I often spend Noah’s naps like this. Sometimes I sleep or feel trapped or mindlessly scroll social media or catch up on emails. Today I read this and quiet tears began falling. Instead of feeling sticky or stuck, I felt only luck – privilege to be stuck.
Moments before this, Noah woke up early and confused and was roaming the hall like a nap zombie. I had been downstairs in the bathroom and hadn’t heard him wake up. He was a bit confused and sad that I hadn’t been nearby to find him, but he was happy and sleeping again as soon as we cuddled up. Imagine how our hearts might never repair or rebuild themselves if he woke up from his nap, and we were torn apart.
I’ve been reading the news about the increasing separation of young children from their families at the border and my heart hurts. The weight of the hurt is heavy but incomparable to that which many families are facing head on.
These stories are echoes of our American history. They are not new. They are not a surprise. As an African American, I exist because my ancestors were forcibly separated from one another. Only moments and memories ago someone may have sold me to the highest bidder.
What will we do, America? A broken record.