No Words

In which the unthinkable occurs.

If you need me, I’ll be in my blanket fort.

Driving through the Wind River Reservation: A Poem of Black Bear

In the time of snow, in the time of sleep.
The rivers themselves changed into links
of white iron, holding everything. Once
she woke deep in the leaves under
the fallen tree and peered
through the loose bark and saw him:
a tall white bone
with thick shoulders, like a wrestler,
roaring the saw-toothed music
of wind and sleet, legs pumping
up and down the hills.
Well, she thought, he'll wear himself out
running around like that.
She slept again
while he drove on through the trees,
snapping off the cold pines, grasping,
rearranging over and over
the enormous drifts. Finally one morning
the sun rose up like a pot of blood
and his knees buckled.
Well, she whispered from the leaves,
that's that. In the distance
the ice began to boom and wrinkle
and a dampness
that could not be defeated began
to come from her, her breathing
enlarged, oh, tender mountain, she rearranged
herself so that the cubs
could slide from her body, so that the rivers
would flow.

— Mary Oliver

Friends, on Tuesday evening I watched helplessly as over 1,300 of my colleagues at the U.S. Department of Education – many of whom I count as friends – were senselessly and cruelly fired out of the blue purely for the entertainment of our country’s richest citizens. I will not say anymore about the politics for fear of reprisal, but I am happy to talk more to any friend who wants to be in touch.

I cannot quite describe how it felt yesterday, as the small group of us in my office who were spared sifted through the wreckage, trying to figure out who was gone and who remained. Ben observed that it must have felt like living in the one house left standing in a town flattened by a tornado, and that was a perfect metaphor. Since Tuesday, I have been numb with shock and grief. And I know how grief works: it seeps in insidiously over the course of days and weeks and months until you do not remember ever having felt happy before. It will ease eventually, but right now, with the smoke still rising from the ashes, I can do nothing more than sit heartbroken at my computer, obsessively searching for information and feeling sick when I find it.

Last night, my amazing sister, Kate, who never fails to blanket me with love and care when everything falls apart, sent me the poem at the beginning of this post. I hadn’t seen it before, although I could have sworn that I have read everything Mary Oliver has ever written, but it was perfect.

I know that at this moment in time it feels damned near impossible to believe that anything will ever get better. But I do believe (deep deep down) that it will. It is not inevitable, like spring arriving. No - we will have to fight like hell to usher in the warmer air and raise up flowers from the dead. But inside me hope still flickers.

And speaking of hope: On Monday and Tuesday morning this week I was a guest speaker in the AP Government classes at my oldest daughter’s high school magnet program. I scared the heck out of the kids, but boy did they give me hope.* Engaged and curious and (mostly) informed about current events, they were ready to wrestle with the hardest topics and did not shy away from the difficult issues we discussed. I hope they never lose that energy, because they have the potential to change the world in many wonderful ways if they stay engaged. (I did feel bad though about having to write to their teacher on Tuesday evening and give her all of the terrible updates to pass on to her class, but it was heartening knowing how many students were watching what happened with empathy and care.)

And speaking of hope for the future, all of the sophomores in that magnet program are required to compete in the national C-SPAN student documentary film competition. The theme this year was “Dear Mr. President,” and the students were asked to make a documentary for the new president about the most pressing issue facing America. (Yikes.) I am incredibly proud of my daughter who made an extraordinary documentary about book banning along with two of her friends. There were 1,700 entries from 3,500 students from middle and high schools across America, and she and her team won an Honorable Mention! (Amazingly, her school won thirteen of the total awards, including the Grand Prize.) Here is a link to her film and another link to all of the prize-winning documentaries. Trust me: if you want to feel better about the world, you should watch as many of these incredible films as you can.

That’s all I have right now. Thank you to the friends who have reached out since Tuesday; your love and care mean everything to me. As elusive as it seems from where we stand right now, I do believe a better day will dawn, and knowing how many people across the world are on the side of good keeps me going through the darkest days. Keep up your strength and screw your courage to the sticking place, and this nightmare will not be the end of the story.

* Also, one of the students told my daughter that I was a “baddie,” so I now have tons of street cred with the teens. Just sayin’.