A World on Fire

Here we are again

You came to the polls with me, propped on my hip, Halloween jam jams amuck with crumbs and fruit stains, your bay-be in tow on the journey.

You most likely won’t remember this, but the pride I felt at this moment was heart-burst worthy. That I, a woman, could bring my daughter to vote on the crisp, November morning in the middle of suburban New Jersey.

As we walked through the halls of the municipal building waving hello to everyone that crossed our paths, I spoke softly to you about how important this little morning trip was, how as a woman, this was more than just pushing a few buttons and grabbing a sticker.

“You must always, always use your voice little one. You have permission to do so, no matter what.” I whispered in your tiny ear.

You giggled and tucked your head into my shoulder, calming my nervous system the way you so often do.

As I handed my license to the volunteer at the table, she glanced at my last name and smiled.

“Another Lima was here this morning, bright and early.”

My heart warmed again, thinking of your daddy being here at 6am, casting his vote with conviction and adoration for the women in his life.

We stepped into the booth and you stared at the lit up screen with wonder.

I let you hit the buttons.

I told you good job.

I got tears in my eyes after the votes were official.

I had hope in my heart.

But I won’t lie sweet girl, there was a pit in my stomach the whole time, a nagging anticipatory grief that tugged within.

When your daddy crawled into bed at 3:30 that morning, a sigh falling from his lips, I already knew.

When I cracked open my eyes at 5:30 the next morning after a sleepless night, I already knew.

When I finally reached for my phone and opened it up, I already knew.

“fuck” was the first word out of my mouth on November 6th; I know I’m not the only one who started their morning that way.

I was not shocked. I was not baffled. I was not even angry (yet). But like so many of the humans who collectively went through this almost 10 years ago, it felt different this time.

Yes my girl, it feels disappointing amongst a multitude of other emotions, but I meant everything I said as we went to vote that morning.

Keep using your voice, even if you feel like no one is listening, even when it feels hopeless and unrequited. Keep standing up for your values, your true, heart-centered beliefs, even when others tell you they don’t matter. Keep trusting that although at times life will hurt, life will feel like it has kicked you repeatedly to the curb and crushed your soul, keep finding the little things that are still so beautiful.

Go take a walk in nature. Take in the crisp air and feel the warmth on your fair skin.

Spend time with animals. Let their sweet, unconditional love engulf you.

Be with your community. Be with people who make you happy, who mutually respect and adore you.

Move slowly. Allow yourself to take time, allow yourself to have grace.

Remember that I will always be here to hold you, to tell you ‘it will be okay’ even when it feels like it won’t. Remember that I will never back away from protecting you, that I will always be the one to do right in your name.

Remember that even in a world on fire, you can still make magic with the flames.