I remember when my father died as if it were yesterday. It was almost fifty years ago. I stayed in his hospital room for the last two weeks of his life, sleeping on a cot restlessly, waiting.
When he was gone, my mom needed help, and I gave her all I could. I wound up Dad’s affairs, paid his back taxes, found a smaller house for her. My much younger brother could have used some help as well. I wasn’t much good to him, for which I am sorry to this day.
I went back to my life in another state, with my wife and three young children. There wasn’t much time in those busy days to think about what it meant to lose Dad, but I think I understand it better now.
Dad had his problems. He and I argued about everything, but we loved the things we did together, even the arguing. And he had my back, which needed cover more often that I liked to admit. When he was gone, I had to have my own back.
I was young and cocky, so I didn’t think there was a problem with that. It’s a funny thing, though, to lose someone like that. I missed the love, the times with him, but there was another loss that I didn’t understand. Even now it’s hard to describe what it was like to leave his hospital room on that final day and walk into my life without him. “Unprotected” is the best I can come up with.
Waiting out the current presidential election has been a little like staying in Dad’s hospital room. I’m afraid something is dying. Worse, like Dad in his last days, hooked up to a respirator and unresponsive, I’m afraid it’s already dead.
My country? Is that what I mean?
I don’t think so. I’m not much of a nationalist, never have been. I like America, and I respect our achievements over the past century, but, like Dad, our country is deeply flawed, and a little too sure of itself.
No, what I think I am already beginning to morn is the loss of protection. Not for me this time, but for the millions in our land who need our help. The kind we can only give collectively and broadly through government.
We’ve so markedly and willingly withdrawn our protection from those most in need that, even if we change the head of government, I don’t know if we will ever offer its warmth and succor freely again. We’ve never been great at what people call welfare; we all suffer a bit from the myth that we are self-made, that if we can do it everyone should.
But we used to try.
LBJ dreamed of the great society. Barack Obama summoned our empathy.
We’re not dreaming now. And empathy has been smothered under the crushing burdens of resentment and selfishness.
Dad is dead, and we have to look after ourselves now. I’m not sure we’re up to it.
