I Am Grieving for Our Country, and Maybe You Are, Too

My son, who voted for Biden, called last night. “I guess you see what’s going on.”

He was referring, of course, to the attempted assassination of former President Trump. My son and his wife voted for Biden in the last election, and they support most progressive causes. But he sounded somber, his emotions a mixture of disbelief and dismay.

“I just can’t believe this,” he said. “Somebody tried to kill a presidential candidate.”

He has not, in his 38 years, lived through the sort of political violence I witnessed in 1963, the year President John F. Kennedy was shot. I was only 11, but that day is etched in my memory.

Two years before Kennedy’s assassination, my family traveled to Chapel Hill, North Carolina, to see him. It was a thrilling moment to a nine-year-old whose parents had impressed upon her the privilege of hearing a real, live president. My parents were Democrats who sometimes voted Republican, but political affiliation mattered less to them than patriotism.

I stood on tiptoe, straining to see this man who was only 10 weeks into what would be his 1,000 days as president. When he strolled on stage, a youngish man with thick, brown hair, I was…