Pensieri di un lunatico minore

The Promised Land

The news of Madelyn Dunham’s passing hit me harder than any death of a stranger has before. Not only have I, like many others, invested many of my hopes and dreams in her grandson, but it surfaces the fears I have of facing a future without my own mother; the only parent I truly had. As I think of my own mother’s childhood in Appalachia and her own transformation into someone who could accept and love her son for who he was, rather than who she wished him to be, I catch a brief oblique glimpse of how Obama must have felt and all I can think is that he must have as much pride in his grandmother as I do in my mom.

I can not begin to imagine what Barack Obama and his family are going through right now, but I imagine it a maelstrom of anguish, anticipation and sorrow. Nobody can walk in the shoes of another man at such a time, and it is all we can do to stand back one extra step, breathe deep and bow our heads so that others might shed a tear in peace.

While I am not a religious, or even spiritual person, I can not help but think of the words of Martin Luther King at this time:

Well, I don’t know what will happen now. We’ve got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn’t matter with me now. Because I’ve been to the mountaintop. And I don’t mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will. And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people will get to the promised land. And I’m happy, tonight. I’m not worried about anything. I’m not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.

I can only hope that my mother is half as proud of me as Obama’s grandmother must have been of him.