This morning, while making my bed, I tapped on the top of my Apple HomePod. Last night I had been listening to a book with it, and I wondered if it might start playing again. But instead of the book, Siri said something like, “I’ve selected a song especially for you.” Then Moon River started playing.
Moon River was one of my mom’s favorite songs. As some of you reading this already know, she passed away three months ago—on October 24. During the last three days of her life, I was by her side throughout the day, and even though she was unconscious, I would play her favorite songs for her. One of those was Moon River.
I don’t think I have ever played Moon River at home. At least, not since she moved into the care home, 18 months before her death. And the last time I played the song on my phone was three months ago, as I sat by her bedside at the care home.
I suppose skeptics will roll their eyes and say Siri played it because I played it numerous times back in October.
But for me, I see it different. Mediums often tell us spirits use music to reach out to loved ones they’ve left behind. For me, Mom was reaching out, letting me know she was okay, and thanking me for being by her side and playing her favorite songs.
My mother—one of my dearest friends and greatest champions—passed away less than two weeks before the last election. While Mom’s death was not a surprise, after all she was 96 years old, suffered from dementia, and was on Hospice—I was still in the early days of processing her death and my grief.
Then came the election results, and I had another loss to process.
I’ve heard some people claim MAGA supporters see the elections as a sporting event. They put on their red hats, dress up in flag-like apparel, and adorn their vehicles with flags and banners. And when they lose—or win—their reaction is similar to a loss or win of their favorite team.
As for me, I keep thinking of that viral video of the Trump supporter sobbing after his last loss, begging him to come back and save her and our country. She was quite dramatic.
It’s interesting to me, because the loss I feel is not about any of those things.
You see, I am not sad for my team, because for me it was never akin to a sporting event. Plus, I’m not a sports fan.
Nor am I sad for myself, like that sobbing Trump supporter.
And the loss I’m experiencing has nothing to do with any sadness I might feel for our country.
The grief I’ve been processing regarding the last election is about a profound sense of disappointment in my fellow Americans—especially family members who decided to vote for him, or people whom I consider friends.
It is a visceral, gut wrenching, sadness in people. I have always been an optimist. I’ve always held onto the belief that people are inherently good. But now I ask, are they?
This is not about politics. Had someone like Liz Cheney been the GOP candidate and won, I would not have been happy, because I disagree with her politics. BUT I would not be experiencing this gut wrenching disappointment in my fellow Americans.
Our country has put into office a man who, like an adolescent, calls his adversaries insulting names. He is a serial cheater and womanizer, who partied with Epstein, bragged about grabbing women between their legs and hitting on married women, and lacks any decorum or diplomacy.
He has publicly mocked a disabled journalist, insulted POWs, dodged the draft with suspicious bone spurs, is an adjudicated rapist and has been convicted of 34 felonies. He is obsessed with revenge and can easily be swayed with excessive flattery. I could go on with my list, but what would be the point? None of that mattered.
Many of his supporters cheer on his behavior, claiming it makes him more relatable—he is just like us! Not sure how that is a flex.
But people I care about voted for this man, and my disappointment in them is profound. It is a little like discovering someone you care about is now best friends with a guy who went on a crime spree in your town, which included manhandling women, stealing from charities and improperly taking sensitive files from his last job, and the only reason he didn’t go to jail for any of his crimes is because he got out on a technicality. He never apologized for any of his crimes, just denied or made excuses, despite the evidence. He also likes to mock the disabled guy who works at the grocery store, and when he sees a woman who doesn’t give him the attention he desires, he lets everyone know he thinks she is fat or ugly. Despite all of that, your friend thinks the guy is terrific.
On June 19 of this year, just as our daughter and her family were starting their RV trip to Alaska—a military move—their beloved lab, Angel, became seriously ill and they made the heart-breaking decision to let her go humanely. It was devastating for their entire family.
I had no idea that in less than a month we would be traveling that same painful road with our own beloved Lady.
Angel and Lady came into our lives about the same time. My daughter and son-in-law were recently married and ready and anxious to bring a dog into their family. Angel was a rescue who had already been through a couple families. She was about two years old when they adopted her—but that is only an estimate.
Angel was a wonderful, loyal, loving dog. She welcomed and protected each of our grandchildren and she was devoted to her humans.
We had been without a dog for about seven years when Lady came to us as a puppy, six months before they adopted Angel.
And now those two well-loved dogs have crossed the Rainbow Bridge together.
Today, after writing in my office, I went into the kitchen and opened the refrigeration. There was no sound of scratchy paws on the laminate floor heading for the kitchen at the sound of the refrigerator opening.
I sat in the living eating my snack. There were no big brown eyes silently staring me down, trying to guilt me into giving her a bite.
This evening when I checked the slider I didn’t ask my husband if he was going to take Lady out one more time before locking the door.
I can see the copper bucket in the corner of the living room—it’s still filled with Lady’s toys. But the living room dog bed is gone—even though our cat Spooky sometimes used it. It was left at the vet’s. Lady was on it when she died, and I did not want to disturb her body just so I could take the bed.
It’s only been three days. This is going to take a while.
