Wednesday, November 9, 2016

I can't even.

Last night Molly went to bed at her usual 10PM bedtime.  This morning it occurred to me that she didn't know who won the election.  I rushed down to talk with her before her bus came, wanting her to know before she learned in a harsher way.  Here's the first few sentences of our conversation:
Me:  Hey.  Do you know who won the election last night?
M:  Hillary Clinton?
Me:  No.  Trump won the election.
Molly turned her head away from me and just looked out the door for a long time.  Finally she turned back to me, eyes brimming with tears.
M:  What's going to happen to me?

Just like when I meet with survivors who ask the "what's going to happen" questions and I can not give them certainty-filled answers, I kept my tears in and reassured her that she was an amazing and strong person with lots of people who love her and who will always support her and make sure she is okay.  And, like when working with survivors, I pray that that answer I have offered has more elements of truth than of raw hope and magical thinking braided together.

For the last three and a half decades I have been parenting Molly, two of those decades as a single parent.  My resources and energy are waning.  From experience I know that her programs are vulnerable because she and her peers rely on tired and resource-exhausted people like me to advocate for them.

I can't even . . .