Melissa Hortman: Grief and Hope Weeks Later

I haven’t dared to truly explore my grief over the assassination of Rep. Melissa Hortman and her husband. I’ve kept it tucked away beneath old blankets of distraction and busyness. But it found me in Utah, surrounded by the silent strength of the Wasatch Mountains. Maybe it was their quiet witness—centuries of standing still, absorbing human triumph and tragedy—that gave me permission to finally let go. There, the tears came, tracing hot lines across my sunburned cheeks. Because this grief is not just personal. It’s national. It’s moral. It’s spiritual.

Melissa Hortman was more than a politician. She was a kind, formidable woman who dedicated her life to lifting others. As the most successful legislator in Minnesota’s history, her laws, her advocacy, her very presence in our halls of power stood as a testament to the belief that government exists to protect and uplift its people—not to enrich the few at the expense of the many. She championed working families, children, and the marginalized. She understood that our fates are bound together, whether we care to admit it or not.

But I am not only grieving Melissa, who showed us what true public service looks like—I am grieving a country that has grown numb to cruelty. A nation where the capacity to care is treated as a partisan liability. Where empathy is mocked, decency dismissed as weakness, and powerful women are met not with respect but with violence. Melissa’s life was a living rebuke to that cynicism.

In my grief, I cling to hope—hope that her legacy will ignite something stubborn and bright within us. That we’ll remember who we are meant to be. That we’ll honor her by refusing to let compassion be painted as frailty. And that, together, we’ll stand—like those mountains—steadfast against every storm.