By Fay McClurg 

Thoughts after election day:  was it my fault?

The Facebook ads from the Harris campaign had been threatening. I was being asked to imagine waking up on November 6 to the nightmare that d.t. won the election. Would I know that I’d done everything I could to keep this from happening?  There were Kamala’s pleas:  “We need your donation today.  Not tomorrow.  Today!” And: “Would you give $10 to ensure a Harris victory?”  Of course I would!  OF COURSE!  So I chose a dollar amount and clicked ‘send’.  I was sent a congratulatory message by the campaign: “You’re one of our top donors!”  That worried me. The total I offered was modest.

I agreed to receive email messages about canvassing opportunities. A neighborhood team was impressively well organized. I committed to signing up voters at some farmers’ markets — but could never muster the gumption to knock on doors. If I’d gone canvassing in Deforest with Julia, or in Milwaukee with Tom, would January 20th be a day of celebration instead of a day of mourning?  During the last week of the campaign, I made the decision to visit family out of state, instead of staying home to canvas. I didn’t want to miss my two year-old granddaughter trick-or-treating as a purple dinosaur-mermaid.  Did my decision cost Harris Wisconsin?

Doom scrolling and tracking the polling numbers consumed more of my time than I care to admit.  But — perhaps if I kept a very close watch, I could ensure the election outcome I wanted?

I was eager to be an election official for the City of Madison. I was assigned a shift at the polling place at my neighborhood school that started at 1 pm until ‘close’, when all votes had been tabulated. The busy-ness of the polling place was exciting, and a distraction from worrying about the outcome of the election.

After about 8 pm, I kept an eye on the election news, but decided to wait to absorb it until I was home, at about midnight, and could talk to my most stalwart friends. It wasn’t looking good for our team. I went to bed, put my head under the covers, and hoped that things might shift during the night.

My ringing phone woke me a few hours later. My daughter called, sobbing. She confirmed my fears and was devastated that the loss in Wisconsin tipped the balance. I got a message from a Canadian reporter I’d met in October, wondering about my reaction to the election news. My response:  “devastated, horrified, terrified”. One of my dearest friends invited herself over for tea and mutual consolation. Her eyes were red from crying and from having been awake most of the night. She shared with me the apology she’d written to her daughters, grieving the world they were inheriting.  

Within hours, my doom scrolling was replaced by ‘doom spending’ which is defined as ‘spending money to soothe fears about broader issues’. I bought a new tablecloth, two tickets for a local production of the Messiah, a garden ornament I’d been eyeing, and a new throw rug to add to my collection.

I finally stumbled outside in the middle of the afternoon. It was sunny and mild for early November.  The golden hour came early. 

My yard needed raking. The rhythm of the task was soothing. My neighbor, Beth, was outside cleaning her yard, too. Although we’d been neighbors for years, our longest conversation was just two weeks prior. As election officials, we’d been paired together to collect early-cast ballots from the fire stations. We talked as she drove us. Off the record ,we quickly established that we had the same hopes for the election ahead. I learned about her daughters who were just starting college. She expressed her condolences for a recent death in my family. We talked about an elderly man that she’d just met. He’d voted for Republicans in every election of his long life. But he could not abide the candidate at the top of the ticket, so would cast his vote for Harris. That had given us both some measure of hope.

On this day — after the election — we had to look for hope in new places. We knew we would have to take care of each other and look out for those who’d be left behind. With her help, I finished bagging my leaves as we prepared for winter.

© 2025 Fay McClurg

Fay’s writing has consisted of journals, heartfelt letters to friends and family, eulogies of loved ones, and essays in high school English class.  Over two years ago, she happily discovered Guided Autobiography as a way to capture some of her life stories. Fay is a retired social worker in Madison, Wisconsin, where she raised her family.