I am one of the reasons for absentee ballots. I’m not out of town for work. I’m not on a prescheduled vacation. I had hoped to spend the May primaries at home staring at a portrait of ocean waves taken by an amazing South African photographer and maybe doing an OG word game.
Instead, I had coffee, took my pills and flopped a hat over my dwindling chemo curls and pondered whether to head to the county elections office to drop off my absentee ballot. Why? Excellent question.
Credit: Handout
Credit: Handout
Here’s how it started. Five-and-a-half years ago, I — a female nonsmoker — was diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer. In the movies, they call that “terminal,” “fatal,” yadda yadda yadda. I mention those words now only as a cultural reference. The idea now is to treat cancer like a chronic disease. My amazing care team is keeping me going as long, and as well, as possible. I voted absentee several times over those five long years. Most times I mailed the ballot. I remember leaving one at a dropbox about a mile away, which was ideal.
Because the legislature changed the laws, there’s less time to order an absentee ballot. Despite medical treatments, family and caregiving issues, plus fatigue, I found the time to order my absentee ballot for that May primary. It took a few more days to find a quiet moment to think it through, follow the instructions, sign and scan it, find the right ink cartridge for the printer (I never print anything anymore) then seal it properly.
By then it was within a week of the election. Anyone who pays attention to the news knew about reliability issues at the Post Office. I know someone whose mother mailed her ballot, and the tracker showed it hadn’t arrived by Election Day. Something I ordered from Amazon months ago is reportedly still stranded at the Morrow Post Office. So I looked online for dropboxes. The elections site said they were all closed. I thought it was a crazy, jaw-dropping mistake! Then I looked further and found this:
“Drop boxes are open during advance voting hours. After the close of advance voting, you can still deliver your ballot by hand to the front desk of the Voter Registration and Elections Office during our business hours, weekdays 8 a.m. - 4:30 p.m.; or until 7 p.m. on election day.”
So I couldn’t drop it off without driving to the elections office. What about people who had already left town, who are too sick to drive or who can’t afford a car? If they’re on chemo like me, they risk having to pay an Uber of Lyft cleaning fee if the unpredictable and often unavoidable nausea takes hold while riding. I frequently have good weeks in which I eat well and can see friends, and the chemo has brought much good news. But some days I can’t struggle off the couch to cross the room, much less leave the house.
I was a political reporter for more than a decade in Georgia and Florida, and knowing how things work, I suspect the brain trust behind the changes anticipated this. I feel like butt of the ageless joke: “It’s not a bug; it’s a feature.”
Primary Day came — with my ballot still at home. My county’s election site said I could still vote in person as long as I hadn’t delivered the ballot. The polling place was considerably closer than the election office, so I headed there. Luckily, the election workers understood and voided the absentee ballots for us right away.
But it shouldn’t be this hard. Despite many advantages and opportunities, my life is hard enough as it is.
Nobody put me up to writing this. This is from the heart. Despite life with cancer, I don’t really cry that often. It takes a whole lot to push me to the edge, but this has.
There is good news: I was able to sign up to get an absentee ballot sent to me for the general election. And I found five options for mail-free drop boxes (one for every 100,000 residents) — though none are as close as in the past. (Senate Bill 202 said the more abundant drop boxes were pandemic-related, and cutting back on them was designed to decrease the amount of overwork at election offices. And I assume that if it goes like last time, the drop boxes will close when early voting ends.
Last week, I drove to a drop box location, submitted the ballots (mine and my husband’s) and thought the story was finally over. Until a volunteer showed up at my door saying my ballot was being rejected. After some research, she said it was related to my name. All I could figure is that my driver’s license, which I’ve used to vote for years, spelled out my middle (maiden) name, while the voter registration card uses my middle initial. It’s a guess, but it’s the best one I have. And without that volunteer, I would have had no idea my ballot didn’t count.
Our right to vote is important. Not just mine. Yours and everyone else, and even those of the people who worked so hard to pass these laws that require a ridiculous amount of homework to fully understand — especially since I didn’t know homework was required. I read and watch news every single day and still missed this.
To be clear, I’m not asking for a special exemptions for senior citizens with cancer or family caregivers. (I’m all of the above.) Here’s what I do ask:
· Legislators: Please don’t shorten the voting time or close absentee drop boxes right before an election. Fix it, please.
· AJC: Feature a box every day during the absentee/early voting period reminding people what’s different from previous presidential elections. You tell people how to find their way around the airport on holidays. You have voters’ guides listing all the candidates. Please repeat and repeat again what people need to know — such as that drop boxes close when early voting ends — even if they haven’t received the ballot yet.
· Everyone: Read every single word of every single page of your state and county election websites.
· And if a volunteer shows up at your door, let them in and thank them sincerely.
I’m glad I got a clue before November. And as I think of the state leaders who offered, amended, accepted and signed new voting laws, it feels like the impact on me is not about “integrity” or “security.” It feels like just plain cruelty. Have a heart — please. Voting shouldn’t have to be this hard.
Terri Thornton is a semiretired business owner.
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