I was thinking today about my uncle, on the third anniversary of his death. He was an eloquent writer and a passionate political liberal. He was bedridden for the last few years of his life, but he moderated message boards and wrote fiery letters to newspapers and politicians. He had a keen sense of justice and was good at sniffing out the wrongs inflicted by the strong on the weak.
He was angry a lot of the time, but he never lost hope that wrongs would be righted and justice would prevail. I wish he were here now to remind us that no matter how bleak things seem, this society is headed inexorably toward a place where our better natures will overrule our prejudices.
He knew that every failure is an opportunity to do better, and he would encourage us to keep shouting, keep fighting and keep the faith. He never sat back and bemoaned a bad situation. He worked to fix it, because he knew that even though his body was growing shriveled and useless, he still had power.
I miss his voice, and we could all use a little dose of his wisdom and the big boot in the backside he would give us whenever we started thinking there was nothing we could do to make the world better. He never stopped trying to do just that, and now that heís not here to remind me, I need to remind myself.