know what it was like to be there when
the first shots were fired,
I won't pretend to know what went through Drew's mind
in that situation,
I won't pretend to understand what went through his mother's thoughts
as she searched for her son, in the aftermath.
And I certainly won't pretend that this horrific tragedy didn't change me.
The places I once sought freedom of expression in,
aren't safe anymore.
This incident was horrific. It was chaotic, it was a travesty,
But I have seen so many people,
So many people like me, bond over it,
show love and courage in the face of hatred.
There is help for those who need it,
People are giving each other strength to be who they are
and giving support to those who lost loved ones.
Being who you are is a radical act.
Hold on to that.
I will never remember the name of hatred.
But I will always remember his name.
You should remember his name, and the others who passed with him,
Remember their names.
His name was Drew.
And I never got the chance to meet him.