It’s 3 days post-election, and I am still devastated.  No one is more surprised than me that I am this grief-stricken.  On Wednesday I stopped crying long enough to meet a dear friend for lunch.  Once lunch was over and I hugged her good-bye a new round of crying jags started.  These went on for the remainder of the day and well into the night.  After I made the employees of Jersey Mike’s Subs wildly uncomfortable by sobbing while picking up my take-out order (read: dinner), I made a promise.  I told myself, “You get today to wallow and cry, but tomorrow, Bitch, you are going to actually get out of bed for more than an hour, you are going to get dressed in clothes that do not resemble a hobo’s and you are going to stop crying.”  I went to bed with the eye of the tiger ready to champion those that needed championing.  And then Thursday came.

I got out of bed long enough to feed my people and get them on the bus, and then retreated back to my blanket fort.  I did finally get out of bed.  The crying had lessened but the non-hobo clothes didn’t make the cut.  Ok.  2 out of 3 and all that.  So again I gave myself a stern talking to.  “Tomorrow you are going to get your shit together.  You will take a shower and maybe put on some clothes that are more vagabond than hobo (baby steps).  You will also need to do something about that crying.  It’s getting ridiculous.  You are dangerously close to dehydration.  Your eyes are so swollen and puffy that they no longer resemble eyes.  So seriously, tomorrow!  ‘Forward, the Light Brigade’!  Got it?!  Deal?!”

Today dawned with a vague repeat of yesterday.  Feed people, get them on the bus.  Crawl back into the blanket fort. Argue with strangers on Facebook.  More talking to myself (Seriously, it’s getting to be a bit worrisome).  Maybe I’m sick.  I have noticed I have been unusually cold these past few days.  I’ve gone to bed in pants, a sweatshirt, and socks for the past two nights.  This is very unlike me.  Anyone who has ever been in a confined space with me for more than 30 minutes will tell you that I freeze them out.  So maybe I am coming down with something.  Argue with more strangers on Facebook.  I stop at one point to examine why I am only arguing with strangers.  It’s then that I realize I’m not coming down with something.  I am broken-hearted.  I am devastated by the silence.  And it hurts less to argue with strangers than my own family and loved ones.

What silence?!  It seems that all people have been doing is shouting.   It’s the silence of family and loved ones and what they’re not saying.  At the beginning of this writing I said that I was surprised at how grief-stricken I was.  At the beginning of the campaign I wasn’t HRC’s biggest supporter.  There were dealings in her past that I was uncomfortable with.  But I wasn’t really a big supporter of anyone.  Certainly not The Orange One.  So when people asked me which candidate I most liked I would shrug and say, “I really don’t know.  No one so far.”  Then he locked down the Republican candidacy and the more he spoke, the more he bullied, the more he mocked, the louder my “Oh, Hells No!” got.

But back to the silence.  What I have never heard from a Trump supporter is anything along the lines of “I’m voting because I believe he will create more jobs.” or ” I believe he will revive the middle class.”   But “his treatment of women is unsettling” or ” It sickened me the way he mocked that disabled man.”  By your silence I can only assume that you don’t find these things offensive. Because of your silence I’m left believing that you must condone his behavior.

That is what hurts. That is what has me knee-deep in grief. It leaves me wondering, “What does this mean for my three daughters? What does this mean for my son who has autism?”

Because strip away party lines and what’s left are human beings, all children of God.