One reason I’m grieving that I’m ashamed to admit
Since the election I've had to face the fact that I don’t want to see God in people who disagree with me.
On election day, I was gushing about my son Sam’s first vote and the joy of witnessing kindness at the polls. My spirit was buoyed by white shirts and pantsuits, I Voted stickers and a Facebook feed full of post-voting selfies, beautiful in its diversity. All across the nation my lovely family and friends were waving flags, offering rides, and celebrating being American.
Twenty four hours later, my six foot four, 18-year-old son came to our bedside as Todd and I were still lying there, dumbstruck and heartsick. “Can I get in with you?” he asked. We scooted over and made room, and he lay down beside me in his school clothes and tennis shoes and fingered my hair, the way I used to do for him whenever he was sad or afraid.
“Enough is enough. Move forward,” posted a Facebook friend. No, I can’t move forward yet. I can hardly move at all.
