A little over six months ago, I rifled through my wardrobe looking for black to wear to my father's funeral. Black is a color of mourning. It mirrors the feelings of the heart. Today, I am again looking for black clothing to wear because I am mourning the sudden loss of my uncle.
Just ten days ago I sat in his home in California browsing through old picture albums. He, the historian of our family, shared many family stories and humorous anecdotes with me. He was happy. Upbeat. Alive.
Today, he's gone. My uncle, a former foster child, is at rest. There's more I want to tell of his story from foster child to family man, but not now.
Now I mourn.
And look for black.
(Photo taken on February 19, in California. My uncle and my mom - brother and sister - separated in foster care and reunited as adults)