After seeing the devastation in Barbuda, I was reminded of what my mirror told me, “Veronica you’re very privileged, and at the end of the day you always have somewhere to go no matter what.” The chosen family member was right. Being a child of divorced parents means that I not only have one place to rest my head, but two.

The levels of labors of love run deep. I now recognize that I come from an immediate and intimate line of women who have always been first responders. Not because we wanted to be, but simply because we had to be.

In reading my own offerings about how someone’s words had caused such an embodied response, I realized that I had been the same person. Not all the time, but I definitely thought of one exchange in particular.