Amie here. It’s been a tough year.
For those of us who believe a better, more just world is possible, watching our state and federal leaders make it smaller and meaner has been disheartening and demoralizing.
For those of us going through personal grief, too, it can all compound into hopelessness if we let it.
I’m trying not to let it.
It’s been over a year since losing my wife to depression. I have tried to fill my days with work, and my evenings with whatever can distract me best. I knew right away that keeping ties with family and friends would be key to getting through it, even when I just wanted to curl up in a ball and cry. And I found out along the way that regular therapy, support groups, and (finally, when my pride allowed it) medication have also helped.
And you, dear readers, have been a part of my recovery.
I received dozens of letters from you after I shared my story. Many of you spoke about your own grief; tragically, some of you also share the pain of losing a spouse, or losing someone to suicide, or both. It’s all the more meaningful because I haven’t met most of you, and it can be tough to know what to say in these situations to a stranger. But I think of it this way: Reaching out at all is an act of care. So thank you. It all helped.
And it made me realize that acts of care have gotten us all through 2025. From joining together across Iowa to protest what we know to be wrong at No Kings rallies to giving what we can to those who especially need it, we are reminding our neighbors that they are not alone, that there are many people who feel as they do, and that together we can be a strong, united front against those who would only take it all for themselves instead.
I’ve read a lot of labor history this year, and one thing I’ve learned is that history is never one person changing the world. Every single time, it’s people, grieving the world they know, coming together to demand it become a better one.
So that gives me hope for 2026. What gives you hope?
