The Life and Death Consequences of Trump Fallout

This political divide made its way into my family years ago, but the ramifications of this chasm will undoubtedly leave lasting trauma.

(My family at a time when the political divide had not yet effected us all. My mom and I are on the far right)

My uncle is dying. I got a group text from my cousin last night on the chain that we usually use for fun quips and updates on our lives. I knew by the timing of the message and by the beginning phrase “Our Dad” that something was very wrong. I had even had this exact conversation with my own mother last week when I asked her what the plan was on the no talking rule between her and her sister.

“I have no idea, but I have tried,” was my mom’s response when I asked her where things stood. “I have texted her on her birthday and on Christmas and the only response I get is crickets.”

I know this current standoff is painful for my mother, especially since my Mimi, her mother, passed several years ago and she was the one who made sure her daughters always had some form of contact, even if it was through her. I also feel an obligation to make sure that no one has any long-lasting regrets after the untimely death of my own father left me with the understanding that you may not always get the chance to say goodbye. My mom knows this too, and she has been walking a very fine line between respecting her own boundaries and not having any regrets.

(Me, far right, with my cousins)

“You know what’s coming don’t you,” I said randomly to my mom last week as I thought about this lack of communication. “The next thing that happens is a text from Leah that tells us that someone has died — that is where we are headed.”

“I would hope that Leah would let me know, but I just don’t know anymore,” my mom said with this deep wistfulness in her voice. “There is nothing more I can do.”

My biggest worry from last week has now become a reality, and I am flooded with feelings about what is happening and how helpless I feel. My uncle has never been in particularly good health, so this news is not shocking, but I know what it feels like to lose your father and I am so sad for my cousins. It doesn’t matter how old you are, when your Dad goes, your security in the world and your entire sense of physical safety vanishes. I can feel the spinning feeling that my eldest cousin, who has always been in charge, must be feeling now that she has had to assume the leadership role for everyone else, her mother included.

My aunt (left) and my mom (right) at my Mimi and Grandfather’s wedding anniversary party in 2006.)

I am so sad for my aunt, who has been married to my uncle since she was 19 years old. While she loved to blame him for everything that went wrong in her life, no one doubted my uncle’s commitment to her and to his family. While some may consider my uncle to be the kind of patriarch that can often become toxic and imprisoning, I always took comfort in how he showed his love for his family. As an only child who loved nothing more than being dropped off with my cousins for days at a time, I got to feel a little bit of that stoic security as I grew up, and I have really fond memories of it all.

One time, when I was three and my cousins were four and five, we wandered into a construction site at an apartment complex, looking for action. We were always looking for action, the three of us, and so we blatantly disobeyed what we were told and followed the neighborhood boys to the good stuff. I stepped on a nail and it went through my foot and all I remember after that was my uncle coming in to scoop me up and carry me back home. He could be stern and a little scary sometimes, but at that moment, during that rescue, I felt completely safe and loved. I will never forget that feeling.

I keep thinking about how my five cousins must be overwhelmed with their own feelings and memories of their Dad taking care of them and each other. The only thing making me feel any better right now is knowing that everyone is there with him at the hospital, and they are all taking turns going to sit with him in teams of two. It makes me happy to know that so many people are there to care for him now, just as he has been there for us so many times.

(Me with my cousins. I am the blondest one)

I have always had strong opinions and political views and none of them typically aligned with my mom’s side of the family. I would use humor to diffuse the tension when my cousins would all gang up on me to repeat the dogmatic rhetoric they had been taught was the only right way, that they learned by rote. I was young, but somehow knew they couldn’t help it, and being enveloped in this huge family was like a drug to me — nothing else mattered. I gladly played my role as the provocateur, making sure I was respectful to ensure I was always invited back.

My uncle never seemed to care. We would always talk about anything but politics, like what kind of cars he liked or some other topic that was innocuous and pleasant. He thanked me profusely when I introduced him to cake batter frozen yogurt and he would add the token “honey” after my name that told me he loved me.

When I would get slightly anxious, or ask too many questions, my uncle would slip and call me “Leah, honey” and I used to love this. Anyone would love to be compared in any way to my beautiful cousin, but this kind of slip up would make me feel like I was part of his crew, gladly becoming consumed by the loving chaos. I imagine that to a young man watching his daughters and sons scurry around and grow up, another little girl sandwiched directly in between his own was something that was completely natural and maybe even comforting.

My family all crammed into our tiny little apartment on summer in Tempe, Arizona. My uncle is undoubtedly taking the photograph.)

My aunt and uncle have always loved to stay up late, and so their house was the most delightful and never-ending circus that held unlimited potential for innocent fun. They were Morman, so they lived on a perfect block, in the perfect house and had every toy and cable channel that you could get at the time. As soon as I came in the door, we would all scurry to the outdoor trampoline, squealing and laughing with delight. Do you remember the last time you felt complete childhood delight? I do, it was at my uncle’s house, embedded in my uncle’s magical family and while I can’t remember what he may have said or done, I know he was always there.

“What am I supposed to do about the funeral,” my mom asked me yesterday. “You have to go of course, even if your own sister does not want you there.” I reminded her that my cousins were losing their father, their security, and what they needed most was some parental energy that they could trust to take control of things. Sadly, I know this from experience. Even more sadly, there is nothing I can say or do to help as I am on another coast and persona non grata to my aunt right now.

My family has this amazing pattern of having the most fun in the worst situations. When my 92 year old Granny (she lived to be 100) had to have back surgery and we were all waiting for her to go into the procedure, my cousins and I got lost with my Mimi in the hospital elevators trying to find a bathroom. We somehow ended up in the super-secret medical residents’ quarters and were laughing so hard that Leah ran out of the elevator, directly disobeying my Mimi who was screaming, “Leah, don’t you dare use their bathroom that is so inappropriate,” and Leah yelling back “I can’t hold it, this has to happen…”

Me (far left) with all of my girl cousins at my grandparent’s anniversary party in 2006.

By the time we got back to Granny’s room we were all laughing so hard that no one could be sad or worried. I know they are all having the best time now together, while they are all having the worst time, and I wish I was there. This feels like another pivotal moment to make a life-long memory that we all recount at Thanksgiving, as my cousins and I act out our lines and repeat what we said. Everyone laughing at our encore performances was even better than when it happened the first time.

That kind of Thanksgiving hasn’t been a reality for several years now and it seems these kinds of new memories, that are made to get through the worst situations, won’t be either. I am grieving the impending loss of my uncle, but more than that, I am grieving the connection I used to have with my family, that I wonder if I will ever have again. I guess I will just sit here and wait until one of my cousins calls me to tell me the bad news or to talk, and hope everyone is alright and able to find some light in this somehow. What a loss.

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Amee Vanderpool writes the SHERO Newsletter and is an attorney, published author, contributor to newspapers and magazines, and analyst for BBC radio. She can be reached at avanderpool@gmail.com or follow her on Twitter @girlsreallyrule.

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