It is 3:14 in the morning. 
I know this because I just broke one of my cardinal rules for getting a good night’s sleep and looked at my phone. My excuse is that I haven’t been able to fall back asleep for a while, and I needed to know just how long. Which, of course, was probably a mistake in and of itself. 

I don’t want to be up at this hour. I’d much prefer to be sleeping as soundly as Rosie, who—having commandeered three-quarters of my queen mattress—is gently snoring and snuffling beside me. But despite using all the tricks in my arsenal to fall back asleep—including but not limited to taking two Advil, drinking a glass of warm milk, and listening to an audiobook I’ve already heard to block my inner voice—I’ve been unable to re-enter the land of nod. 

As you can probably guess, being up at this hour, unable to fall back asleep, is not unfamiliar territory for me. The gods of circadian rhythm have blessed me with the gift of waking in the middle of the night to solve all of the world’s problems and ponder the imponderable. And in this day and age, it’s a target-rich environment. 

Kennedy just canceled over $500 million in mRNA vaccine research, citing the claim that it has been ineffective in fighting mutating respiratory viruses. This is patently untrue. Without the mRNA vaccine, 3.2 million more people would have died, and 18.5 million would have been hospitalized. This is not only junk science based on anti-vaccine falderal—it’s economic idiocy (do the math: the average hospital stay for a COVID patient was $30,000)—and it leaves us vastly underprepared for whatever pandemic comes next. 

The Justice Department, whose charter is to act independently and follow the law—not the direction of the chief executive (see Saturday Night Massacre)—has begun criminal investigations against Letitia James and Adam Schiff, whose only “crime” is pursuing Donald Trump for his criminal behavior. Think about it: the Justice Department is being run by a convicted felon. 

Speaking of the Justice Department, Pam Bondi’s office just dropped charges against Carolina Amesty, who had been accused of embezzling $122,000 in COVID relief funds. She just “happens” to be a Republican represented by Pam Bondi’s brother. Clearly, nothing to see here. 

The Trump administration continues to glorify white supremacy and Christian nationalism. This week alone, they ordered two Confederate monuments reinstalled in Washington, D.C., one of which depicts enslaved people in subordinate roles. Trump went on air live and said of immigrants, “These people do it naturally. They don’t get a bad back, because if they did get a back, they die.” And we learned that the supremely unqualified Secretary of Defense, Pete Hegseth, belongs to a Christian nationalist church that—along with calling for the formation of a “Christian Nation”—is advocating for the repeal of the 19th Amendment because women are not “smart enough” to make decisions in government. 

ICE continues to raid, arrest, incarcerate, and in some cases cause the deaths of innocent people—often while covering up identities and operating without body cams—so that their abuses can be swept under the rug. In other words, a government agency acting lawlessly without consequence. 

This is only part of my sleep-denying death spiral of thoughts, keeping me from the rest I so desperately need—the rest that might help me cope with the ongoing shitshow Trump and his MAGA followers have unleashed on our country. 

Lying here in the dark, with Rosie gently snoring next to me, what I really wish is that my dad was still around to talk to about all this. It may seem ridiculous for a man my age to wish he could talk to his dad, but Pops and I had traveled the world together. I had cared for him when he could no longer care for himself, and in the end, we were more than father and son—we were friends. 

He was also a teacher whose life experiences had given him a unique perspective on the world. He had spent his childhood in Vienna amidst the rise of Nazism and endured the humiliation of that evil regime. He and his family managed to escape to the USA just after the war began. Eventually, he became an officer in the U.S. Army that liberated Europe and went on to a distinguished career in science and academia. Throughout it all, despite being a realist, he was an optimist. 

I finally fall asleep thinking about how I could use a dose of his optimism now. 

I dream that I am in Fahrafeld, the town in Lower Austria where my grandparents sent my father to spend summers with his grandmother to keep him out of mischief in Vienna. It is a place my father and I visited on one of our trips together—where many of his dreams were formed, and where he felt loved and safe. I am standing on a bridge over the river Triesting, gazing out over a field in full bloom with yellow dandelions. A concrete walking path runs along the river, and I know that if I take that path, it will eventually lead me to why I am here. 

I find my father sitting on a wooden bench under a small copse of trees at the edge of the river. This is the dad of my youth: crew-cut crowned, tall, and wearing Ray-Ban aviator sunglasses. He seems content watching the narrow, fast-moving, stone-littered river flow. This is what I wished for. But I know, as dreams go, my time here is limited, so I try to think of what I want to ask him in the short time we have together. 

When I eventually sit down next to him, he looks over at me and smiles. It makes me feel seen and loved in a way few things do. 
“Hi, Pops,” I say. 
He nods in acknowledgement. 

“Did you ever forgive them?” I ask. 
“Whom?” 
“Those people who turned Austria into a fascist dictatorship. The ones who tormented you because you were Jewish. The ones who stood idly by as your parents were forced into humiliating tasks. The ones who didn’t lift a hand when they sent our relatives to the camps and their deaths.” 

Taking off his sunglasses, he gives me his most professorial look and asks, “Why do you ask?” 

“Because I see the country we love—the country you fought for—being turned into a fascist state. Where justice takes a back seat to retribution and cronyism. Where facts are replaced with whatever lies sell a policy. Where scientific research is being run by snake-oil salesmen. Where the truth is plain to see, but 88% of Republicans still think that Donald Trump is doing a good job.” 

He smiles in that way I know so well—the one he uses when he’s about to share a truth that’s difficult to accept. 
“Why do you think you should forgive them?” he asks. 

“Because I’m so angry. They let this happen, and they can’t even see the truth despite it slapping them in the face. If I don’t find a way past their deliberate blindness—their endorsement of everything we were taught America was not—I’ll lose my ability to be civil.” 

He laughs. “Civility is often overrated.” 
Seeing I’m unsatisfied, he adds, “The country will either course-correct or not. People will either see why what they’re doing is wrong or they won’t. You can do your best to convince them, but they need to get there on their own.” 

“And?” I press. 
“It does no good to forgive people who haven’t asked to be forgiven.” 

I know he’s right, but I don’t like the answer. “So what should I do instead?” I challenge. 
He shares a wry smile. “Never forget.” 

I wake to Rosie giving me a facial—she needs to go out, and I need to get up. Perhaps today I’ll make it through one news cycle without being upset. Perhaps today something will happen to make the 88% of Republicans who still support the poser in the White House wake up. 

But regardless, I know one thing: I will not forget.