It’s personal policy not to comment on tragic events because I don’t like debating with armchair activists and dumbfucks, but I’m about to break my own policy because I feel the need to say something.
My weekend was an odd juxtaposition of highs and lows. My great uncle passed away last week and I traveled to the Appalachians to attend his funeral. It was surreal to see aunts, uncles, and cousins who I vaguely remember because the last time I was at a family gathering of size I was still a toddler. What was stranger was meeting second and third cousins that I didn’t know existed.
During a lull in the flurry of activity that accompanies visitations and funerals, I made the mistake of checking my facebook feed. I am still having trouble grasping how I could be surrounded by folks that loved and accepted me – despite years and miles and knowledge of who I am other than I was their great niece, second cousin, or whatever branch of the family tree I swung from – and the absolute hate plastered all over social media.
As information about the events at the Pulse poured in, I was surrounded by individuals banded together by blood and grief and watching my country tear itself apart with blood and grief.
…one nation…indivisible – with liberty and justice for all…