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November 3, 2008, the day before Election Day. I walked into the local Obama campaign office where I had been volunteering for several months. One of the voter-protection lawyers, who also happened to be named Joe, came up to me and asked me to do him a favor. “We just got a call from a woman who is with her mother who is on her deathbed in a hospital about an hour from here. She wants to vote for Barack Obama before she dies”. He asked me to drive to the hospital and have the daughter sign the legal papers that allowed her to cast an emergency ballot. “We’ve faxed her the forms, she just needs to add your name when you get there”. Joe the Lawyer was wearing a button that said “Joe the Volunteer” which was a take-off on the recent celebrity that surrounded another guy named Joe (who wasn’t really named Joe) who was a plumber. I said “Sure, I’ll do that. But I want your button” For the record, I would have gone anyway, but I really wanted the button.
 

I finished my shift, and then headed to the hospital. The daughter walked out of the elevator, obviously and understandably quite frazzled, carrying the emergency ballot paperwork. We confirmed the instructions: she needed to fill in my name since I would be acting as her proxy before the County Judge the following day (Election Day) “Do you have a pen?” she asked. I handed one to her. She filled out my name, I wished her the best, she thanked me and I went on my way.
 

The following morning, Election Day 2008, I appeared before the judge. “This form has 2 different colors of ink on it. This was filled out at different times, so therefore it is invalid” the judge said. Sure enough, the pen that I had handed to her the night before was a different color than the one she used to fill out all of the other sections of the form. The woman would not be able to cast her vote for Senator Obama.
 

I returned to the office, quite devastated by the turn of events. I found Joe the Lawyer, relayed the story to him and he said “You have to call her and tell her”. This conversation took place in the midst of dozens of volunteers running around, gathering lit and lists, heading out to knock doors, while dozens more were returning from knocking doors to gather more materials and head out again and dozens of volunteers making phone calls. The excitement and energy was incredible: We were hours away from electing Barack Obama President of the United States. I had expected to be sharing in this excitement that we had all worked for over the past many months. But all of this positive energy and excitement was going on around me rather than me being part of it. I found a relatively quiet corner to deliver the bad news. “I’m sorry, but the paperwork was invalid” I filled her in on the details. “I am so sorry that we couldn’t get this done. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that your mother was unable to vote for the (soon-to-be) President Obama. I’m sorry.”
 

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone. And then she said something that I did not expect. Something that would make this terrible situation somehow a little bit better. “You know what?” she said. “I’m not going to tell her.” Her mother got her dying wish, she voted for Barack Obama for President. It didn’t really matter that the vote was not counted. It counted to HER.
 

She died, “knowing” that she had gotten her wish. She voted for him.
 

I still have that button.