Earlier this past week I spent a beautiful mid-August morning at Hallock State Park Preserve on Long Island Sound with both of my daughters and their families, two grandsons frolicking in the water, the third sleeping on his mother’s chest in his carrier. The eight of us were the only ones on the mile long expanse. As I sat on the pebbly beach and stared out at the limitless horizon, I grasped that on some future summer family hike, who knows whether next year or many years distant, my presence would only be a memory. Sanguine rather than melancholy, I listened to the lapping of the surf as it edged closer, only to recede. All things come and go after all, including those we love.
I hadn’t mentioned to anyone that morning that it was my anniversary. It has been four years since my husband died, and one year since the start of my own treatment for the same disease that killed him. The tide continues to rise and fall, the children get bigger, their parents get grayer and the world goes on, just as it has since my grandparents died, my father died, Dan died. It is the order of things.
But is it the order of things for democracies to die?
I see in my daughters and their children flickers of their forebears, be it the shape of a thigh, the arc of a hairline, the eyes the color of beach glass, the ease with which a smile comes to full lips. I remember the feeling of Dan’s embrace, his broad shoulders folding me into safety.
As time passes, will we remember what it was like to live with the hope that each generation might edge closer to a more perfect union? In what feels like a parallel universe, the world I have known and hoped to bequeath to my children and grandchildren—one characterized by equality under the law, freedom of speech, scientific advancement, and the promotion of the general welfare— is under threat.
Later, back at the cottage, we escaped the heat of the day, time suspended as the boys had some quiet time, the dogs napped and the adults discussed the plan for dinner. The larger world did not intrude on this moment so prosaic, so reminiscent of similar summer afternoons in my own childhood. Heartened by the power of the everyday with those I love to mitigate the feeling of being small, powerless, inconsequential in the face of what is happening to the country, I felt grounded, serene.
Back in the city this week, back in the news cycle, I am trying to come up with ways to reconcile my summer idyl with my family — a time out of history as it were — with the reality that politics is not usual, that this is a time in need of action not reverie. I am resolved to work with the tools I can wield best. I am a writer of memoir, an essayist. Perhaps creating a record that withstands the ebb and flow of authoritarianism, a witness to the worth of ordinary people pursuing life, liberty and happiness (however imperfectly) will keep the memory of democracy alive, will help to turn the tide.
THE MEMOIR LIFE 
Wonderful essay, so much packed into a short piece.
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Thank you Jan!
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Since about 1990, I’ve mentally listed the problems facing America as climate change, hatred and debt. Except for a few years under the Clinton administration our debt catastrophe has only gotten worse and worse. and I’ve never once had a feeling that we have any hope on climate change. But for a few years after Obama was elected, I thought we were really getting a handle on hatred in this country. People were finally coming around and accepting others for who they are. We all know how that turned out.
I have no optimism for the future (at least in my lifespan), none. All of our problems are fueled by selfishness and I can’t see how that can change. Movies always portray the alien invader as humanity’s unifier, but we had that with Covid and it just made everything worse. As my boys the Sex Pistols sang back in the 70s, No future, No future, No future for me. Sorry.
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I understand and respect your position. I have my moments of feeling hopeless as well. But by nature and experience of life’s difficult times I have chosen to embrace a cautious optimism as my default position rather than despair in matters both highly personal and those more universal. I just don’t think I could function otherwise!
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“Perhaps creating a record that withstands the ebb and flow of authoritarianism, a witness to the worth of ordinary people pursuing life, liberty and happiness (however imperfectly) will keep the memory of democracy alive, will help to turn the tide.”
What a lovely way to end your well written piece. The tide will turn though maybe not in my lifetime. There will be a lot of work to rebuild as other countries have done after the fascists left. What our world be like in the future for my grandchildren? I really cannot imagine the life they will lead because of how fast the world is changing and yes, also how much the majority of humanity is not changing. Ultimately, taking a very long view, the balance between order and chaos will be reestablished within the Cosmic Intelligence that created a universe in seconds after a singularity exploded. That I know, and how we choose to bear witness and do what we can , where we can, for as long as we can, in the meantime, is what we can do to keep our hearts open.
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Yes, we must “do what we can, where we can, for as long as we can!” and yes, we must keep our hearts open. Thank you for this reminder.
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I am more sanguine, as are millions of us who have been out there demonstrating for months now. I realize you may not want to get involved in an active way, but the nationwide (now international) group Indivisible and others who rallied more than five million demonstrators on No Kings Day has an effort titled “One Million Rising” to train Americans in non-violent non-cooperation. I am planning to co-host one or more small group meetings in the fall to further this movement. There are numerous ways that we as individuals can bolster the “pillars” of our society to reach the point that the authoritarian campaign can no longer function. You can google “One Million Rising” for more information. Perhaps some people you know would be interested in getting involved.
I love your writing, and I wish you the best for sustained good health.
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I am a longtime demonstrator — in college against the Vietnam war, with my babies in their strollers for women’s rights and against the Iraq war, for climate awareness and at recent events with my daughter and grandson against the Trump regime. I do believe that putting my body in the streets matters, and will continue to do so for as long as I am able. But I am also thinking a lot about whatever legacy I might have after facing my mortality this past year, and I want to leave words that live beyond me, that continue to have, I hope, a slight chance of influencing things for good.
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I understand. Best wishes.
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Thank you!
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I enjoyed your musings on family and passing on. It’s hard to contemplate others going on after we’ve left the stage, but of course they do.
As for democracy, that died decades ago. We live in a corporatocracy. I’m sad that we have done this to our country and what a mess we’ve left future generations. Even the Gilded Age eventually ended (with a fair amount of violence), so I expect there will be a turnaround at some point when a charismatic leader who actually cares about the values espoused in our Declaration. Who values the contributions of all and believes we’re all better off when there aren’t ridiculous disparities in income, wealth, access to healthcare, etc. Well, I’ll dream, but probably won’t see it in my remaining life span. So, I’ll enjoy nature, family and friends, and do what I can to make the world a brighter place.
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