Duplicity out. Decency in.

I recently held my sobbing husband in my arms as he choked out these words, “I think he’s going to win.” It was the first time I’ve seen him so desperately somber, so utterly broken by this tyrannical climate in which we’ve been living…and dying.

My husband became a North American son on April 19, 2016. After taking the Oath of Allegiance, he held our newborn child in his arms and cried tears of joy, feeling that America had fully opened her arms and heart to him, while knowing he now bore the privilege, responsibility, and weight of United States citizenry.


Like others upon which citizenship was conferred that spring day, my husband was not a rapist or a murderer. He was not the bottom of the barrel of his native Brazil. On the contrary, he was like the millions who came before him–millions who believed the American Dream could be their dream. Millions who believed their time, talents, and enterprise could grow this nation and lead to their personal versions and visions of success.


Sadly, the joy that bookended that momentous day waned as Election Day grew near. And we, along with countless others, watched tearfully horrified as Donald Trump was announced the next President of The United States of America. Though, at that time, I could never have imagined the sinister depths to which he would sink or the brutal inhumanity he would both show and sow, I remembered Thomas Paine’s fateful words:


“THESE are the times that try men’s souls.”

The American Crisis. by the author of Common Sense Thomas Paine “These are the times that try men’s souls: the summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of his country…”. Photograph. Retrieved from the Library of Congress, www.loc.gov/item/2005694599/.


The last four years have been a struggle for so many. Inflammatory rhetoric and blatant abuses of power and privilege have punctuated our daily lives, while giving rise to the most hateful and baneful among us. All spectrums of relationship have been tried, tested, and, oftentimes, terminated, due to nonsensical belief in and adherence to the MAGA regime. People have taken to the streets in peaceful protest, only to be met with force instead of protection and apathy instead of empathy. Families have been separated at our border and children forced to live in barbaric conditions, incongruent with our moral and ethical principles as a country and people. Black and brown Americans have had life squeezed from their very lungs by those set apart to protect and serve. And while thousands died unnecessarily and alone (and continue to), the occupant of the Oval Office remains unmoved in heart or deed to be anything less than an apex offender of everything our democracy embraces and holds dear.


These are factious and heartrending times.


These are times that need to end.


My husband; and the countless who hope, pray, and work for a better life in America; deserve to once again feel the warming rays of civility, grace, and kindness on their skin. They deserve to believe that the choice to leave their country of origin in exchange for the promises of an adoptive one wasn’t a bait and switch scheme. That America, though temporarily cloaked in indifference at its highest levels, still remembers the latitudes and longitudes of its beating heart.


This election is so much bigger than politics.


This election is about personhood.


Whether your ancestors came to our shores freely or as enslaved persons held against their will, whether you were born in America or America was born in you, whether you lean red or blue or somewhere in between, we are all worthy of better.


This is not a call to arms or civil unrest, but, indeed, a call to communal awareness and civic responsibility. If we, as citizens of this great nation, do not hold it, and those entrusted to govern it, to a higher human and moral standard, tell me: who will?


At the 1976 Democratic National Convention, the keynote speaker, Representative Barbara Jordan, said this:


“A nation is formed by the willingness of each of us to share in the responsibility for upholding the common good. A government is invigorated when each one of us is willing to participate in shaping the future of this nation. In this election year, we must define the “common good” and begin again to shape a common future. Let each person do his or her part. If one citizen is unwilling to participate, all of us are going to suffer. For the American idea, though it is shared by all of us, is realized in each one of us.”

Jordan, Barbara. (1976). [PDF].
https://www.americanrhetoric.com/speeches/PDFFiles/Barbara%20Jordan%20-%201976%20DNC%20Address.pdf


The 2020 Presidential Election is six days away. Six. And if you’ve made it this far, I will have to tell you: my heart can’t take four more minutes, let alone four more years, of the pathological dishonesty, emotional absenteeism, ill will, and moral erosion that has both characterized and defined the current administration.


It is time to turn a deaf ear to the reckless ravings of an emotionally-bankrupt conman and turn our eyes and hearts toward hope.


No one person is going to save us, but we can certainly vote in decency and civility and, in that, perhaps save ourselves.

To the Woman Who Offered Me Her Womb

Everything remembers something. The rock, its fiery bed,
cooling and fissuring into cracked pieces, the rub
of watery fingers along its edge.

The cloud remembers being elephant, camel, giraffe,
remembers being a veil over the face of the sun,
gathering itself together for the fall.

The turtle remembers the sea, sliding over and under
its belly, remembers legs like wings, escaping down
the sand under the beaks of savage birds.

The tree remembers the story of each ring, the years
of drought, the floods, the way things came
walking slowly towards it long ago.

And the skin remembers its scars, and the bone aches
where it was broken. The feet remember the dance,
and the arms remember lifting up the child.

The heart remembers everything it loved and gave away,
everything it lost and found again, and everyone
it loved, the heart cannot forget.

“What the Heart Cannot Forget” by Joyce Sutphen

I remember you: meek, friendly, heart dripping stars. We were friends, but not close friends. We were the kind that said “hey” in the halls and wrote “you’re a sweetheart” and “call me this summer” in that year’s yearbook, but never called.

I hadn’t heard from you in over 20 years when we became friends on social media. And we were “friends” in the way it often dictates: the one where you don’t necessarily talk or share, but have access to another’s life, just in case you really want it.

I’d thought of you off and on, especially when I’d see photos or updates roll past my feed, and then one day you reached out.

I remembered thinking it was likely a message sprinkled with nostalgia and perhaps a bit of regret–the kind that comes from losing touch–but what I found was this:

I am not sure where you are in life but I just wanted to reach out to you with an offer. I have thought a lot about this in the past 2 1/2 years since my family has been complete. I am looking into the process of being a surrogate/ gestational carrier for someone. I have done research on several agencies but I am somewhat reluctant to go through an agency because often times they charge the hopeful family a large amount of money for the service. I am not interested in profiting at all from this, I only want to help out. God has blessed me with smooth, uncomplicated pregnancies and I have never suffered a loss. I carried twins until 36 weeks, 4 days and they had no NICU time. I would be willing to carry multiples again. I have followed your blog and I cannot seem to get you or your struggle and pain out of my head. Having a family was a number one priority for me and I cannot imagine what you have gone through. I am very sorry if this offer is coming at a bad time and I completely understand if you are not interested but I just thought I would offer since I will most likely continue to search for a hopeful family in need of help if you are not interested. I feel like we have one chance in this life to make a difference and help others and this is one way I could help someone.
God Bless.

There was nothing to do but cry.

There have been moments when, in blistering heat, I haven’t been offered a sip of water. There have been moments when, in complete and utter despair, an embrace has been withheld. There have been moments when those I love have asked that I never consider them a bodily ally against infertility and pregnancy loss. That I never consider them surrogates of body or spirit.

And then there’s you, offering nearly a complete stranger your womb. And what is it you ask in return??

Nothing.

My heart still hangs on the moon of that evening, grateful that people like you exist…grateful to know people like you exist. And tiny words like Thank you? They’re insufficient.

I know that.

So what do you say to a woman who offered to place your heart in hers?

What can you say?

What can I say?

I can tell you that I will be honoring you, and all those with like hearts, this Mother’s Day and everyday.

It’s women like you–whether through surrogacy or adoption–who give the gift of motherhood to those who would otherwise remain childless.

It’s women like you who give us hope.

It’s women like you who remind us that a child doesn’t have to pass through us to be born of us.

It’s women like you who embody Grace and prove that we are each other’s keepers.

It’s women like you who allow us a chance to cloak ourselves in midnight and miracles and step onto the magically tragic, heartrendingly surreal, life-altering ride that is parenthood.

It’s women like you.