Chapter 34
God, Inauguration Day was cold. During the week leading up to it, I watched the huge flakes of snow cascade past the windows of the White House, a view I was trying to enjoy as much as possible before leaving it.
In those final days, I got up early in the morning when the residence was uncharacteristically void of people—waiters, valets, Secret Service, staff, and family.
I used the time alone to absorb my feelings of appreciation and loss.
I’d take pictures on my phone of the architectural details that I didn’t want to forget. Plus, it gave me time to reflect.
One natural phenomenon that can be witnessed near the White House on any given day is a murmuration of starlings swirling together.
I would watch in amazement from the Truman Balcony as thousands and thousands of birds ebbed and flowed through the sky, as if dancing to a silent symphony only they could hear.
There were so many beautiful aspects to the White House.
I tried to pay attention and never to take any of it for granted.
That final morning in the White House, I woke up, looked at the frosted windows in the residence, and thought, Hmm, the perfect place for a message.
The heating vents underneath the palladium windows formed crystals in the windowpanes and created a crystalline cocoon.
Where we sat to watch TV was entirely covered by a thin, watery cover—like the one you see from steam on a shower door.
I could write something, and it was unlikely anyone would notice until the next morning.
Tempting. The residence staff wouldn’t observe it because the sun would have warmed the glass by the time they would come into that part of the house.
Yes! I would write it with my finger in the steam.
I looked at the message for a few moments…
Should I let it remain? Finally, I left that room for the last time, heading upstairs to get ready.
Ralph Lauren and his team had made available two suits to choose from—one blue, one purple.
The blue was an obvious political choice, but purple signified unity.
I still believed in that. I loved that two-piece outfit with its purple coat and gloves and matching purse.
I felt good in it—confident. The son of Belarusian immigrants, Ralph had started his business by selling ties.
He often dressed Republicans as well as Democrats because his is an iconic American brand—not red or blue, but a tribute to the pride that Americans feel in their country.
On Inauguration Day, following tradition down to the minute, the inauguration committee was gathering in the Blue Room for coffee and tea, waiting for the president-elect to arrive.
First Kamala and Doug greeted Vice President–Elect J. D. Vance and his wife, Usha, and brought them inside. When Donald and Melania’s car pulled up and they got out, Joe and I went to greet them. There were pleasantries.
The new president asked where we were going to live, and I said, “Delaware, Philadelphia, or LA.”
“That’s an interesting choice,” he said.
We smiled, posed for the obligatory picture, and then headed inside for tea.
As is customary, the First Ladies were to ride to the inauguration together, and we were assigned to a car with a member of the committee. I don’t know how long this has been tradition, but it certainly does make it easier in cases of awkwardness.
John Bessler, Amy Klobuchar’s husband, must have drawn the shortest of all possible straws, because he got what was arguably one of the trickiest assignments: escorting Melania and me to the inauguration.
The presidents’ car was likely frosty, too, but at least they’d spent considerable time in each other’s company.
This would be one of few interactions Melania and I had ever had.
Melania hadn’t invited me for tea in 2021; she’d turned down my invitation in 2024.
We met briefly at both Carter funerals. Each year, I sent her a birthday card, as I sent one to every other living First Lady.
As I understood it, Melania blamed Joe personally for the FBI searching through her private spaces at Mar-a-Lago. I had compassion for her, having been subject to the same kind of search. I knew how distressing it was to have agents rummage through your underwear drawer.
Poor John had to figure out how to break the tension and find some path to relative peace in the course of that drive.
He’d always struck me as a quiet, reserved Midwestern guy, but as soon as we got in, he began chatting away, pelting us both with questions.
My impression was that Amy, who I’d always liked very much, had told him to put some pep in his step when he rode with us.
“Where’s Barron in school?” John asked.
“NYU,” Melania said, looking out the window, clearly about to point to the clouds as a way of segueing to a neutral topic.
“Where does he live?” John said.
“He has a floor in Trump Tower,” she said.
“Is he having fun?” said John.
“He goes to school, attends class, and they bring him back. He doesn’t see many friends at school.”
“Does he have lots of friends?” John said.
Melania kept trying to switch the topic to the weather.
“Yes, he has friends from high school,” she said, noting how cold and windy it had been.
John moved on to talking about an Impressionists show at the National Gallery that had just closed. He said that people had been flying in from all over to see it. I looked it up on my phone and said that it did seem like a great show; I was sorry to have missed it.
I asked Melania about her father, because her mother had recently died.
She said he was doing okay, and he was there with them, then said, “But you know, it’s only been a year.”
I tried to get with Melania’s weather-only program. I said I felt bad for the military dogs we passed along the route because of the cold.
“Do you have a dog?” John asked Melania.
“No, no, we never had a dog,” she said. “I asked Barron several times, but he said no, he didn’t want a dog.”
“Well, where did you grow up in Slovenia?” he asked. They discussed an area of the country where John had been.
We arrived at the Capitol. We made a quick stop at Republican Senator Chuck Grassley’s office before walking into the rotunda.
First the Clintons walked in, then the Bushes, then Barack.
When the inaugural speech grew particularly bombastic, I nudged Doug Emhoff to make sure that he’d heard it, too.
At the new president’s mention of renaming the Gulf of Mexico the “Gulf of America,” Hillary Clinton burst out laughing.
After it was over and official, the new president said to me, “If Joe ever needs anything, call me!”
Before leaving the White House that morning, I’d handwritten Melania a note wishing her well.
I put it on the desk, per tradition, and I had a vase of flowers brought up to leave with the note.
I later learned that a member of the White House staff slipped a letter underneath mine.
(The residence staff typically stays on from one administration to another.) At least the note didn’t go on top, I guess, but the presumption of the gesture—trying to catch the attention of the incoming First Lady by insinuating oneself into a private historic tradition between two women—still frosted me.
Then, after the inauguration, we were climbing into what we’d come to know as Marine One. Joe and I held hands as we took off. We’d taken that flight many times; this was the last one. I looked out over DC.
The helicopter circled once over the White House and then out to Joint Base Andrews. When we passed the Capitol, I felt Joe’s body language shift. That was his home for thirty-six years; how huge it must have felt to be leaving.
“Wow, Joe, this is really full circle,” I said. He squeezed my hand.
When we arrived at Andrews, music was playing. Hundreds of people were there waiting in the cold in the airplane hangar, including former staff and their families. Joe climbed onstage and gave a final goodbye.
Then we boarded the presidential plane for the last time, headed to Santa Ynez, California, to stay at the ranch of our friends Joe and Sarah Kiani for a few days.
On board, the crew served us a special meal they knew we’d love, a hometown favorite: Philly cheesesteaks.
When we landed, the staff was emotional.
It was a balm to see our friends. The Kianis made us feel so welcome.
When we walked into their guest house, we saw they’d set out a big cheese tray and soda for Joe and wine for me.
There were flowers in every room. What a relief to have nothing to do for that week but walk through beautiful vineyards and have big meals with our family.
And yet those first days of what I began to call the afterlife were difficult.
When we went into town, we saw big MAGA pickup parades.
We had to turn the TV off because when it was on, we saw that the new administration was undoing everything we’d fought for.
I found walking in nature healing. Joe didn’t; he was on the phone tracking everything, trying to figure out if there was any way he could help.
After a week, we went back to Delaware to start our life after the White House.