My parents were married during a world
war, a war where bombs were dropped on their city. With WWII now a matter for the history books,
it is easy to forget that in 1943, my parents did not know how the war would
end. They married anyway. I trust that they felt joy on their wedding
day.
I am thinking about this now because on
November 8, a quarter of my fellow citizens elected a president who, for me,
represents the opposite of all that this country stands for, signaling for me a
dark, uncertain, and frightening time, and on November 23, my daughter Anne married her sweetheart in my living room.
Her father (my former husband) and I performed the ceremony. Her sister and a cousin and their husbands,
as well as my current husband, were in attendance. It was a joyous occasion.
In the aftermath of these two events, I
have struggled to hold my joy and fear at the same time. I have wondered if it is fair for me to feel
such joy when others are so afraid. And
I have concluded that it is not only fair, it is necessary.
Here I pause to make a distinction
between seeking escape from what is real and embracing moments of joy. Me binge-watching House is escape. Me playing
with granddaughters is joy. The distinction
may seem obscure, so I will attempt to illuminate the distinction by borrowing
these words from the poet, William Stafford:
Your life you live by the light you
find
and follow it on as well as you can,
carrying through darkness wherever you
go
your one little fire that will start
again.
Moments of joy—my daughter’s wedding, watching
a granddaughter twirl around in her new tutu—remind me of what is important,
remind me of what is worth fighting for, of what is at stake. They energize me. In Stafford’s words, they restart my
fire.
My attempts at escape, on the other
hand, are engaging in the moment, but ultimately leave me feeling heavy and
lethargic. They do nothing to help me to feel empowered. I do not pretend that I will cease to look
for escape, but I am trying to keep from giving it a central place in my
life.
My parents did what they could during WWII. My father built ships for the war effort; my
mother joined the Women’s Forestry Service.
And it feels important for me to do what I can now, to pay attention to
what is happening in Washington D.C. (or, for the moment, New York). It feels important to figure out how to make
my voice heard when rights are threatened, and to be present for those who are
rightly afraid for their personal safety now that certain portions of our
population feel free to express their hatred through ugly words or
violence.
So, I will continue to give money to
organizations that safeguard civil and human rights. I will keep my Senators and Congresswoman on
speed dial. I will be alert for opportunities
to reassure those who feel threatened.
I will try not to let fear still my
voice.
And I will remember that WWII ended,
that my parents went on to raise three children, one born during the war. We do not know for certain what the next four
years will bring, but we can vow to resist those who would endanger our future,
and we can use our moments of joy to feed the flame of our resistance.
May it be so.
