“How did Hillary do?” Mama asked me on Monday, 15 days before the election.
At 94, bedridden in my home in Raleigh, North Carolina, Mama was going down quickly. Her heart was beating irregularly; just days before, she had lost the ability to walk. When she turned away her favorite strawberry rhubarb pie, I knew it was only a matter of time.
Mama’s absentee ballot had finally arrived that morning. It was a moment she had been living for since she was a girl: the chance to elect our first female president. She cast her ballot; I sealed it and drove it to the post office. But even by the time I came back, she was slipping in and out of consciousness, confused, and thinking the election had already happened.
Get your tissues ready Uppityites and read the rest of this article…you’ll be glad you did.
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