My Democrat dad (in CA, from Liverpool) wrote campaign letters to folks in the Midwest for months—he is drinking scotch tonight, texting me/my brother. I did not let myself envision this level of joy.

This was his second election—he moved here (SF Bay Area) with my mom in 1976, but only became a citizen in 2016 at age 70. In his very first election he voted for a woman.

He was crushed, we all were. And so, like many of us, he and my mom got involved. My mom has cerebral palsy, she has been living with Trump triggering her memories of being bullied for 4 very long years. They donated, they volunteered, they voted by mail.

One of my biggest fears about Trump being elected now was Covid spiraling out of control, killing our parents. My folks live 45 minutes away; I haven’t hugged them since March 12th. I didn’t know I had memorized how my mom’s hands feel in mine until I started dreaming it.

Tomorrow is the anniversary of my parents meeting—51 years ago on November 8, 1969. They celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary in December.

And tonight is the first time in a very long time, that I am hopeful that I will hug them again. That my kids will sit in their laps. That I will hold my mom’s hands again. I can’t express my relief and gratitude. #YNWA