Today we gather to mourn beloved members of American society, the departed: a family of cherished American ideals — DEIA, Immigrant Hope, and Trans Rights.

They spent years traveling together down a winding road called Progress, optimistic that they could reach a brighter future. They were last seen attending the inauguration of our 47th president.

They were nervous, and it was bitter cold in D.C., but Monday was an auspicious day: Martin Luther King Jr. Day, a day honoring the dream of equality, justice, and progress for all Americans. That it coincided with Inauguration Day felt like more than a coincidence — it had to be a sign, an omen of hope for the brighter future they all believed was within reach.

And all three — DEIA, Immigrant Hope, and Trans Rights — had hope in their hearts that our president would make good on his promise to make America great again for everyone.

DEIA, the wise and nurturing grandmother of the family, always ensured there was a place at the table for everyone. She spent her life building ramps, installing Braille signs, and advocating for ergonomic chairs, so everyone — whether they walked, rolled, or read with their fingertips — could participate. She made sure that Title IX wasn’t just a suggestion, ensuring that when women’s basketball teams showed up to the NCAA tournament, they weren’t stuck with a couple of yoga mats and a broken dumbbell while the men’s teams got state-of-the-art gyms and swag bags worthy of the Oscars.

She also ensured public institutions didn’t look like the set of a period drama about the 1950s. After all, one person of color in a Cabinet isn’t diversity; it’s a photo op. DEIA was last seen in a government building, watching as the ramp she fought so hard to build was dismantled, leaving wheelchair users stranded at the base of the steps. DEIA succumbed to a fatal combination of administrative neglect, systemic racism, entrenched misogyny, and pervasive ableism, dismissed as “radical” and “wasteful” by those who benefit most from staying on top.

Immigrant Hope, the sweet and wide-eyed baby of the family, clung to a tiny flag during the inauguration, beaming at the president’s promise to restore law and order. “This is a land of laws,” she thought, “a place where justice prevails.”

But that optimism was shattered when she overheard the news: those who stormed the Capitol, attacking police officers and desecrating democracy, had been pardoned and set free. Her mother was arrested while singing in the church choir, a sanctuary now unsafe. Immigrant Hope was last seen clutching her tattered flag at the border, tears streaming down her face.

She whispered, “Why are those who stormed the Capitol free, but we are not welcome? Mama works at a nursing home.” She was struck down by xenophobia, a condition that flares up every election cycle when certain politicians need a scapegoat.

Trans Rights, the scrappy teenager of the family, had cautiously dared to hope for change. On Inauguration Day, they stood tall, a backpack filled with dreams of acceptance and safety slung over their shoulder.

“Maybe,” they thought, “this is the beginning of something better.”

Their optimism didn’t last. Anti-trans legislation swept in, stripping away protections. Everyone was so worried about whether Trans Rights was going to take over sports or, worse, prey on others as if they were plotting a sinister takeover. All they ever wanted was a safe place to exist and, maybe, just maybe, use a bathroom without fear.

Trans Rights was last seen on the side of the road, their backpack cast aside, as they whispered, “Was it too much to ask just to be?” They succumbed to a terminal case of moral panic, exacerbated by a steady diet of fear-mongering cable news segments.

The family’s last journey together was a hopeful one, but their disappearance after Inauguration Day was no mystery. Their downfall was orchestrated by an administration claiming to honor the Constitution while trampling on its promises. DEIA, Immigrant Hope, and Trans Rights weren’t lost — they were snuffed out, one executive order at a time.

This isn’t just a loss; it’s a warning. The loss of one would be a tragedy, but losing all three is an indictment of a nation that claims to value freedom and fairness. As we mourn their passing, we can’t ignore their cousins trembling in their seats — Women’s Rights, already battered and bruised; Public Education, wondering if they’re next; and Voting Rights, gripping his walker, hoping to make it through another year.

In lieu of flowers, please honor their legacy by refusing to let their deaths go unchallenged. This family may be gone, but their spirit doesn’t have to be. We can rebuild the road they were traveling on, but it won’t be easy. It will take action — good trouble, if you will — to ensure that no family like this is left behind again.