Last night, my church held a vigil for all those killed by ICE. About a hundred people came. The songs were my love-and-light favorites, and I found ways to sing while crying. We all did. It was helpful to just sit there and watch the candles burn, let my heart just go ahead and break for a while. Grief is healthy and warm when it gets to live, gets to be heard. The candles eventually became a small fire in a dish, and we let it burn.
Someone had 3-D printed whistles and strung them on cords, as talisman, the pastor said. There were little pamphlets about how to use your whistle when ICE comes. For us, it's not if, it's when. I already have my whistle, but I hung some in a beloved tree as hopefully helpful street art.
So as your good sweet Ma'am, I have directions for you: Find a whistle and learn how to use it. Call your representatives and tell them how you feel about state-sponsored murder: Bad I hope! Tell them to defund ICE. Tell them anything and everything that's bothering your heart. You can write if you don't want to call, but tell them.
I love you all a bunch, my dears. Do this and I'll send you all the praise, just like I always do.