Elijah McClain

I added Rayshard Brooks to my list of names. Really. That list is so incomplete. It's just my attempt to remember what my aging brain can not seem to remember. I can't add Elijah McClain. At least not yet. His death is burning in my heart. He was a young man, twenty three. But I'm feeling my age and he feels so tender and so young. So childlike. He was murdered in August of last year. Last year. He was walking home with a bag in his hand. He was listening to music and moving his arms. Someone called to say he looked suspicious because he was wearing a ski mask. The police body cams ... fell off. There is some video of the cops approaching him aggressively. He reacts with fear and confusion.
I thought I read that he was autistic but I've tried to find that again and can't. He did apparently have some social anxiety. 
My cousin is five years older than I am and is Autistic. He is very tall and has eye problems that cause him to move his head in odd ways. He sometimes has tantrums, although I don't think he's had them in public. He is never dangerous. He stammers and stutters.
A few years ago he had to call an ambulance. It was the beginning of an ongoing health saga. He called his brother to meet him at the hospital. When his brother arrived one of the admitting people asked if my Autistic cousin was on drugs. A health professional didn't have the training to identify Autism. Nothing about his behavior resembles drug or alcohol use. Nothing.
My cousin is white.
Elijah McClain was coming home from buying tea for his cousin.
Trayvon Martin was shot coming home from buying tea.
As far as I know the police officers who MURDERED Elijah McClain were cleared of any wrong doing. There seems to be a resurgence of interest in the case.
My heart is burning.
One of the problems with being a white person writing about having a burning heart because of all the fucking MURDERS of black men and women is that friends and family want you to feel better.
I have no intention of feeling better.
People say ... take a break from the news. Read a book. Since I'm reading Baldwin there is no break there. And I'm not looking for a break.
I can hear the stories and be upset and go on with my life. I don't have to worry every time a relative walks to a convenience store to buy tea. White privilege means my Autistic cousin might be thought of as weird and on drugs but he probably won't be MURDERED by the police.
I feel rage and grief and horror. Of course I do. What else should I feel? Are those things unhealthy? I think it might be more unhealthy to not feel those thing in light of this on going nightmare. This two hundred year old nightmare. Body after body.
Elijah McClain used to play violin for kittens in the shelter. He thought it calmed them
He was murdered.