Long before my daughters told me they were gay, I remember watching V for Vendetta, a haunting dystopian film set in London in the late 2020’s. The world is in turmoil- the United States is falling apart as the result of an ongoing civil war, and there’s a pandemic virus raging throughout Europe. V, a masked vigilante, commits violent yet heroic acts against the fascist British government, hoping to save humanity from the evil forces at play. In one particular scene V captures Evey, played by Natalie Portman, saving her from the secret police and brings her back to his safe house. To test Evey’s loyalty to V’s cause, she is locked up in a pseudo prison cell. Under the crack of the cell door, Evey is passed notes from Valerie, a fellow female prisoner, before she dies. The story unfolds like a home video, a heartfelt account of Valerie, from childhood to adulthood- her joys and sorrows of coming out at a time when it is forbidden to be gay.

I wept watching the scene from the coziness of my oversized sofa in mid-town Toronto. I felt safe in my city, which was then, and is still now, one of the most multi-cultural, diverse and openhearted places in the world. There was nothing to worry about- it was 2006, shortly after same-sex marriage had became legal in  Canada. My daughters, just teenagers then, were only beginning to discover who they really were. They were engaged and dynamic young people with an active social conscience. Although I suspected at times, that they perhaps were gay, I naively thought they would have nothing to worry about- surely only love and acceptance would come their way. I felt comforted thinking that it was way easier to be gay in the 2000’s, compared to the 70’s when I was in my teens. I didn’t really know any lesbians back then, but my male friends who only came out years later, hid behind their gorgeous girlfriends that they twirled around during prom night, cloaked in their preppy button down polo shirts.

My best guy friend, Tommy, had a hell of a time coming out. He felt extremely guilty for disappointing his parents because he was gay. As much as I tried to reassure him that he was unconditionally loved, Tommy felt incredibly uncomfortable in his own beautiful skin. Once the valedictorian of his high school graduating class, Tommy’s ending was tragic- after years of struggling with depression he died suddenly from cardiac arrest after taking an accidental drug overdose. He is always missed.

Now, decades later, I feel like an extra in some apocalyptic film, not quite certain about what I should do next. On November 8, 2016, I cried again- this time uncontrollably for hours from the same big floppy sofa, not quite as comfy. I was watching the American Presidential 2016 election results on CNN – the disturbing red color swiftly filling in the map of the United States.

How crazy does it seem that Donald J. Trump, a man whose words and ideas promote hatred, intolerance and xenophobia, is the leader of the United States of America, a country that my daughters currently call home? How will life be for them and the L.G.B.T.Q. communities across the border? How can I ensure their safety? Will my girls have to cut their studies short, and relocate back to Canada? Will the rights of women be compromised? There is reason to be concerned. The recent refugee ban from predominantly Muslim countries is shameful, creating further panic about where exactly Trump is heading. The U.S., once a country held in such high esteem under the Obama administration, and other past Presidents has become, under its new leadership, a loose cannon.

I know I’m not alone in feeling weary about the fate of our world. The day after the presidential inauguration, my 21-year-old son and I decided to join the thousands of others at Queens Park, in solidarity with the other Women’s Marches happening across the globe. We walked arm in arm to Toronto City Hall (Nathan Phillips Square), alongside a likeminded diverse gathering of women, children and men. I was comforted knowing that they too were there standing guard like me- worried about the future and ready to action.

Sadly, I can see the tide of Trump at home here in Toronto. I hear pro-Trump supporters at the gym, whispering loudly over the hum of the elliptical machines and listen in disbelief when some of my relatives lull themselves into thinking “Trump doesn’t really mean what he says.” I hope they are right, but just a few weeks into his presidency and he is beginning to do exactly what he said he would.

My head’s been spinning from a whirl of worry. I never imagined that in my lifetime, I would need to be concerned about the safety of my children, here in North America. But my girls are the lucky ones, they are Canadian, and if American politics gets rougher, they could always come home.

I am like most mothers, fiercely protective. Despite Trump’s malevolent campaign promises and perhaps soon to be polices, I hope that good will ultimately prevail, and that my amazing gay daughters across the border will be able to continue to live an authentic and celebrated life on their own terms.