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This is the time of year that my body, my whole being, craves spring. I peruse the smoky silver waves of the river outside my window, the grey barren trees, the harbor’s straw colored banks. Might there be a small hint of new life, some sign of encouragement? But nearly 14 years of experience in this place tells me that winter is likely to hang on awhile, no matter what the calendar says.
I question the extreme tiredness in my belly. I realize there is something I am trying again to process, to stomach. But it’s impossible – another mass shooting in a place of worship, more than halfway around the world, but too close for any comfort. Yet another city’s name is forever associated with hate, violence, and a horrific slaughter of innocent people. In my town of Pittsburgh we are still in mourning. It was less than 6 months ago that this happened to us. The waves in the surf of our grief have not had time to dissolve or disappear into the shoreline before this next one has come along. And, given the way grief works in our bodies and minds, the new loss time travels us back to the feelings from the previous one. In talking with people who have worked in other communities engaged in the recovery process from other mass shootings, I learn that the time frame is extended from what is expected in individual and family situations of grief and loss. Because of the number of people impacted, and the various time frames individuals may take to process their grief, emotional reactions ricochet off of one another, opening wounds thinly scabbed over. Fortunately, the call to compassion is contagious as well. Community members rush in to help, stand with the victims and their immediate family members, bring flowers, raise money for funerals, share soup. We are inspired to answer the actions motivated by hate with actions, both large and small, motivated by love and compassion, the only medicine that has the potential to bring lasting healing. Now people everywhere in the world, rich, poor, young, old, Jewish, Christian, and Muslim, grieve together the loss of the sense of security we once had in our neighborhoods, schools, churches, and places of business. No place on our planet feels safe to anyone, anywhere, any more. And yet we carry on. Realizing that this story is too big for one body to hold, we connect with people both similar and different from us. We honor what we have lost, and work and dance, and play together to let go of the fear and pain lodged in our bodies from these atrocities. This is the path to reclaiming laughter and joy, our human birthright in every season. Where in this landscape do you look for signs of encouragement? Sheila |
