Glow

On election night, I struggled to sleep. I tossed and turned in bed and was thankful when Lucy awoke at her customary 3 a.m. I changed her and nursed her and sat with her as she drifted off on my lap, cozy in a blanket and secure in my arms. I fell asleep like that, in the yellow armchair with my feet propped on a stool and my nose in her hair. I slept there, holding her, until Mike came in sometime after six, already showered and dressed, to get a sweater from the closet in her room. I didn’t want to let her go.

I had been having nightmares about Trump winning the presidency in the weeks before the election. So I wasn’t altogether surprised when it happened, but, boy, was I sad. I had hoped hard that the bad dreams wouldn’t come true, that my fears would be allayed with a sweeping victory for Hillary Clinton, a victory that would not only give us our first female president but also reassure us, resoundingly, that our country is not lost to hate, ignorance, racism, sexism, and xenophobia. I hoped hard as I waited in line to drop off our ballots. I hoped hard as I played with Lucy at the park under the warm, blue sky. I hoped hard as the results rolled in and the night stretched out, looking bleaker and bleaker. I was ready to celebrate on November 9, to be proud, as a woman with progressive ideals, as a mother to a strong-willed daughter. “That could be you, someday, my love!” is what I wanted to say to her. I wanted to be excited for the future, not scared of it.

But now I am finding it hard to look at her without feeling like I failed her by somehow allowing this ridiculous, terrifying outcome to transpire. I do not want my child to grow up in a country where hate is legitimized and bullies win, a place that is isolated from the world, a place where liberty and freedom and equality are empty promises for most, truly only intended for a privileged few. I don’t know what the next four years will hold, but I am worried. Not just because of the man in office, but because of the ugly truths of this nation that his campaign uncovered. I am worried that people will not be good to one another.

I didn’t want to leave the house yesterday. I had to, though, because we were out of diapers. At the store, I felt distant and floaty, as if I were underwater or had taken a sleeping pill. I pushed the cart slowly, feeling disconnected and yet wondering how many others around me were experiencing the same sadness, the same sense of muted rage. Back home, we went about our day. I stayed away from the news and social media.

After dinner and washing and pajamas, we went outside to say goodnight to the moon. We’ve missed it lately, either because of its newness or the weather or some unnecessary urgency. But last night the moon shone through the window and Lucy beckoned me to the front door to take her outside, into the darkness. I held her up, and she craned and reached toward that glowing rock, joyful and amazed. The world is so magical in her eyes. I need to keep that wonder alive for her as long as I can, to glow for her, reflecting her glory like the moon shines by the sun. She is my sun.

I am uncertain of the future, but what I know is that right now I need to be strong and hopeful–for my sake and for Lucy’s. I need to love her and teach her to love–and to care. We have entered into a strange time, and it is hard not to feel alone and angry and impotent. It doesn’t help, though, feeling like that. It doesn’t make it better.

So her daddy and I will teach her to love. We will teach her to be proud and to believe in herself. We will teach her to look out for those who need help. We will teach her that the world is much bigger than herself.

We will also teach her hard truths, about injustice and prejudice and power. Not to scare or embitter her, but because she needs to know. I don’t want her to be knocked down by somebody else’s blindness or bigotry; knowledge is the best armor we can give her.

Most importantly, we will teach her to see goodness in the world. In people, in nature, in art and music, in experiences: see the good. Reflect it–glow from it–so that others notice, too. Use it as a shield when the world feels menacing.

I hope that this election, which stunned so many, will ignite conversations, actions, and movements that bring healing to communities across the country. I hope that instead of further distancing and alienating ourselves from our neighbors, we seek ways to connect and to fight back, peacefully, for the good we believe in. Perhaps these connections and conversations and actions and movements and fights will be the good that comes out of this mess. We will have to wait and see.

In the meantime, I will watch the moon with Lucy.