Inauguration Day

Published in the Idaho State Journal on January 17, 2021.

I never go into the office on Inauguration Day.  Sometimes I take an actual vacation day. Sometimes I work at home in the peace of my personal space. This isn’t an intentionally patriotic act where I watch news coverage and immerse myself in the fruits of our democracy. My mom died on January 20, 2001 - smack dab in the middle of George W. Bush’s first inauguration. Inauguration Day has become my day to force a pause and take stock in my life, my mom’s influence and my world around me.  This one is shaping up to be a doozy.

I always make sure to get in a good workout, write and eat some of Mom’s favorite foods. She was a substantial woman who loved to eat, so that last one is easy. I also tune in to at least a bit of live coverage of the ceremony and imagine what Mom would be thinking, shrieking or cheering.

Heart and lung disease had forced her into retirement just five months earlier to her last inauguration. The TV and email were her connections to the world, and she watched the constant coverage of the Florida recounts to the detriment of her health. With little sleep and a terrible diet in the days before she died, she was sneaking extra oxygen – often wearing two sets of hoses—and rooting for Al Gore. She wasn’t in love with him as a candidate, but among other things, her career as a child protection and social worker led her to align with the Democrats of her lifetime. 

I’ve written columns about that day before – how I had gone shopping for Mom in the morning at the old Fred Meyer, and I wasn’t feeling well after a tonsillectomy a few days prior. I was dreary and glum and in the back of my mind pondering how to approach her about assisted living. I didn’t spend my usual amount of time with her to do chores and visit, and as I left to go nap she said, “Well, it’s a beautiful day out there. I hope you get out and enjoy it.”  When I got into my car, U2’s “Beautiful Day” was on the radio. I smiled at the coincidence.  Those were the last words she spoke to me.

Although she had voted for Al Gore, Mom still watched George W. Bush’s inauguration and the all-day coverage. I had called a couple times later to check on her, and when she hadn’t answered, I knew.   The TV was on when I got there.

During Barrack Obama’s first inauguration, I took a full vacation day. I went to the gym and spent a little extra time wearing myself out. I dilly-dallied at home with a few things before turning on the TV to play in the background while I putzed around the house. Paying little attention, I hit the power button on the remote with my back to the screen.  Suddenly “Beautiful Day” was playing. I flipped around to see footage of the Mall in Washington DC as crowds were forming and dignitaries were arriving. The song was booming across the speakers at the event.

Four years later on the day of Obama’s second inauguration, I went to a 5:30 am spin class. I needed to work at home that day, so I got an early start that morning on the exercise bike.  I had been attending this class for a few months and been somewhat of a regular each winter. The instructor would change her playlists now and then and on that day, she pulled out something new. As the end of the hour neared, she promised the cool-down song was coming. Without warning, there it was – U2’s “Beautiful Day.”

It’s been a lifelong lesson for me that Mom used the word “beautiful” to describe the day she died - the day her body was failing her and the day that a man she didn’t vote for took office. She still saw the beauty.

This will be the fourth inauguration that mom’s missed. Sometimes I think she died on Inauguration Day just to get me to pay attention to all that it could possibly entail. Transition. Rebirth. Opportunity. Beauty. My eyes are wide open looking for these things on Inauguration Day. And, I always find them.