Rest In Peace

Rosa Parks died yesterday. My husband said that he could feel his throat close when he read about her death. I know she didn't know how great a fire she would ignite when she decided that she would stay seated for today, thank you very much, but that action rippled through life, through eternity, to very many people. Her life touched mine, tangibly. I feel her touch when I see the Blacks Only and Whites Only signs at the Terminal Station and realize they are an extinct way of living in the south, even if some of the thinking hasn't changed. I felt her touch when my mom would tell me about living in a time when a distinction was always made because of the colour of her skin. I feel her touch when I walk down the street and can hold my husband's hand and noone has the right, or the public backing, to lynch us or ostracize us, or the right to make us feel like loving each other is wrong. I feel her touch because I can look any other human being in the eye and I never have to think that I am inferior. I'm not old enough to remember the boycotting or having to sit in the back of the bus or any of the indignities. They are distant memories that, if perpetrated now, would only be a mark of ignorance. I know that Rosa Parks didn't make all of these changes happen on her own, but she was a damn good spark. Rest in peace, Rosa.