Chapter 32
For my remaining months as First Lady, I had three goals: to do whatever it took to get Kamala elected, to thank everyone who had supported us, and to close up my initiatives. All the while, I savored each moment left in the White House. It had truly been my honor to be its caretaker.
For much of that August, I found myself still having that unsteady feeling you get when you step onto a plank between solid ground and a dock.
I heard myself saying things like “Thursday? Today is Thursday?”
When I turned on the television just for a minute to catch the news about America’s Olympic teams before going to cycle class, all of a sudden, there was breaking news: Evan Gershkovich was being released, and Paul Whelan, and several more.
Most of the time, I couldn’t bear to turn on the news to see anything political because I was still feeling battered by the way in which the Democrats had spoken about Joe, but I was glad I’d caught that news segment.
It was a reminder of Joe’s effectiveness.
Those calls he had been making on the morning of the day he ended his campaign, as well as all his years of hard work, had yielded real results.
Families were being reunited because of his efforts. I felt a surge of hope for the world.
The Summer Olympics, too, were inspiring.
I brought my grandkids along with me to the games in Paris, and one day I was able to steal a moment with them away from my official duties.
As we ate lunch together, I looked around the table and thought about how proud I was of who they had become.
Hunter was finishing boarding school and applying to U.
Penn. He and his sister, Natalie, who was already there, looked forward to being at school together, an idea I loved.
Maisy was traveling and finding she had so many creative talents, from visual art to working as a chef.
They had all become resilient and independent, and I was so proud of each of them.
Throughout my time at the games, I was heartened by all the world leaders who had such positive and kind comments about Joe: Greece, Kosovo, Belgium, Romania, France, Ireland, Finland, Germany… They kept coming up to me and saying, “Thank you for your service.”
Each time I heard it, I found myself moved by their tributes. I wished Joe could have been there to hear how warmly the heads of state spoke of him.
When I attended a reception on the Champs-élysées, German Chancellor Olaf Scholz rushed up to ask me how Joe was, telling me how much he admired him and all the work they’d done together.
His comments were warm and heartfelt. I clasped his hands and thanked him.
I told him Joe felt the same way—that in fact he’d told me to find the chancellor that day to thank him for his loyalty and his integrity.
Their feelings for each other were genuine, and the friendship meant so much to Joe—and to me, too.
When I wasn’t seeing to my duties as First Lady that fall, I was out on the road for Kamala. She seized the opportunity and was giving it everything she had. It was exciting to see the crowds she was drawing and the hope that people felt.
“I’m going to be there for you,” Joe had told her when he withdrew from the race.
“You’re stuck with me like gum on a shoe,” she’d joked back.
I found Doug to be great company. We went to SoulCycle together and cohosted countless events.
I loved that he’d become a teacher. He’d taken a job at Georgetown, and we were able to discuss strategies.
When he was grading papers, I suggested he put the positive comments first—something that, as a lawyer, he didn’t necessarily think to do.
He was a real person, a gift that at times in Washington can feel like a life raft on the ocean. One time at an event, someone who we knew hated us came up and said, “It’s so nice to see you!” Doug smiled big, said, “You, too!” Then, under his breath, so only I could hear, he said, “Bullshit.”
As I hit the trail with Doug and on my own, I campaigned hard.
On September 23, 2024, I went to the United Nations in New York to host a leaders’ reception for the UN General Assembly.
I also delivered remarks at the UN’s LGBTI Core Group’s “Leaving No One Behind: An Inclusive Future for All” event, spoke with USAID and UNICEF about protecting children from lead exposure, and appeared as part of the summit of First Ladies and Gentlemen gathering to discuss improvements in children’s safety.
I was able to briefly visit with Ukraine’s Olena Zelenska, and noted how she’d blossomed from a reluctant figurehead into a strong advocate, taking every opportunity to fight for her people.
That evening at the UN, I was in conversation with Chelsea Clinton and Dr. Valerie Montgomery Rice before a large crowd as part of the Clinton Global Initiative. We spoke about the ways in which women’s health had been routinely neglected.
As the talk ended, “Hail to the Chief” started playing. That was odd. This usually only happened to announce the arrival of the president.
Hillary Clinton walked out. After her, Bill Clinton appeared—escorting Joe! Everyone leapt to their feet for a spontaneous standing ovation. Onstage, Joe hugged me, and then Bill did, too.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we thought the two doctors deserved a surprise,” Bill said.
He talked about how much good work Joe had done and then presented him with an unexpected honor: the 2024 Clinton Global Citizen Award.
In accepting, Joe said my work on women’s health research would go down as one of the administration’s significant programs.
The award meant so much to Joe, and I think the chance to do him a kindness at a difficult time meant a lot to Bill and Hillary. The whole week was bittersweet. The leaders and spouses thanked us over and over for the tone of congeniality and promise set by Joe’s administration.
A couple of days later, the final UN General Assembly reception was held at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
Joe ran late, as usual, so we missed going into the crowd.
It was probably a blessing, because how could Joe say hello to everyone the way he always wanted to?
Later that night, we stood for almost two hours greeting leaders on the hard marble floor.
I leaned over and joked to Joe, “Perhaps this all worked out for the best. Would you want to be standing on this hard floor at eighty-six? Maybe not.”
I attended the inauguration of Claudia Sheinbaum in Mexico on October 1. A woman president—might that be a harbinger for the US?
The love and support for the outgoing president, Andrés Manuel Lopéz Obrador, was overwhelming.
Half the Mexican chamber shouted, “We love the president!” before Obrador entered.
Then they enveloped him as he walked to the front, chanting “?Es un honor estar con Obrador!” (“It’s an honor to be with Obrador! ”), raising their fists.
Obrador’s wife, Beatriz Gutiérrez Müller, came into the balcony where I was sitting to greet me. We embraced and she said, “This is going to be so hard, harder than you think.”
She was speaking to me woman-to-woman, and I felt a swell of emotion.
Below us, Claudia entered the hall to thunderous chanting.
Obrador passed the sash to her, and she gave an impressive, impassioned speech on her plans for reform.
She thanked me in her speech and noted, “Politics is made with love, not hate.” Indeed.
Never more evident. Thousands of people lined the streets, celebrating.
Music was everywhere. It was so nice to see that kind of positivity and energy, a reminder that politics could actually be fun.
On November 4, I was in Durham, North Carolina, for my final day on the road in support of the Harris-Walz ticket.
As usual, my staff was there to support me.
Jordan Montoya made sure I had everything I needed: my speeches, my schedule, the right clothing for the events.
Marty Browne, my trip director, kept us all on time, and upbeat with his dry sense of humor. I couldn’t have done this without them.
I love Tim and Gwen Walz. We’d known them for years.
Joe and I had done events with the couple in Minnesota during COVID, so they were familiar faces.
They were such down-to-earth, good people, and Tim and Gwen and I had always bonded as fellow educators.
Our time together was easy. We all had so many stories about being in the classroom.
I always say that when you meet a teacher, you feel like you’re talking to a member of your family—because you are.
One of my last lines that afternoon: “It’s been my life’s honor to be your First Lady.”
“You’re going to make me emotional!” I scolded the crowd when they applauded. “And I have to say this last line.” I composed myself and said it: “Let’s elect Kamala Harris and Tim Walz.”
On November 5, 2024, I wore a favorite cranberry-colored pantsuit to vote at Tatnall, a private prep school by our house in Wilmington.
My outfit was the color of the leaves outside my window.
I did not anticipate that the reddish fabric would be taken as a sign by some MAGA folks that I had voted Republican. (I had not.)
After casting my ballot for Kamala, I went to visit Beau’s grave at St. Joseph on the Brandywine Cemetery.
Sitting on the grass, looking at his headstone with its twin crosses and the words “Father, Husband, Brother, Son,” I noticed a tree bent toward his grave, just as in life people were drawn to Beau and his goodness.
At the cemetery that day, for the first time in a very long time, I let myself cry.
For Beau, our beautiful son who had died far too young.
For Joe, who’d made a hard choice. For all the tragedies I’d borne witness to in the prior years.
I tidied the flowers, flags, and stones, and allowed myself a moment of reflection, possibly the first deep breath in and out I’d experienced in months.