There are a few things I wanted to share from the jumble of thoughts and emotions I've had since the Newtown tragedy last Friday.
The first is something my dear friend, Brandy Burt Jacobs, put so eloquently on Facebook. She's given me permission to share it:
I can't possibly begin to imagine what the Sandy Hook families who lost their children are going through. None of us can. However, 12 years ago our infant daughter Emily passed away after being born with genetic disorder. Though our circumstances are worlds apart, I am sadly in the most unfortunate group of parents who have buried their child. The difficult weeks and months following are now a blur in many ways, but there are vivid memories that still stand out to me years down the road.
I remember the friends who didn't wait for me to "let them know" what they could do to help, they just showed up at my door and we figured it out.
I remember those who didn't assume that comfort could only come from those in my inner circle and reached out regardless, though it may have been years since we spoke.
I remember those who bravely stumbled on their words when there were none to say, rather than avoid me at the grocery.
I remember those that didn't avoid bringing up her name in an effort to not make me sad, rather brought her name up often, got a few tears out of the way, and moved on to happier topics.
I remember those who acknowledged the difficult anniversaries to come, not just the first year but in years following.
I remember those who recognize that even though we went on to have 4 amazing, healthy children, that everything we do is with an Emily-sized hole.
I do not know what each family individually needs on the road ahead, but I do know what stands out on my own journey through grief. I know that every act of reaching out is an act of kindness, regardless how awkward. I know that the smallest action far exceeds the mountain of good intentions.
God Bless these families.
I have little to add to her beautiful words. I'm so glad she said it! Waiting for the moment when the "right" thing to do becomes evident often means letting the chance go by to do anything at all.
When mom died in the accident, the people who just "showed up" are the ones I remember most vividly. And the truth is, the people I thought would show up and didn't stand out as well.
If not now, then when? If not you, then who?
One other thing started to take shape as I've read stories of the victims and the responses of the public to these stories. This morning, I read Noah Pozner's eulogy, delivered by his mom. It is beautiful. 90% of the comments to this were wonderful, positive, and supportive. Then there are those who feel the need to question a mother's releasing this to the public - and that's putting it nicely. The lioness in me wants to hunt those people down and claw them in the face, seriously. When I read Veronique Pozner's words, I smiled and teared up. I want to thank her for sharing her son with the world, because that's what this public eulogy does. Noah will not get the chance to introduce himself to the world; he will be forever six years old. It seems his mother's wish is that the world know and love him as his family did; that his life make an impression. It has on me. A child who wants to be a manager of a taco factory or a doctor couldn't possibly be anything less than a delight to have around!
I suspect anyone questioning how the families might (or might not) behave in public has, like the Grinch, a heart that is two sizes too small.
I am like Mrs. Pozner. I choose to share my story and sorrow publicly, which some seem to think makes a person fair game. I've read comments such as, "I highly doubt any family members are bothering to read comments.. blah, blah blah." I read comments after the accident. I needed to know, I just did, and sometimes the news sites had information I hadn't heard from the police. I remember the person who wrote, "I guarantee you Mr. Jaguar was zipping in and out of traffic..." and said basically haha, they won't be driving like a jerk anymore. (Mom was stopped on the shoulder and hit from behind). It's not even the falsehood of the statement; it's the coldness of a total stranger making the most devastating event of my life into a punchline. I once shared on a board my trying to forgive the truck driver and while most responses were beautiful and kind, one person accused me of dishonoring my mother with my "psychotic love for her killer." I know that person is probably disturbed themselves, but it sticks. It's another wound, and clearly one that I remember verbatim.
I do hope that Mrs. Pozner is kept in the dark about these types of comments, because it does hurt terribly, when you reach out to share and are slapped in the face, even by just a few bad apples. I don't think anyone of my single-digit followers would do such a thing, of course. But it's always worth a reminder that we don't always understand the motivations and needs of others and to think before we speak or post.
I have family members who would sooner walk naked down the street before sharing their stories. I know other people who share even more than I do. There will be people who never want to lay eyes on Sandy Hook again, and there will be people who will want to stand on the spot where their child last drew breath and close their eyes and walk into that day themselves, absorbing every bit of information they can. None of these responses are right or wrong, or anyone else's to judge as such. The best we can do is hug where possible, offer a kind word if it's in us, and shut the hell up when can't do either of the former and let these people do what they need to do to find meaning in life again.
Love and blessing to all out there. And may the hateful ones experience something beautiful that makes their hearts grow three sizes in one day too. Merry Christmas.
