Well, for what it's worth, I regret almost everything I've ever said in anger. Even when it was 'justified'.
And, as a practical matter, acting angry towards someone is hardly ever effective. It most often seems to just make the situation worse.
This is not to say you shouldn't feel angry in some situations. Your emotions are your own. And it is often necessary to let the involved parties know that you are upset. But being able to carefully chose your actions in the heat of the moment is the quintessence of maturity, IMHO. That is very hard to achive and maintain. It is something I still have to work on myself.
I read the original post right after it was posted, so I wasn't even aware of the comment storm until this post. I'm aware now. I went back to read it.
I sincerely hope that the people lashing out in response to the post were simply too distraught by the passing of their friend/relative to restrain themselves. I also hope that someday they will look back on this event and consider why they let it happen, starting from not informing the entire family on down to each derogatory line of their comments.
I don't feel the need to defend Don or to respond to the comments attacking him. I'll just say that I respect and support his behavior.
My mother did not marry a black man. Instead, she had a child with him. And then another. And then a couple more. This was in the early seventies, and my mother's pentacostal family was not having any of it. Many words were said in anger, when they weren't trying their utmost to ignore each other. We kids weren't aware of this, of course, but it was, quite literally, Us vs. Them. It caused minor, old wounds to repoen, the revelation of old scars and the creation of wet, red new ones. And bizarre rules that the family followed. We only got to visit on certain holidays, the occasional birthday, and sometimes we time-shared events with some of the more vociferous objectors.
And it was so stupid. People do get old. When the hot-running zeal of youth gives way to the contemplation of middle age, it becomes quite clear that very few things are unforgivable. One can either hold on to the prejudices of the past, or let go, offering the Christian cheek.
When my grandparents died, the aunts and uncles (after an expected, but mercifully short, squabbling session) seemed to calm down. The vitriol of Us and Them calmed down. I'm not sure what happened, but I think that after you've been truly and honestly sad, it's hard to hold on to hate. All that was left was family, the only ones that possibly have a hope of understanding you, and good thing too, because you can never shake them. Try it. I did, and they're still here.
And I kind of like them. The whole flawed, irresponsible, irritating and occasionally hostile bunch. I only wish now that I'd had more of a connection with them when I was a kid. Don't ever miss out on that, no matter how just you may think your current cause is.