Kelly

It’s been a few months since I wrote here as I shifted most of my “essays” to posts on Facebook and Instagram. But this feels like it needs a permanent home.

At 11:30 local time the last precincts submitted the vote tally that pushed Pennsylvania solidly into a win for Biden, edging him over the necessary 270 electoral votes needed to win the Presidency.

I felt immediate relief. While I’m acutely aware that our work is not done, not for racial justice, equality, climate change, political reform, any of it, I still let out a breath I’d been holding for 5 years.

I am relieved that the next President is a man who can speak in complete sentences, with empathy and eloquence.

I am relieved that a liar has had his bully pulpit taken away so he can no longer poison the minds of people from our national press.

I am relieved that the voice and will of the people was heard, votes were counted and Biden prevailed.

I am thankful to the organizers who worked so hard, to those who fought to get to the polls, stood in long lines and submitted provisional ballots. I am thankful to the hardworking members of the election boards, counters, poll workers and the USPS for all their efforts. I’m thankful to every single person who cast a ballot for decency.

And my resolve remains, there are certain folks who are not welcome in my home because of the racist and evil they support in the world. They are the Taliban, the KKK and those who voted for Trump – they have their support of Trump in common and I choose not to host them, break bread with them or listen to them spew hatred.

Let me paint the picture. It’s 10pm and pitch black outside. I’m sitting on the front porch of my home with a flashlight, phone and iced tea waiting for the gas company.

It’s strangely peaceful with my wireless headphone piping meditation music into one ear and crickets chirping in the other.

The back porch of my home is the laundry room and it contains an ancient gas heater. Today, after moving it to wash the wall behind, I began to smell gas.

The door to the house is shut and has a towel at the bottom but here I am, outside, waiting for someone to arrive and turn off the gas line.

To the south the moon is rising and there are no cars passing by, just the distant sound of dogs barking. I happen to be wearing a gray sweater and black tights so I feel like a ninja hiding in the darkness.

Don’t turn on any lights.
Don’t start any appliances.
Do not, under any circumstances, light a candle.

Blocks away the church bells ring 10 times.

I’m going to read the latest on my Kindle app until the technician arrives. When pressed the gas company operator said “soon” so I’m guessing sometime between now and Monday.

Yesterday sucked. Seeing the news, late in the evening, that Chadwick Boseman had died at just 43 was a shock.

As I read the memories from his friends and colleagues, I know my sadness is just a fraction of theirs. I know there was no personal connection to the man on the screen. But I still grieve.

Immediately after learning he had been fighting cancer for 4 years I was shocked. How could we not know? Then, rationally, I understand that it was not our place to know. I can’t imagine how hard he fought. How he continued to do movies and press and chemo. How he spoke about purpose and legacies and married his wife – all knowing that he could die.

What a blessing that he was not also overwhelmed with the well-intentioned busybodies that would have wondered what treatment he was on, if he’d tried herbal medicine, what doctor he was seeing, if he was still vegetarian, what stage the cancer had reached, why he didn’t try this therapy or that regime. Thank God he was spared the endless death watch of the media, the people who reached out for their own clout or virtue signaling instead of true friendship and concern.

Actors give so much of themselves on the screen, the best ones make us feel like friends. We become invested in their stories and their lives. But that doesn’t exclude them from experiencing privacy, especially about their most difficult struggles.

The real question is, what would you have done if you’d known sooner? How can you bring that behavior into your life right now? Because if you knew your hero would die, decades soon than expected, would you have written a letter? Thanked him on social media?

If so, do that now. It may be too late for Chadwick to hear how much he meant to all of us, but it’s not too late for those still here.