Month: December 2017

As transplants in our hometown, I am struggling to create the kinds of reliable holiday traditions I treasured as a child for my child. I am searching for traditions.

I have been in CA for 13 holiday seasons. Every one we have flown back to GA for the holidays. I guess it feels easier since all family is there and we have the time off.

Counterintuitively, it was harder for me to book the flight this year. Now we have her, and she needs to spend time with her cousins and grandparents and aunts and uncles, but I am her mom and have a really strong desire to build her holiday connection to her home. Being the adult now, it is my responsibility to create the magical holiday memories she will be nostalgic for when she is momming for her children. She may only be 2.6 but she has an incredible memory like my husband and I wager even some of this season will be remembered by her next year and beyond, so the pressure on me feels intense. The last two seasons, I just got through knowing I could get serious about it when she will remember. Memory seems to be here, and the intense internal pressure that created was unanticipated.

So here it is my 13th Christmas as a Californian, and we got our first tree. Our place is small, no room for a big real one, and it took me 4 different stores before I finally found a fake one in stock and under 7 ft tall. It was her size, 4ft tall, so my husband called it our Charlie Brown tree, but she absolutely loved decorating it. I mean it was about the size of a toddler attention span, so there’s that. In fact, she spent every night undecorating and then redecorating it which was also great. But she is very independent and could not understand why she wasn’t allowed to plug it in every morning so the new threat of electrocution was less great. But lighting the tree morning and evening having her chase the green lights as the little tree we found and cycled through, that was pretty magical. So I will call the tree a win.

Mondays at our house are craft nights. The first Monday I got a big tub of holiday stamps and a red and green stamp pad. We went to town making a paper chain for the tree. But then I had forgotten to get tape or staples to form the links, so that was only kind of a fail. The second Monday, I had my husband get candies for decorating cookies, and I whipped up a batch of ginger bread dough, but I was short on molasses, the cookies were hard to roll out, and when I opened the red sugar, though it seemed sealed, red sugar fell all over the counter and appeared opaque. Not wanting to poison my child but still wanting to be festive, we stuck with the green sugar, but the candies my husband found were for birthday cookies, so it wasn’t quite the red and green explosion I envisioned. But they got eaten so it was a another partial victory. We met up with friends later that week to craft gingerbread houses and learned the importance of making that a multi day affair. Day one: walls. Day 2: roof. Day 3: decoration. If you try to shove it into a single afternoon with 1-3 year olds, the structure can not withstand the force. In the end, I am going to call our Christmas crafting marginally successful.

She is totally on board with Christmas lights. She already enjoys looking for the moon when it is dark. So looking for Christmas lights was a logical progression. I would pick her up from school. She would comment on the darkness and say, “now we can look for Christmas lights?” I would say yes, and that would sustain her interest for the 30 min car ride home. It would also occupy her interest for any walk we took, and especially excited her the night we took a walk just for lights! And the new popular projector light things provided endless driveway dance party opportunities! My fail was not really taking the time to string outdoor lights for our place. I sense next year she will be a big help with that! Looking for lights was our biggest holiday win!

Of course, we had to see Santa. But I was more behind than I have ever been grading this semester, so I put it off until 5 days before Christmas. Toddler attention spans being what they are, I could sense this was going to be a fail, so I booked an appointment with Santa. Even still, a 45 minute wait ensued. Thank goodness for fake snow and a similarly aged toddler next to us in line. She was so excited to see him and tell him about our jingle tree right up until the moment it became her turn. I leapt out of the picture to catch a smile and no more words were exchanged with Santa, only tears. I suppose that was to be expected. Maybe next year Santa will be traditional. This year, his lap was still obligatory.

Perhaps the reason I don’t have a great track record of established CA traditions commensurate with my years as a resident is because my foot is always halfway out the door. We always fly back almost as soon as we can wrap up our professional obligations. All of the traditions I identify with at Christmas are found on my sleepy little street in my sleepy little hometown where I have the same bedroom I have had intermittently since birth swapping only to the one that adjoins through the bathroom when I was in middle school. But now my old room is my nieces’ room, and instead of getting locked out of the shared bathroom by my sister, I get locked out by her daughters. Instead of being bathed in a warm orange tone in all pictures from the wood paneling in the living room, we are all brighter from the light paint that now coats it, but there is no mistake. This is the home of the Christmas of my memory. This is where my family has joined hands to say a prayer of thanks for prosperity and togetherness before sharing a Christmas feast for over 30 years.

So this year, I tried to stay as long in CA as possible to maximize home memories coming into Atlanta in the early afternoon on the 23rd. By the time we arrived, I could just hear the chorus of that song, “we need a little Christmas right this very minute” ringing in my ears as the soundtrack to the immediate family time that ensued. We had barely put our bags down when we were furtively sneaking Santa presents from them to the tree trying not to wake her. Still jet lagged and groggy she bolted upright when she heard her cousins and joined them in welcoming Santa. She seemed not to notice the smallest stack was hers being that which I could fit in the corner of my checked bag. She definitely didn’t seem to note the hastily assembled ziplock bag of cookies from Sissy’s kitchen were the sad offerings in a stocking I forgot to plan on. In the end, permission to rip paper seemed more satisfying than the content of the package. I am sure this is probably on par with the Christmas mornings of other toddlers this year. For some reason, I thought all the anticipation would generate more. More emotions in both of us were interestingly lacking. Perhaps the hurry up to Christmas exhausted us too much for simple enjoyment.

But there was also no mistaking that the homestead felt half as big this year. We lost our matriarch last fall. We lost her home across the street from my parents’ home last spring. We lost our traditional Christmas Eve gathering last week. Fire truck santa passed almost without observation because my two year old was screaming louder than it sirens because she wanted to change clothes for the 13th time that day. But we made it outside just in time to watch him pass because he was a perfectly timed diversion. And that makes me sad. At her house, he was a magical treat we shared as a family sipping egg nog in her driveway, one of those fabled Downs holiday in West Point traditions. This year when I felt so much pressure to create the magical Christmas memories for her, he was a diversion from her tantrum.

Family Firetruck Santa viewing 12.2016

So who knows what 2018 will bring? Who knows what if any of this 2017 holiday season my child will remember? Who knows if we will do any of these same things next year or what crazy new options we will explore? Who knows how much of it will be spent in each location for optimal holiday togetherness and enjoyment? I just know adulting is sometimes hard. I know it is strange to feel pulled between creating the moments of family and togetherness you treasure while still maintaining home holiday traditions when the homes and the family you need are a continent apart. I also know Christmas knows no property. It lives in the love and laughs we share with the people we surround ourselves with in the moments that we gather. Perhaps one day many years from now when she struggles to balance the needs of her family with her memories of the traditions of ours, she will read this meditation and know that we tried.

I am from this land

my eyes are cut from these sapphire skies

my knees have stained this clay 

with crimson blood

I belong to this land

my past sways among these pines

my secrets sink in rivers 

brown with shame

my soul carries this land

of nights alive

with beams of promise

of sun so bright

I burn with longing

~E. Davis 01.02.07

I’m Southern.  If you’re Southern too, you know it’s complicated.

This land is terrible and beautiful all at once and truly, deeply misunderstood.  

From the outside, the country sees a backward place.  A place filled, they think, with racism.  From the outside, I imagine we seem slow, and not just in our speech.  From the outside, I am sure we are perceived as many things.  I can’t really speak to that, because I’m not on the outside.

I imagine it’s easy to stand on the outside and assume.  It’s easy to proclaim and declare how things should be, but it’s harder to live the change.  I’m working to live the change.  I believe in the beauty we have here.  I see you, fellow Southerner, struggling, too, to live the change.

There is kindness here.  There is good here.  There is hope here.  It isn’t even all that hard to find.  You don’t even have to know where to look.

I know the eyes of the country were on Alabama.  Now that Alabama has done its part for change, eyes will likely turn from Alabama to focus on the next big cause.  In a similar fashion, the eyes were here on us to “Flip the Sixth” in the northern Atlanta suburbs.  We didn’t flip, but we did fight.  I’m proud of our fight.  I’m proud of Alabamians for fighting harder.

In the small Southern town of my childhood, people were black or white.  People for the most part were Protestant, as we were.  I never knew a Jewish person and quite frankly even being Catholic was considered an oddity.  There was a predominantly white private school and a predominantly black public school.  My siblings and I went to the public school.  We were also considered an oddity. I am grateful for this.

That was the status quo in the 1980s; I don’t pretend to know the status quo there in 2017.  What I do know is how incredibly fortunate my own children are to grow up in a school and community teeming with diversity.  They know people from all over the world who celebrate all different religions and traditions.  They truly, honestly don’t know the world a different way, and I am so, so grateful for that.  

It’s easy to become discouraged because change doesn’t happen quickly.  But I see it happening.  I see it in an election in Alabama.  I see it in a near-victory in the northern Atlanta suburbs.  I see it in the halls of my children’s schools.  I see it at soccer games, at chorus concerts, in the pews of my (Catholic) church…

I’m not one to belittle the beliefs of others.  You know your heart and I know mine.  To me, this change isn’t about party or politics; it’s about people.  If you love this place, you work to shape it.  You work to ensure Southern hospitality extends to all, not just those who look and think and feel like you.  There may have been pain and anger and hatred in our land’s past, but there will be joy and love and hope in our land’s future.

Don’t stand on the outside and assume, come on down.  All y’all are welcome here.

#bethechange

 

I have been enrolled in a class this year all about active learning strategies in science and math classrooms. This semester we have been watching 7 min clips of each other teach.

I watched footage of my biology colleague using a game with his students. He got them in groups of four, gave them each a straw and a plate full of kidney beans. He said, “alright, you need to fish for the kidney beans using only your straw. Go.” He gave them no other directions. It seemed simple enough. They went at it, giggling, playing, fishing. After a certain amount of time he said, “alright, time. One year has elapsed. If you still have beans on your plate, those fish can reproduce. Put three beans back for every fish in your lake.” 90% of the plates had no beans. The communities were dead because the lakes were dead.

Uncontrollable consumption of resources without regard to the common good is totally unsustainable. I begged this teacher to take his game on the road to congress. I joked I would pay for his flight. The game was so simple yet so effective at illustrating a core tenet of conservation: One cannot use resources selfishly without regard to the common good. To do so is unsustainable.

Make no mistake, this Republican tax scam is a redistribution of wealth. It is just taking the limited resources and supports for low and middle income people and using those cost savings to give tax cuts to already wealthy people. It is pushing the wealth up. They don’t even have the decency to lie well about it. When asking a room full of CEOs what they would do with these corporate tax benefits, none raised their hands for training, growth, or reinvesting in employees.

I feel like we were robbed. In the middle of the night. Of thousands of dollars annually. And spray painted on the walls of our home were slurs against the decisions that built the life we live.

You actually couldn’t craft a tax bill that was more an affront to me personally than the one the two houses of the legislative branch produced.  Actually we were robbed once, and I have to say, this tax bill felt more violating. All our robbers scored was some Sudafed and an iPod. GOP congress plans to take thousands of dollars from my middle class blue state family and generally increasing the tax burdens of the middle class in any area with high state and local tax burdens which we have because we want our states to fund education, infrastructure, and technology. And then we give this money to real estate developers and corporations with already astounding amounts of cash. The world’s wealthiest just got even wealthier! The poor and middle class get less! Income inequality that was already breathtakingly large just got insurmountable. America is so great! USA! USA! I can’t wait for Steve Mnuchin’s wife to have her “Let them eat cake” moment of twitter fame. Oh, and let’s eliminate healthcare for 13 million ppl and drill in the arctic for good measure.

Here’s the rub. I live in a blue house in a blue state. I wouldn’t mind paying more taxes if it meant the people of my country would benefit, if they were investments in education, healthcare, green technologies. But they aren’t. They are going to go to already wealthy people who will not reinvest in the American workforce, will not innovate to address climate change, or enhance health benefits for employees, and certainly will not provide a free college education for the children or enhanced technical retraining for their employees. They will probably just invest it, give CEOs pay raises, or do stock buy backs, you know, what corporations and rich people do.

But rich people, I just have one question. How much money is enough for you? Are you proud of what kicking 13 million people out of health coverage, limiting the already limited disposable income of middle income consumers and their ability to save for retirement, adding 1.5-2 trillion dollars to the national deficit will do to the security of your country? Are you proud that in exploding the deficit, you are also paving the way to dismantle the social safety net that has been the backbone for middle America for decades? Do you think bankrupting your employees with the new added burdens of inflated medical costs, higher tax burdens, and elder care for their financially insecure retired parents will somehow make them more productive?

And Republicans, why the speed of light legislative process with no public hearings? Why the immediate implementation that leaves financial planning for every American in limbo over the next two weeks , a time when generally most Americans prefer not to worry and focus on spending their few vacation days catching up with friends and family with whom they have had little time to interact with so few paid leave days annually? My husband and I are scrambling to figure out if it would actually benefit us to pay our full property tax bill before the year end. Is that possible? Is it deductible? Is it advisable? Who can say? Probably no one who voted on it, that’s for sure.

I guess we all knew it was going to have to get a lot worse before it gets any better. Let’s just hope this sham of a legislative process doesn’t cause too much irreparable damage to the lives of regular people before sensible legislators can regain control and attempt to mitigate the impact. You know, people who actually care about regular people and protecting the nation’s interests, not the donors or worse, their own.

In the meantime, the media must stop use of the term “major legislative victory.” That implies there is something winning about this bill. Nothing in this bill helps the republic to win or rise in stature or status. Instead they must start calling this massive wealth grab by and for the incredibly wealthy a win for the 1%. Or a win for Republican donors. It certainly isn’t a victory for any conservatives who claim to care about the deficit. It certainly isn’t a win for Republicans who favor “regular order.” It certainly isn’t a win for regular people.

I am not even sure Spider-Man can save us. I am sure it is not sustainable. I study biology. #electionshaveconsequences

This was me, peak parenting, or so I thought. My husband was participating in the Tour de Fuzz, a century to benefit the police of Sonoma County. I ordered white wine with a poolside charcuterie tray for our lunch at the Fountaingrove Inn, a landmark establishment that no longer exists. We were guests a couple of weeks before the fires. It was burned to the ground in the recent fires that obliterated many acres of Sonoma County. Here this day, gone the next. It was consumed by the Tubbs Fire.

Above are before and after images of the high school where the start of the century was staged. The destruction total. Fortunately for Santa Rosa, this high school was not in use as a school. Unfortunately the neighboring public one was.

Anyone who has been to Sonoma County wine country has seen these cypress trees lining the path to a winery. We live within an hour’s drive to Santa Rosa. We have made a life out of weekend trips to this beautiful corner of the earth. So to revisit last month after some of the worst fires in CA history, to see them scorched to the tip like skinny spent matchsticks was kind of jarring.

To enter the establishments where we have frequented, talk to the locals, hear about how many of their friends, their families are out of a home, out of a job, or worse, both, was fairly gut wrenching.

With two sets of CA wildfires of the most destructive on record in this season alone, and two apocalyptic hurricanes leaving over a thousand dead by recent estimates, I am done listening to denial of climate change. Scientists are in almost complete agreement. The few who will voice an alternative opinion are exploiting a payroll opportunity. There is overwhelming consensus that these are the consequences of climate change.

The worst part of it is how many people (scientists and politicians alike) know it. This is on the scale of the knowledge big tobacco had of the causative role smoking played as a carcinogen while Joe Camel still graced the pages of our Weekly Readers.

At a time when the US should be playing a leading role in the solutions that transform our dependence on fossil fuels to a renewable energy economy, we are the lone leaders in leaving the Paris Accord.

This is the defining moment of our times. There is no doubt. You can hear the gears grinding as GOP Representatives pivot from, “there is no scientific consensus ” to “The hour is too late.” They had our children’s future in their hands, and they sold it for short term political gain.

Disgust doesn’t begin to describe the emotions of this adult female who remembers cherishing her book “50 things you can do to save the world” snipping six pack rings and walking her radio flyer wagon around the neighborhood of her rural GA hometown as a middle schooler. It is time for leadership and action.

My friends and family just had a snow day Georgia in the middle of December. Instead of marveling at the beauty of the peacefully falling flakes, I wish more would stand back in recognition of the aberration and in abject terror that climate change means unpredictable extremes in weather that led their local forecaster to tell you to prepare for flurries that wouldn’t stick. Then pivot to the recognition that American citizens in Puerto Rico awoke to a thirteenth week without power or potable water in a botched recovery effort the likes of which our country hasn’t seen since Katrina. Then recognize global climate change is more of a national security threat than any radical Muslim or oppressed white male. It has the capacity to do millions of dollars in property damage, leave thousands homeless, kill hundreds with almost no warning. It will likely only worsen. Then come to tears when you realize this is just the new normal.

It is a time when our diplomatic envoys should be extracting their good inky pens and asking , “Where do I sign?” That is precisely what happened with the long negotiated Paris Accords, a textbook example of the power of global diplomacy. Instead, on June 1st our president announced we would be withdrawing from the long negotiated Paris Accords and hired a man to run the EPA who is a cartoon villain for human killing deregulation. And in response, Emmanuel Macron says please, come to France. Do your research here. We will fund you because the work needs doing. Make our planet great again. This guy gets it.

You can lament the inefficiency of national government, and there are few things government is really good at, but pooling resources to tackle global insoluble problems has to be on the list of its strengths. No single individual will innovate on a level to neutralize the threat of climate change, but sustained investment in innovative technology and conversion to renewable energy sources can have an impact.

Instead our president and his minions want us to party like it is 1929 and prop up coal while rolling back regulations that protect our environment and eliminating thousands of acres of National parks while tacking on drilling in the Alaskan National Wildlife Refuge to tax reform because why not?

I am done. My sign is ready. When can I march. We have to fight to preserve our planet while she is in a position to save. There is no planet B. We as global citizens have to pop this nationalist bubble of ignorance and awaken to the terrifying reality that climate change is the greatest geopolitical threat facing our country and its world, and recognize that media bias meant it got all of 15 minutes in the 2016 presidential debates only because she brought it up.

There is only one party fighting for the future of this planet. But we all breathe the air. We all live on the the land. We all consume the fruits of the ground. We should all be terrified of the clear and present danger. Now is the time to demand more of our elected officials for the future of our children.

This is as close as my sister and I have ever come to being princesses. We were part of the court in a rural Alabama local community theater production of Once Upon a Mattress. I think we were 14ish and 16ish at the time. You know, we were right in the age of Roy Moore’s wheelhouse.

I remember there was a young man maybe late 30s early thirties in the show with whom I shared many jokes. Even in retrospect, I viewed this as an incredibly normal interaction. I was an adolescent yearning to be viewed as witty, interesting, perhaps even attractive. He did find my jokes funny but recognizing I was a minor he laughed and joked with me but maintained a barrier. That is completely normal behavior for two people in those two positions in life.

Roy Moore is a child predator with a now well publicized past. A young woman in Alabama of the ages we are in this picture cannot consent to a relationship with a man. A respectable man would never put them in a position to need to.

Some polls suggest the fine people of Alabama believe this is all fake news perpetrated by democratic operatives. But the reality is quite far from that. This story was broken by real reporters, on the ground covering the runoff, listening to locals, hearing rumors, following leads, finding hidden truths.

And why shouldn’t we believe these women? Most of them were Trump voters. I mean they were spending their formative years in heavily conservative rural Alabama. It isn’t that surprising that they have certain political persuasions. It was on the ground old fashioned journalism that allowed investigative reporters to give these victims a voice.

Most were reluctant to come forward as many victims were in the pre-2017 mindset. The misogyny and sexism that are pervasive in our social and political systems lead many journalists, politicians, and lawyers to shame victims, question the veracity of their statements, judge their appearance and what their wardrobe says about their motives. Their bravery to come forward exposes them to such intense scrutiny that many feel violated all over again. So why would they report? They keep it inside. They blame themselves. They suffer silently.

I have a friend who suffered a similar fate.

He was her teacher. She was his babysitter. The relationship began when she was a young teen, but she was very intelligent, felt she was older than her age and thought she was able to consent. When she ended their relationship as she headed to college, he didn’t accept. He stalked her. She gathered the evidence. She filed a restraining order. She moved on with her life, tried hard to mentally and emotionally suppress the trauma. She became incredibly successful. Then she got the call.

He was doing it again. Or at least members of her small town suspected it. They needed her to be a witness. The police had lost some evidence. It had been almost a decade. So they needed her voice.

Thanks to the constant consistent support of her closest confidants, she found the bravery she needed to be the voice her community needed. She found that bravery based on our continual and unfailing support. But she was exposed. She had made herself vulnerable again. The torrent of hateful comments about her in local paper and media forums sent her spiraling. Though she was a minor at the time of the incident, it was a small town and there were people who spoke her name, because the internet is built for trolls.

She kept her voice strong but only for the others, the suspected unnamed victims who needed her. No women joined her because to do so was to become a figure of public scrutiny. She had to be the strong one for the young girls in his classrooms. She had to break his power for their protection. Though at the time, so many adults knew, her community did not protect her. She had to be better than that.

Child predators know how to find their victims. And they wield their influence and power in young vulnerable females. He was a teacher. Roy Moore was a district attorney. He met one of his accusers in the courthouse with her mother on their way to divorce proceedings. He was banned from the mall for prowling. Banned from the mall!

My friend was alone through it all. At least Moore’s accusers have each other. They will need each other as their integrity is questioned on a national stage, as their abuser is propped up by our pussy grabber in chief and the party he represents.

But Moore’s accusers also have something else. They have a momentum shift. The women’s march, the #metoo movement (Time’s most recent person of the year!), the wave of credible high profile abuse scandals in media and government represent a pivotal moment in women’s history. We are not taking it anymore. We as women will be heard. What she said is starting to shine a light on the darkness of him. What he said is starting to not matter as much, and that is a good thing.

We need to support these women unquestionably until evidence proves otherwise. They need our faith in their truth, they need our tissue for their tears, they need our rebuke of the power dynamic that left them and young women like them vulnerable. Let’s call this approach to the veracity of a woman’s story a much needed equal and opposite reaction.

The RNC is giving Moore money. Senate leaders are saying, “let the people of Alabama decide.” The president has both his Twitter thumbs at the ready endorsing regularly. Seriously? Seriously? At a time when the women of the country are finding the vocabulary word ENOUGH, Republicans are propping up a predator because they need his vote to advance their agenda. This is yet another in their increasingly long list of transgressions for party over country.

But I believe in you Alabama. I lived directly adjacent to you for half of my life. I believe you love conservatism and Jesus and trust you can distinguish when one should supersede the other. It is not enough just to sit this one out or vote write in “on principle” because that is not a principled stance. A principled stance is voting for the only viable non child predator option, Doug Jones, to make sure a credibly accused child abuser does not have an elected position in our government.

Elections have consequences. Make sure you don’t let another predator win one.

I was kind of kidding when I told Ellen I would do this blog with her.  I have a lot of things inside I want to say… I just don’t want anyone to hear them.  I don’t like people reading what I write or hearing how I feel.  When someone reads what I write in front of me or finds out my true thoughts, this is how it feels:  It feels like my skin has turned inside out and the person reading or hearing my words is pouring salt on me.  I hate it.  What I write comes from inside of me and I am an intensely private person and I do not want other people to see inside me.  Why?  I don’t know.  Maybe I am afraid they will see the real me and find me lacking.  Maybe I dislike conflict so much I am afraid to anger people or alienate people or make people feel even the slightest bit uncomfortable.  Maybe I don’t want people to think less of me for my opinions.  Maybe it’s all these things.  Regardless, I am a quiet observer.  I think many thoughts; I rarely speak them unless I know you quite well.

This is pretty much the opposite of my sister.  Growing up, I kind of felt like damage control for her unapologetic propensity to speak her mind.  She did not care if she made people angry.  In fact, that was probably often her goal.  She wanted to probe others into conflict in order to make them question their beliefs and truly examine their motives.  I hate conflict, so I always came behind her and tried to soothe it over and calm her down.  Conflict makes me feel endangered, like I’m not safe no matter which side I choose or where I go so I kind of shut down.  Conflict feeds her fire.  We aren’t very much alike.

Honestly, I always felt like the weaker of the two of us… the older sister somewhat overshadowed by the younger.  I was the “shy one” on the sidelines, quietly observing her fiery feats.

I feel differently now, about myself at least.  She is still the same force to be feared.  I know now that there is strength in silence too, and that there is profound power in making peace even when that peace comes with great compromise.  I know now that the world needs both kinds of strengths.  The world needs those who are not afraid to speak their minds, and the world needs those who quietly observe, process, and evaluate.  The world needs conflict starters and conflict enders.  The world needs tough love and soft love.  There is no right way to be.

I never thought of myself as strong, but now I know I’m differently strong. I’m differently, quietly strong.

So I said yes to this blog, because we both have voices to share.  We both have offerings we can make.  I am sure we will not always agree, and I am sure I will sometimes be uncomfortable by the things that are posted here.  Each person’s opinion is her own.  I was never good at controlling her then, but I’ve stopped trying to tame her now. I need her kind of strength, and now I see that she needs mine.

And so, the seasons of grief have come to pass, each new milestone of loss giving way to the next, each holiday and occasion becoming redefined without you.  I don’t think there will ever be a sadder Christmas than that of 2016.  To me, you were Christmas.  All that is Christmas was at your house with all the people and all the love and all the memories I have are there. So without you was just loss, and Christmas Eve was no longer magical, and sadness reigned.  And I tried, I really tried to carry it on for my girls, but in between the new memories there were tears for Christmas Eves past.

It’s devastating to me that now the house will celebrate with a new family, as if the years and years and years of love could be so easily replaced… But I know a house is just a house and the Christmas you gave me is inside me.  That’s what my mind tells my heart.  But my heart aches with the passing of days, with the memories I try to cling to as they quickly slip away.  This is the way, though.  My job now is to create new memories for my little people and to take all that you taught me and showed me and pass it on to the next generation, but it feels so difficult as I sit here in the loss of you.

My beautiful, brave, courageous, outspoken, dominating grandmother, it’s just that you left so suddenly…  You gave so much to the world, and you lived your life with such a purpose, and I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.  I’ll never be ready to say goodbye. And I won’t ever say goodbye to your example, to your belief in the goodness of all people, to your desire to help even the person at his lowest rise a little higher.  You believed in good.  You believed in mankind.  You believed in leading a servant life and in setting an example for us all to do the same.  You shaped me.  I’ve never felt better than or more important than anyone, but damn if I didn’t feel luckier than anyone for the love that surrounded me always.  You gave that love freely to all.  So many were family to you.  Your heart was open and you tirelessly gave of yourself for others.  Your example drives me in all that I hope to do. I carry you with me.

And each new day brings a new loss.  A new memory that you won’t know, that you won’t shape…A birthday passing with no song, a wedding with an empty seat, a yellow leaf falling in a yard that no longer belongs to us, a summer standing at the ocean shore and feeling your presence in each crashing wave…

The world changed on that day we lost you.  The whole world shifted and tilted inside of me and outside too, and I’m still struggling to regain my balance.  We are all still teetering in this new reality, seeking to keep alive the ideals you cultivated in us.  But I won’t lie; it’s hard Grandmother.  

On election night 2016, I got this text from my dad:

“Around midnight, Ruthie said she did not feel that this is a small world after all. We agreed that the world seems larger & scarier now.”

The next day, you were gone. It hurts so much that you left a world you worked so hard to make smaller and more beautiful feeling like that progress had been reversed or was never truly there at all.

But I know what you meant– our country feels less beautiful, it feels scarier, it feels hostile… This has nothing to do with politics and everything to do with human dignity, with the worth of all the beautiful people whose differences weave a fabric I still believe in but see that many others do not.

It’s a hard world, but you knew that already.  You fought your battles bravely and you shielded us from the pain of it, but now it’s ours to carry. I wasn’t ready to shoulder the burden, but it was time for you to lay it down.  On that Tuesday, the world shifted.  On that Wednesday, you said goodbye.  And after a year of Tuesdays and Wednesdays later, I’m still finding my balance in this new reality.

I miss you.  I am blessed beyond measure for the gifts you gave me.  I will always cling to the future you fought for. You would be so proud of us Downses, Grandmother.  We are closer than ever.  We are holding strong.  We are less than without you, and I don’t imagine that that will change. But we will change.  We will fill the void in ways that would make you happy.  We will live your example. I love you.  One day, I will see you again.