I would not allow myself hope. Not after before. But I did think I would feel— perhaps not joy— but relief, reprieve if it turned out this way.
But I don’t feel any of that.
All I can feel is grief. An unrelenting ache. Awash in grief.
I’d thought that after knowing, after experiencing the reality of the last four years, more hearts would change
and they might not choose him. So many people chose him. Not the majority, but too many.
Even though I haven’t believed for a very long time that America (at least the United States part) was ever truly great, I wanted to believe the people saying it was would at least make a play for fairness and upholding her institutions.
But too many turn blind eye after blind eye, ignoring harm and corruption, lies and death.
Dismissing pain and alarms like a parent when their child cried and said she did not want to “play” with her abuser, only to be sent back again and again
because listening, validating her fears, keeping her safe, might have made them look bad.
Or not in control.
And there are people who fear loss of control more than they love their daughters. People who fear loss of power more than they love their neighbors.
There are people who will double-down on an idol they worship while convincing themselves they are worshiping the God of love.
And I do not know how to bridge the chasm between my heart and theirs. I’m staying curious about possibilities, but I do not yet know.