We use ribbons to symbolize our causes:
Red ribbons on our mailboxes to remember the Covenant victims.
Pink ribbons for breast cancer.
Yellow ribbons for our armed forces.
And I am wearing a blue ribbon.
The red ribbon reminds us of the destruction that guns can wreak; the crying need for mental illness solutions.
The pink ribbon gives us hope. It tells us that as terrible as breast cancer is, it’s something for which we can find cures.
The yellow ribbon honors those in the military who are there to give their life and limbs to protect us.
But I am wearing a blue ribbon. I will wear this blue ribbon until all the hostages taken by Hamas on October 7 come home.
The blue ribbon is not about victims. It is not about gun control. It is not about medical breakthroughs. It is not even about young soldiers who risk life and limb.
The blue ribbon is about pain. The pain of not knowing, not knowing what the Hamas monsters might be doing to your 8 year old daughter; your 18-year-old son who had his arm blown off- is he alive? Is he in pain? Is he dead? Where is your 7-month pregnant wife? Your 80-year-old mother?
The blue ribbon represents those who wait for word, who wait in the agony of not knowing, unable to mourn, but afraid to hope.
My blue ribbon accidentally went into the wash. It survived, still bright blue but a little crumpled. I wear it anyway. I am a little crumpled, too.
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