I lost my uncle this week.

He was a bubbly, spirited, genius of a man who brought a lot of needed joy to my childhood.

Visiting him & my cousins in Seattle was my fave thing to do as a little one. I would sit on his lap in his oversized armchair. He would smoke his pipe, releasing a succulent scent alongside his exultant laugh.

The heartache I feel about my uncle’s death isn’t unlike the heartache I feel about Palestine, or Congo, or Sudan. Or the many places & people over the many years & histories that have been needlessly annihilated.

In the midst of so much loss & grief & outrage, counting my blessings helps me stay rooted. And resilient.