I got lonely on my soapbox, like I was some kind of super hero, my cape flapping in the breeze. The moniker, Climate Change Warrior, started to weigh on me. It felt aggressive and combative.
I’m resigning. I don’t want to be a climate change warrior anymore. I’m inclined to blame my change of heart on my sister’s death. It would be easy enough to do.
At the end of October, my sister Eliana was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. The surgeon met me in the recovery room post biopsy, took my hand, looked into my eyes and said…
It was quiet in my growing up house. We closed the front door with silent deliberation and spoke to one another in soft tones. My parents didn’t raise their voices, either in anger or delight. We kept our feelings of fear, grief, sadness, even joy, corseted close, as if their release would tip the earth from her axis. Tears happened in muffled sobs in the corner of a bedroom. There was no room for anger.
Christine, thank you. This can’t be easy. I don’t imagine it was ever your intention to become a super hero, a voice for the voiceless, a woman willing to sacrifice her private life for the good of the nation.