Juneteenth 2026: The Weight We Carry, The Legacy We Choose

Every year when Juneteenth approaches, I find myself sitting with two truths at the same time.

One is historical.

One is deeply personal.

Juneteenth marks the day when freedom finally reached those who had been intentionally left waiting for it. More than two years after the Emancipation Proclamation was signed, enslaved people in Galveston, Texas learned they were free. It is a story of liberation, but it is also a story of delay. A story about what happens when justice comes late. For many people, Juneteenth is a celebration. For me, it is also a remembrance.

This year feels different.

Not because the work is any easier. Not because the conversations have become less necessary and certainly not because the wounds of the past have healed. In many ways, this year feels heavier. Across the country, we continue to watch efforts to minimize, sanitize, and erase difficult truths about our history. Conversations about race, equity, and belonging have become political battlegrounds. Progress that once felt possible sometimes feels fragile. And yet, here we are.

Still standing.

Still building.

Still fighting.

As the CEO of Meryl's Safe Haven, I spend much of my time thinking about legacy. Not the kind of legacy measured by buildings, awards, or recognition, but the kind measured by impact. The kind measured by the lives we touch and the opportunities we create for people who have been overlooked, underestimated, or forgotten. When people hear the name "Meryl's Safe Haven," they often think of an organization.

I think of a person.

I think of my aunt.

I think of her laugh.

I think of her strength.

I think about the meet up that was in the works.

I think of the conversations we never got to finish.

I think about the phone call that changed everything.

And yes, even now, years later, there are still tears. There are still moments when grief arrives unexpectedly. There are still days when the loss feels fresh. There are still times when I find myself wishing I could pick up the phone, hear her voice, and tell her what has become of the seed that was planted in the aftermath of her passing. People often talk about carrying someone's memory. What I have learned is that memory is only part of it.

I carry her influence.

I carry her lessons.

I carry the responsibility that comes with loving someone whose life mattered.

The person behind the name is what keeps me going.

When the work becomes difficult.

When funding feels uncertain.

When systems move too slowly.

When the problems seem larger than the solutions.

I think about her. I think about the young people and families who walk through our doors looking for stability, safety, and hope and I remember why we started.

Juneteenth reminds us that freedom has always required persistence. Progress has never been automatic. Every generation has inherited work from those who came before them. That is the story of Black history. That is the story of community. That is the story of legacy.

Legacy is not something we preserve in a museum. Legacy is something we live. It is showing up when the work is hard. It is telling the truth when it would be easier to stay silent. It is creating opportunities where barriers once existed. It is refusing to allow someone's story to end when their life does.

This Juneteenth, I find myself thinking less about celebrations and more about responsibility. The responsibility to remember. The responsibility to teach. The responsibility to continue building and the responsibility to honor those who made our journey possible.

So today, as we reflect on the meaning of Juneteenth, I invite you to think about the people whose shoulders you stand on. The ancestors who pushed us forward. The family members we miss. The mentors who shaped us. The community members who invested in us. The people whose names may never appear in history books but whose impact lives on in every life they touched. For me, one of those people will always be Meryl. Not simply the name above our door. Not simply the inspiration behind our organization, but the person whose life continues to remind me that love, service, and community leave footprints long after we are gone. And so, as I do every year, I pause.

I remember.

I grieve.

I give thanks.

And in my heart, I lay a single white rose. Not only for Meryl. But for all those whose legacy calls us to keep moving forward.

My Contribution to the Legacy