Dear Daughter

Dear Daughter,

From the moment you announced your impending arrival at the height of the full moon, almost two weeks before we expected to meet you, your life has coincided with innumerable surprises. We had just observed the second anniversary of your great-grandparents' passing—after 68 years of marriage they died within 24 hours of each other. Your great-grandmother, my namesake, demonstrated so much grace at the end of her life. We mourned the fact that you would not meet them, yet the intimate connection between your birth and the anniversary of their deaths leads me to wonder if you timed your entrée to provide joy during a period of great sadness.

We awaited your arrival with the excitement and trepidation that greets all new parents. Given your early entrance we had not yet thought in detail about your name. We selected one whose root indicates light, which we felt fitting for the brightness you brought to our lives. Little did we know how prophetic that would be for your first year of life.

A few months into your existence, the earth seemed to rock on its axis: a novel virus emerged that took the world by storm. Like other pandemics, it highlighted profound health inequities with a burden borne largely by people of color and lower socioeconomic status. We watched the number of deaths skyrocket within our country and around the globe. Within the United States, systemic injustices leading to poor social determinants of health—transgressions such as racism, intergenerational trauma, and historical disenfranchisement—enabled this coronavirus to decimate vulnerable populations.

People confused science with fiction, doubted clear public health interventions such as mask use, and somehow the pandemic became political. You were isolated from others, no longer exposed to new environments in the world around you. We wondered and worried how this would affect your emotional growth and development, trying to balance our desire to shelter you from infection with our hope for you to fully engage with others. When your uncle tragically and unexpectedly died, we—like others who lost loved ones during this difficult time—deliberated over the risk for infection with the deep-seated desire to travel and grieve with family in person.

Within the strain of the pandemic, racial injustices amplified. Before your birth we witnessed the murders of black and brown people, many at the hands of police. The deaths continued into your first year: as a runner, I dropped to my knees with the injustice of Ahmaud Arbery's murder; as a woman, I wept for Breonna Taylor; and as a new mother, my heart shattered for George Floyd who cried out for his momma with his final breaths. As if the world could not be crueler, a few months later our country lost a beloved civil justice warrior when Congressman John Lewis died. He was a fierce advocate for racial justice and equity who believed in getting into “good trouble” to effect positive change.

Not long after John Lewis' passing, we lost another equity icon with the death of Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg. She fought relentlessly for women to have the same rights as men. It is thanks to her legacy that your father and I welcomed you into the world trusting that you could do anything you set your mind to, with hopes and expectations that you would not be limited because of your sex.

Your first year has been surrounded by these tragedies—lives lost too young, inflamed racial tensions, and deaths of heroes. Meanwhile, wildfires plagued the state where we, your parents, previously called home. They raged throughout the western states, thriving in the dry thirsty landscape. We feared for your future in a continually warming climate where some people still do not place confidence in the science connecting our societal behaviors with increasing global temperatures.

I returned to work as a palliative care physician. I struggled to support patients and their loved ones navigating complex decision making in the midst of a global pandemic, broken hearted for patients dying alone and family members grieving in isolation. I mourned for couples the age of my grandparents who saw their decades of marriage brought to a close when one of them was stricken by the virus; people younger than I were not spared, either. I bore witness to the racial and socioeconomic injustices that hospitalized more people from under-resourced communities such as our neighboring Pueblos and the Navajo Nation. I sat with suffering and, when possible, held the hands of dying patients when their families could not be present. Given the pandemic and its downstream effects on our health care systems, this suffering has at times felt relentless. Too many evenings, I returned home to you tearful and exhausted.

Throughout the emotional and at times devastating months of your first year you stayed true to your name—your smile continues to bring light to even the darkest of days.

Every day, I honor your ancestors whose interwoven DNA created you, this wonderful and loving child. I give thanks to the heroes who came before you and fought for your right for freedom and independence, your right to vote, your right to education and gender equity.

As you joyfully explore the world around you, I hope you learn to appreciate our precious planet and grow up in a generation respectful of climate science.

As you prepare to take your first steps, I hope you will learn to walk in solidarity with your brothers and sisters of different races, religions, sexual orientations, and worldviews, knowing that we are all human beings deserving of justice and love.

As your babbles become words, I hope you use your voice to speak out against racism, inequity, and state-sponsored violence, so that other children like you can grow to their fullest potential without fear of death or inequitable burdens of disease.

As you get into trouble, I hope it is Good Trouble. In the words of John Lewis, “Do not get lost in a sea of despair. Be hopeful, be optimistic. Our struggle is not the struggle of a day, a week, a month, or a year, it is the struggle of a lifetime. Never, ever be afraid to make some noise and get in good trouble, necessary trouble.” ¹

Your first birthday comes in the wake of an historic election—one in which the American people voted for change, for coronavirus pandemic policies founded in science, for racial justice and equity, for respect for our planet, and for a return to honor and dignity in our highest levels of elected office. You watched with us as Kamala Harris—the first woman vice president-elect, who is also the first black woman and woman of South Asian descent elected to this office—acknowledged “every little girl watching tonight sees that this is a country of possibilities.” ² As we prepare to celebrate the culmination of your first year and the beginning of many more, my wish for you is to keep shining your light while invoking the words spoken by our future Madame Vice President: “Dream with ambition.” ²

With so much love and gratitude,

Your Mother