I want this to be an ode, an anthem, a love song. But not an elegy.
I was transfixed by her eyes. Realizing they are hazel. All this time, I thought they were brown. But no, the green of potions and brews, full of liquid, the portal to her heart, filled to the rim with her steady love, her constant worry, the impotency of the witness once removed. And those arched eyebrows – the inquisitor’s slant. And then the throat, the cheeks, the flush and blush of constrained tears, the awe of a realization and excitement at expression. She’s been alone. Aloneness as an alien state, uncomfortable and strange. Now she can speak. Not just speak but address her millions of viewers. And she has thoughts like never before – now this consistently private person must share the ultimately most private knowledge of any human – love and fear and sickness and regret, my god, even responsibility for the sickness.
So she did it. Spoke the words, her throat about to burst, behind the levee of her eyes, blunt at the nose, tears wanting to rip all that facial discipline down. But she did it. Recalibrate!, she tells us. Do it for the one you most love.
At the end of Night Two, her good friend Lawrence comes, stays with her. His voice a balm, he won’t let her go down any dark path. His words are strong, delivering authentic praise. Rachel laughs, shows her big white teeth. Healing is here.
Rachel Maddow’s words broke my bad bad habit of excluding my brother from my Covid protection bubble. No more.
Thank you for opening your heart, Rachel. You and Susan stay safe.