It was a sound I’d hoped I would never hear. I was exhausted. We had stayed up late on this particular Tuesday evening in November. I remember feeling the bed shake from her weeping. At first I was mad; I had only a couple of hours to get some sleep before work. I rolled over and told her, “Please, honey; I know you’re upset, but I have to get some rest.”
She was crying louder now, like I have never seen from her. I wrapped my arms around her, trying to comfort my wife, but my heart was breaking at the same time.
I just kept thinking,”How could this happen? How could we be so wrong?”
In the upcoming weeks there seemed to be a sliver of hope. That was all gone now. I kept thinking of my sons. What kind of world would they grow up in? I wanted them to have the same freedoms I enjoyed in my youth, but there was little chance of that now.
How could the country vote for him? How could they not see how bad he was for the nation? Had the country I’d grown up in grown so hateful that they would elect a president set on destroying it? Is it possible that my way of thinking was so far off from the rest of America? Everyone I talked to felt as I did, so how could this happen? Was I watching the wrong news channel? Is it true what they say about the media? How could that be? All the facts were on our side.
I didn’t even want to get up. I knew that I would have to see people celebrating his win. I knew I would probable see those bumper stickers on cars as I drove to work. What was wrong with those people? How could they be so ignorant? How could this happen? My heart was broken.
I wrote this a while back, early in the morning after election night. I was so sad, and had no one to talk to about it. I remember feeling that a large part of the country probable felt the way I did. But there was also a huge portion that disagreed with me; that felt things would get better, not worse. No matter which side of the aisle you’re on, you have to understand that my feelings are real. My fear is real, My sadness is real.
And as I read this, over and over this one thing occurred to me; that just about every American can relate to this, even agree with me: It all depends on one thing …what year I wrote this letter.