Photo “Supreme Court chairs (cc-nc-nd)” by myvanillaworld is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0 

I was in the car on my way back from town.  The radio was on.  I liked to tune in to what was going on in the world beyond the beautiful, expansive countryside that has been my home for a little over a year now.  The story broke, and I remember leaning in closer to the steering wheel and really focusing my attention on what the journalist was reporting.  In hindsight, I realize now that my body was tensed as I listened that first minute or so.  I was waiting and hoping not to hear that the inevitable had finally happened.  The wave of relief came as quickly as the news that her cancer had returned.  The balm came from her, as it always did.  She’d issued a statement.  She was under treatment; she had been since May; the treatment seemed to be working, and she was where she always was still on the job writing opinions. 

The world was still ok.

I had not known a world without her.

One year older than my own mother, she was a constant: always, always fighting for the marginalized with understated aplomb and graceful tenacity.

The world, my world, felt safe because she inhabited it, all five feet one inch of her.

Then, yesterday happened.

I should not have been on social media in the first place.  It was bedtime.  My rule to myself and Bom (aka Bombadil, my dear husband) was no social media (SM) in bed.  SM offered stimulation at a time when we were looking to mellow out/wind down and really rest.  I’m not even sure why I was on.  Was I trying to buy a book to read myself to sleep?  Was I seeking community through my Instagram and Twitter feeds (It can get a little lonely to have the company of one other human and two cats in a 240 square foot living space during a pandemic.)?  If I’m being honest (and I’m trying to be in this blog), I was probably on for the book and the seeming comfort of more people.

What I got, what I learned, was way more than I bargained for.

A news feed that I was not aware that I even subscribed to started scrolling up on my screen.

There was something about the wording of the headline that inspired dread in my heart.

I knew but did not want to fully admit to myself that this was happening.

This was it.

The tension of several weeks ago, of being in the car with the radio on returned.

I scrolled down to read more of the headline.

Even though I knew, I knew what was being reported, I could only take it in a little bit at a time.

Part of my world was changing, no, part of my world was ending.

A humble servant of the generation of adults who had given birth to people like me was gone.

I always loved being this youthful, joy-filled human who dwelled in a rather innocuous world  of wonder and creativity.

With her passing, I sense the weight of the mantle, and the notion that occasionally wearing my big girl pants was no longer an option.

It was time to woman up full-time.

It was my turn.

This idea of it being my turn is terrifying.

What if I mess up?

What if I make things worse?

I now wonder if these questions turned in RBG’s mind too.  I bet they did.  After all, she was human.

Was.

As an English teacher, I always loved teaching about the reluctant hero or shero, but because I do not consider myself a hero/shero in the dominant popular culture sense, let’s just coin a new phrase for the purposes of this next bit of discussion.  Let’s use the language reluctant protagonist (I like that it’s gender neutral).

The reluctant protagonist did not ever really want to go on the quest.  He/she/they preferred to stay home, away from the fray and do the work of leading a quiet domestic existence, holding down the fort of quotidian normalcy.  Destiny had other plans for this individual though.  He/she/they are thrust from the familiar and the comfortable headlong into the fight to preserve or, if necessary, remake the world so that it is just and thriving for current and future generations.

But what most reluctant protagonists discover is that the quest situates them where they really DO want to be.  Fear might be an occasional companion, but conscience and the ability to sleep at night and to look oneself in the mirror without remorse or regret–they are more loyal than fear. 

The reluctant protagonists learn that the hardest part of anything is getting started and that the momentum that comes from breaking out of apathy can propel an earnest soul quite a long way and that love, love for something greater than ourselves takes us the rest of the way.

Chief Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg,

NYC outer-borough sister

stalwart servant crusader

underestimated: “Thou she be little, she be fierce”(-Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream)

paragon of civil discourse and patriotism,

THANK YOU.

Thank you for the life and the light that you shared with us.

As you move on to your next leg of the journey, I can feel the baton in my hand and the hands of my generation.

Your passing and this moment in our world have propelled this reluctant protagonist and many others like me into the mix as peaceful warriors.

Though I, we, don’t necessarily know what the future will bring or what foibles we will make as we pursue goodness, love and fair play in this world, please know that though our hands might tremble from time to time, we won’t let go.  We’ll hold on to that baton.  We always, always will.

We’re on watch now; you can rest easy.

Godspeed, and God bless you.