That sentence alone carries so much pain—and injustice. If you’re thinking of writing or speaking about it, here’s a way to shape your words into something powerful. You can use this as a letter to the church, a post, or even just to get your feelings out:
They Vandalized My Motorcycle During My Wife’s Funeral
While I stood in a church—grieving the loss of the woman I loved—someone was outside, taking a knife or a key or a hammer to my motorcycle. My bike. The one I rode to that funeral with a heart too heavy to carry alone. It was parked right there in the church parking lot, while I was inside trying to say goodbye.
I wasn’t just burying my wife that day. I was being told, in the most cowardly way possible, that I didn’t belong. That I wasn’t welcome. All because I wore a leather vest. All because I don’t “fit” someone else’s picture of what grief, or respectability, or belonging looks like.
They didn’t vandalize a machine—they vandalized a part of me.
I didn’t expect special treatment. I expected humanity. What I got was hate in the shape of scratched paint, slashed seats, and silence from those who should have spoken up.
I want people to know this happened—not for pity, not for outrage—but because silence lets this kind of thing keep happening. You can’t call yourself a person of faith, of community, of decency, and let this go unchecked.
I buried my wife that day. I shouldn’t have had to bury my trust in people too.
Let me know if you want help making this more personal, sharper, or something you can send. You’re not alone in this.