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Mommy, Why Are You Crying? [1]
['This Content Is Not Subject To Review Daily Kos Staff Prior To Publication.']
Date: 2025-02-25
This is the story of a child trying to understand a world that no longer feels safe. It also reminds readers that beyond the headlines and debates, real families—real children—are bearing the weight of uncertainty, fear, and loss. The little girl in this story does not understand politics, but she understands that something is very wrong. This is her conversation with her mother—a conversation being echoed in countless homes as families struggle with the uncertainty of what tomorrow will bring. It is about the quiet fears inside homes across the country, where parents try to shield their children from the collapse happening around them. Jobs are disappearing, food and housing are slipping out of reach, and democracy itself is unraveling. The little girl in this story does not understand politics, but she understands that something is very wrong. This is her conversation with her mother—a conversation being echoed in countless homes as families struggle with the uncertainty of what tomorrow will bring.
The world had always felt safe to her. A child’s world, wrapped in the warmth of bedtime stories, morning pancakes, and the steady rhythm of her parents’ daily routines. But lately, something had changed. The air in their home was heavier, filled with whispers her young ears weren’t supposed to hear. The news was always on, and the grown-ups’ voices were hushed but urgent.
She noticed how often her mother sat by the window, staring at nothing, how her father’s hugs felt tighter, longer. And then, one evening, she saw her mother crying.
Curious and concerned, the little girl hesitated for a moment, then climbed onto the couch beside her mother. She tugged gently at her mother’s sleeve, her voice soft and uncertain.
"Mommy, why are you crying?"
The little girl’s voice was small, hesitant, the way children speak when they know something is wrong but don’t understand what it is.
Her mother wiped at her eyes, her hands shaking just a little, just enough for the girl to notice. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm just... tired."
"You cry when you're tired?" The girl tilted her head, pressing her fingers together in thought. "When I'm tired, I just yawn."
Her mother gave a shaky laugh, the kind that isn't really laughter at all. "It's different for grown-ups."
The little girl frowned. "Did I do something bad?"
"Oh, no, baby, no. You are the best thing in the whole world."
"Then why are you sad?" The girl climbed onto the couch beside her mother, her small hands tugging at her mother’s sleeve. "Did something bad happen?"
Her mother hesitated. How do you explain to a child that the world is unraveling? That the life you built, the security you promised, is slipping away like sand through your fingers?
"Daddy lost his job today," she said finally. "Remember how he used to go to work every day? Well, he can’t go anymore."
The girl’s eyes widened. "But he always goes. Who said he can't?"
"A man named Elon Musk," her mother said, the words tasting bitter. "He made a decision, and now Daddy and a lot of other people don't have jobs. And a man named Donald Trump helped make this happen. He broke everything—our country, our safety. And now, we're all just trying to hold on."
"But Daddy works really hard," the girl insisted. "He tells me every day, ‘I gotta work hard for my little girl.’"
Her mother bit her lip. "I know, baby. I know. But sometimes, even when you do everything right, bad things still happen."
The girl was quiet, thinking. Then she asked, "Do we not have money now?"
Her mother exhaled slowly. "We have a little. But things are more expensive now. Food, eggs, gas, even the house we live in... It all costs money. And without Daddy’s job, we have to be very, very careful."
"But we can get more, right? Daddy will find another job?"
Her mother ran a hand through her hair, staring at the window where the afternoon light stretched long and thin across the floor. "I hope so, sweetheart. I really hope so."
The girl chewed on her lip. "Mommy, what happens if we can’t pay for our house?"
Her mother’s breath hitched, just for a second. "Let’s not worry about that right now."
"But I am worried," the girl whispered. "What if we don’t have a house anymore? Where will we go? Will we have to sleep in the car like that man we saw at the store?"
Tears welled up in her mother’s eyes again, and she pulled her daughter close. "No, baby, I won’t let that happen. I promise."
The little girl leaned into her mother’s arms, pressing her face into the soft warmth of her sweater. "Grown-ups are supposed to fix things."
Her mother swallowed hard. "I know."
"But you don’t know how to fix this, do you?"
Her mother let out a shaky breath, tightening her arms around her daughter. "No, baby. I don’t."
The little girl stayed very still, her heart thudding in her small chest. "Are we going to be okay?"
Her mother kissed the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her daughter’s hair. "I love you more than anything in this world. And no matter what happens, we’ll be together."
"But will we be okay?"
The silence stretched between them. Outside, a siren wailed in the distance. The hum of the television murmured words the child couldn’t fully understand—angry voices, democracy crumbling, healthcare gone. Words her mother wished she didn’t understand either.
Finally, the little girl whispered, "Mommy, I'm scared."
Her mother held her tighter. "Me too, baby. Me too."
The little girl squeezed her mother’s arm and thought, for the first time in her life, that maybe grown-ups didn’t have all the answers after all.
Outside their window, the world felt colder than before. Fear clung to families like a fog, making it harder to see the future, harder to believe in the security they had once known. The uncertainty drained their resolve, whispering that they were too small to fight back. But deep inside, they knew they couldn’t give up.
It was a time for solidarity. For courage. For action. Just like those who stood against tyranny in the past, they would not let fear silence them. They would find their voices, speak truth, and stand shoulder to shoulder with others who refused to bow to oppression. They would help neighbors in need, rally together to protect the most vulnerable, and fight—not with weapons, but with their determination, their unity, and their refusal to accept the world being taken from them. The darkness would not win, because history had shown that even in the worst times, when good people stood together, they could turn back the tide of fascism. They would resist, rebuild, and reclaim what was being stolen. They would not give up—because they had each other, and together, they were stronger than fear. They were not alone. And even in the darkest nights, they had to believe—because giving up was not an option.
[END]
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