Hell or high water


 

We were going to the presidential inauguration, mom and I. Not his, hers.

That was the goal when I stepped into a Philadelphia voting booth on the evening of Election Day to ensure my 89-year-old mother wasn't intimidated by the electronic technology that would record her vote. She hadn't cast a presidential ballot in person since Kennedy - John, not Ted.

At the Ward 65, Division 4 polling place, mom wore her Kamala shirt. I wore enough anxious hope on my face to see through a catcher's mask. The vote itself took all of 15 minutes on a warm autumn night that held so much promise, before it didn't.

Then it all unraveled. I was spending the night with my mother to celebrate the person I expected - albeit nervously since July - to be the first female president in my lifetime. But especially in mom's lifetime; she will be 90 in May.

I have never seen her as engaged with politics as she was this year. She has a Harris-Walz postcard on her refrigerator. A photo of the vice president is taped to the corner of her TV. She wanted to talk to her apartment neighbors about voting for "Carmela."

But she would also ask me periodically and with a worried voice if our candidate could lose. If she had caught that day's "The View," she would be heartened. But by the evening news with David Muir, she could be wary. 

I told mom I thought it would go our way.   

So now we'll likely spend Jan. 25 commiserating over the phone instead of standing in a brisk winter chill on the west front of the Capitol to watch a female president being sworn in. Before, I was determined to take her to that Harris inauguration come hell or high water.

I didn't see hell coming.

But mom was doing better than I after election night. I woke up the next day and for maybe a tenth of a second, all that had happened the night before had yet to invade my subconscious. Then reality set in,  and even after a week, I still wake up wishing I were still dreaming.

But as she always does when things go awry, mom said everything would be fine. You can't argue with that. And the election had not changed our lives, not yet anyway. I still took her to ShopRite the next day for the few things that always end up filling more bags than I've brought into the store. I still went home and walked my dog, still got dinner together. (In truth, an already roasted chicken.)

When even the girls on "The View" - as she calls them - seemed to take the loss in stride, mom felt better. But she may have skipped the evening news.





     

 




         



    


  








 


 

  

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