Fall

I wrote this on the Saturday Brett Kavanaugh was confirmed for his position on the Supreme Court.

My husband and I hiked in the White Mountains of New Hampshire today.

I thought I might fall. I climbed the mountain on fire, her trees changing leaves burned red, yellow, and orange around me. My footing on the trail was unsteady with loose rocks and bursting roots under my boots. During my ascent of the mountain’s steep slope, I felt dizzy gazing up to misty peaks, her height loomed intimidatingly above me. Vestibular insecurity created heavy fear in my gut and light bubbles in my brain. I thought I might fall.

I thought I might fall. After unleashing male anger, spewing privileged contempt, not bothering to hide his brute violence, and uttering lies, a sexual predator and opponent of civil rights, wrapped in protective judicial robes tainted by hypocrisy and reeking of white supremacy’s stench, was nominated to the Supreme Court. Grief shattered the gray sky to pieces and released primal screams as millions of women revisited trauma. I trekked up the forgiving mountain to try and comfort a brave weeping sky, while I battled the downward pull of earthly anger and pain. Despite my tear blurred vision, dirty stained cheeks, heaving chest, and heavy wet heart, I hiked on. Snakes who once uttered statements under putrid breath, such as “her words are compelling, her testimony is believable”, betrayed trust and remained committed to their agenda. All slithering smiles and fangs, they labeled women’s bodies inconsequential and our anguish insignificant. I thought I might fall.

I thought I might fall. In the summer of 2016, I wearily pulled my nodding-out husband from the tepid water of our bathtub, wondering “would today be the day? The day I used the Narcan below my bathroom sink? Or the day I lost him to dope?” I held his beaten, sick body and later watched, heart-broken, as he left to get high. I thought I might fall.

I did not fall then. I did not fall today. We will keep going despite this dark curtain’s descent.

In six days, my husband will be two years sober from heroin. We are the light living in dark times. The light in all of this darkness. Stand strong my brave loves. Even though it feels as though we may fall.

I believe her.