It was when we walked into the room packed with hundreds of people.
It was when the singing bowl called us all to silence.
It was when I looked around the room and felt grateful for the many people I knew, and the many I didn't.
It was when we sang together or recited meaningful words.
It wasn't when I shared why I showed up for racial justice.
It was when a brave woman of color spoke that THIS was the first time she'd ever been able to talk about hter experience as a Black woman in front of white people, and tears began to fall from her eyes.
It was when the room exploded in applause for her.
It was when the armed white supremacists lurked in the doorway, guns at their hips.
It was when I stopped to listen to the chatter of children in the room.
It was when I crossed paths with people I hadn't seen in years and marveled at life's patterns.
It was when we marched and chanted, eliciting jubilant honks and affirning fist pumps.
It was when elderly Black folks raised their hands as they drove past, saying, "Yes!" "Thank you!"
It was when people couldn't stop smiling as they filmed us on their camera phones.
It was looking into my partner's eyes, sharinga meaningful kiss, and holding our babies close.
It was when Oak, of his own volition, seriouslyabd enthusiastically cried, "Black Lives Matter."
It was when I watched our Black leaders tear up as we shouted louder and louder: "Black Lives Matter."
It was when Robby and I cried, too.
It was when Oak insisted on carrying his sign.
It was when we asked Oak how he felt afterward: "Good." What did he think? "Loud."
It was then that I felt it. I felt it in my bones. I am in the right place and time. As a white woman, this is my duty and call. White people, let's keep showing up. Silence is complicity. Be loud! BLACK LIVES MATTER.