Waiting for The Apology letter


I finished a book today that made me cry. Like boo boo and sob out loud. It was a story about people’s personal wars and the scars they leave, as well as growth, healing and forgiveness. It’s a story about wounded children of wars of lands and ideals that no longer exist. In it,  the grandmother posthumously tasks her grandchild with delivering letters of apology to those she feels she wronged in her life. 

We woke up today with riots and demonstrations all over the country.  People are hurt and angry, and recent police killings and injustices are  the wind  that helped a fire jump its boundaries, a fire that has been fed by racism, Jim Crow, and economic injustice for over 400 years  and one for which we are still awaiting the apology letter.

I’m not sure if I was crying because the book moved  me so much, or because I couldn’t see when we will heal from our scars and instead of healing we keep inflicting new ones. 

 We. We as in America. We are all hurt and hurting when our human rights are continually ripped apart. There are no apologies, and so there can be no coming together. There are no sides, just wounds that continue to hurt for generations.  

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