Why I’m Still Crying
It’s been six days since 11/9, and I’m starting to sob less. But it still catches me off guard.
It happens when I read the stories about the spate of hate crimes we’re now seeing nationwide — the hijabs torn off women’s heads, the genitals grabbed without consent, the swastikas painted on school walls.
It happens when I tell my friends about how my mother encouraged to me to get back up and into the world — with the Methodist line Hillary so often paraphrased: “Do all the good you can, by all the means you can, in all the ways you can, in all the places you can, at all the times you can, to all the people you can, as long as ever you can.”
It happened when I saw the photo of Hillary walking her dog.
Moments big and small, freighted and lighthearted, are all setting me off, because there’s so much still to mourn for.
I mourn for those already experiencing the unleashed hate of the Trump era, and I mourn for the terrifying future ahead.
I mourn for the counterfactual future we’ve been robbed of — of the great things Hillary would have done as president, of the bridges she’d have built and the rights she’d have protected.
And, smallest but most visceral of all, I mourn for her — and I pray she doesn’t think she let us down.