I’m posting a letter I had written about a year ago to my friend, Kelly. This year, I’ll miss seeing TWO grandchildren in Halloween costumes.

My Dearest Kelly, 

Sharing a classroom with you is truly one of my life’s privileges. How often does one get to see her confidante, her stability, her “sister,” and her sounding board first thing in the morning? Who else gets to eat lunch with her bestie and talk about everything from school to societal injustice to sex? Who else has the peace of mind to know that the person sitting right across from her knows every shrapnel of her pain, and can actually sense when it’s piercing through to the surface? What other chubby chick gets to end her school day by telling her person that she loves her? 

Today is Monday, November 2nd, 2020, and it’s so relevant for so many reasons. First, this past weekend was Halloween, and it was so difficult for me. Obviously, not being able to see my granddaughter in her first costume was distressing, and it catapulted me back to when my own kids were young. You see, Kels, I had to sell my soul for them to be allowed to partake in any Halloween events. Jay would say that it was a Catholic holiday, and he wanted the kids to stay home from school so they wouldn’t participate in the Halloween parade. Every year, as October 31st approached, the same discussion ensued at 22 Thurston Drive, and he fought me tooth and nail over it. Zapping any excitement surrounding the day, he’d ultimately acquiesce and let the kids participate, but the price I would have to pay was hefty. It would usually involve something with religion, like “don’t you dare ask me if the kids can skip Shabbat dinner or synagogue even once for an entire month.” Oh, Kels, the “don’t you dares” were so constant, so deliberate, so whispered. 

Today is also the day before Election Day, and our whole democracy is on the verge of extinction. The hateful rhetoric, the palpable lies, the twisted reality, the agonizing xenophobia, and the harrowing gaslighting seem to permeate the literal and figurative highways of this once powerful country. I’m actually afraid, afraid for so many of us. I’m afraid for myself, as a Jewish woman in her mid 50s. I’m afraid for you, with your Lupus. I’m afraid for Sam, wanting him to be able to love whom he chooses. I’m afraid for all parents of children with darker skin, with pre-existing conditions, and with learning disabilities. 

I lived with Donald Trump, Kel, and the ending isn’t pretty. He gets what he wants. He stops at nothing to destroy anybody who challenges him or whom he deems a threat. A master of manipulation, he turns “trying to run a bus off the road” into “they were just being escorts.” He turns a mother’s blog, sharing her daughter’s medical updates, into a violation of the daughter’s privacy, even when the daughter wrote the blog with the mother. He uses religion to falsify, justify, and empower, and he’ll stare you straight in the eye and tell you that the words he said five minutes ago came out of your mouth. And, the scariest part is, you’ll actually believe him. 

May tomorrow be a new beginning for all of us, may kindness prevail, and may people finally see through the transparency (pardon the pun). I love you so dearly. 

Marla