Oh Agathe. I’m so stressed out. I wish there were an accurate way to describe the uneasiness I feel right now with the state of things. Meanwhile my family chugs along by using our dark humor to find a comfortable spot amidst the chaos. As far as problems go, mine personally are few. Sure, I have a loved one in the hospital right now, but he could be going home tomorrow which would ease a little bit of the tension. My sister muttered to me in the elevator yesterday, while looking down at her swollen belly (six weeks until my nephew arrives).
“I’m so sick of hospitals.” I couldn’t have agreed more.
But I can’t ignore the pure and steady stream of racial tension in America building more and more every day. I refuse to ignore the four black men that were unarmed and murdered at the hands of the authorities in the last 31 days. I can’t look away while protesters are sprayed with rubber bullets and tear gas, while journalists are arrested. After having experienced a very uncomfortable run in with a police officer just last month that felt racially motivated and incredibly threatening, I feel . . . trapped. In this weird and terrible way. I hope the people participating in the Ferguson protests find their way to safety. But more important I hope that people start talking about race in America. It is the thorn in the side of my nation. And it’s not going anywhere because people want so badly to ignore it.
Today the sweet nurse (they’re all very sweet actually), allowed my niece to listen to her own heartbeat through her stethoscope. I couldn’t even fully enjoy the sweetness of the moment because my heart was beating like hammer.