Erica is asleep, her arms above her head in a ‘v’, her mouth lightly fluttering as she dreams her milky dream of being nestled into me. She is two months and one week old and we are all so in love with each other. We are very short on time, too, but I’m learning how to let go a little. Easing into the acceptance that I won’t have much time for myself for a long time but that I must make a little time for myself, preserve myself and my beloved identity. Just a little bit. For Erica, for Colin, for myself.
Erica is a recession baby, a baby of the avalanche of the second great depression, but she is also an Obama baby. Last November fourth, after returning from the hospital because of a false alarm, we sat up in the middle of the night watching the votes come in. We were both pinched by a biting wish to be in New York, to be a part of it all, but were so glad to be here in Northern Ireland where we had healthcare and skilled, caring midwives and doctors.
The entire American healthcare system, from its tiny, brittle fish bones to its big bad corporate monster head, is responsible for so much early death and unnecessary pain. It needs to go. It is time to start over. It is so wonderful to feel okay about writing this, now that Barack Obama is our new president. Because he is, and has been, talking about these issues. As opposed to silencing them.
Anyway, on that fateful night of November fourth, my belly was filled and bursting with a big, unblemished angel-creature that was going to come out no matter who became the forty-fourth president of the United States. The stress and anticipation was almost overwhelming. The more it leaned towards Obama, the more I felt like I was dreaming one of my pregnant half-sleep dreams. It can’t be true, it can’t be true! That’s what I kept thinking.
Barack Obama did become the first Black president elect of the United States that night and I sat there and cried tears of joy. Colin’s eyes twinkled with tears of joy. The next evening, we sat with Colin’s parents and watched some of the news coverage; the people were all suddenly beautiful, all of the Black and Latino people with their faces full of joy, crying, singing, dancing. The four of us sat there, unable to really look at each other, stunned by our own emotions, joy... relief. Sometimes the little people do win. Sometimes everything is okay.
Today Barack Obama is President. I have hope because this has happened. The youth and the good ones have spoken. Ideals have been shifting like the glaciers. For the first time in my life, I am crammed with pride for my country. For the first time, I feel like I have a country. Eric would have been so proud, beaming with a smug happiness, saying ‘I told you so’.
There is a possibility that Eric would not have voted for Obama, or at least not in the democratic primary. But I know that he would have been so joyous to see this day. I know that what I wrote about Eric in this blog is the truth. Me and Eric used to argue a lot about politics and things related, and we also used to agree a lot. He was a fiesty and warm and beautiful young man. He used to also drive me crazy. But he always listened. He was open. He would sit there with this half-amused, half-earnest smile and sometimes I even felt like he was wanting to learn something; kookie Renata's perspective, maybe. But he was very intelligent and never called me kookie, either. It's like we were on the same page, but the page was just never dull, and sometimes it was even a little complicated.
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