When Kerby is ours

One afternoon in March, Kerby Revellus, 23, stabbed three of his sisters, killing two of them. The third sister, Serafina, survives with nightmares she doesn’t want to talk about. This story is heartrending. It is a narrative that never should’ve been told, a plot we never should’ve read. This morning, a Boston Globe article sought to explore what may have led to Kerby murdering his two sisters. I wish I could rewrite its end. Oddly, this tragic story gives perspective to thoughts with which I’ve recently struggled. It is easy and obvious for me to be an advocate for justice, looking forward to the Boston Police Department seizing the perpetrators and recovering the firearms that murdered Tyrone, Anna, Jamal, Alex, Darrius, Carl, and far too many others. But is the advocacy so easy and obvious if the perpetrator is my son, my daughter, my boys, my Kerby? As parents, we love our children. There isn’t any wrong that our children can do to change that love. You love your son if he’s the murdered Steven Odom, or his murderer, Charles Bunch. Today’s Boston Globe article notes of Kerby’s parents, "They speak of all of their children with parental warmth and devotion, making no distinction between Kerby and his sisters. In their eyes, all their deceased children are victims. They just have no idea what, exactly, Kerby was a victim of." I can love Steven and want justice; but I can also love Charles and still want justice.