I have no time to write. I have no time for, really, anything right now. With Christmas a week away, I am buried in a self-created pit of cookies, wrapping paper, and Elf shenanigan planning.
And, I say this without the slightest trace of my usual irony, lucky, lucky me.
Like the rest of our country, and some of the rest of the world, I am beyond devastated for the families in Connecticut who are forever changed by, well, you know. I can't bring myself to think of that boy's name--and yes, I mean boy despite his being 20, or however old he was. Those children, those teachers . . . just gone. For no reason other than someone else's personal . . . what? Suffering? Anger? Vendetta? No reason, really. Just because.
And it feels like we, as a collective country/society/world, can do nothing but blame blame blame. It feels necessary to look for an answer, a WHY to follow the WHAT and the HOW. But guess what? There is no WHY. Only a big, fat IS, WAS, DID.
Maybe we should blame the guns. Yes, yes, it was the guns. No wait! It's the access to mental healthcare, the way we treat people with mental illness. No, it was actually his MOTHER'S fault! Yes, the mother, as per usual, right? Oh but wait, maybe it was the video games. Or maybe the movies. Or television. But probably it was the President's fault--no, that's not right. It was God's fault. Nope, got it wrong again, it's because God was "kicked out" of school (my personal favorite--there's that irony!).
It was all of this and none of this (OK, I'm almost positive it wasn't the god-kicked-out-of-school thing--that's shit thinking is just inexcusable). It was a young man who had a weapon and took the lives of 26 people and filled the broken hearts of our country with absolute fear. The end.
And arguing about it? Co-opting the sheer anguish of these grieving families? Disgusting. I get that we all grieve differently, and for some of us clicking on FB links and pictures and sharing vapid messages makes us feel empowered. But really? This is the best we can do?
I've had enough of the pablum that comes along with tragedy. "Light a candle for . . ." "Hug your children . . ." "Wear school colors . . ." Frankly, I've had enough of this type of tragedy to last a thousand lifetimes. Shit, I'm tired of the word "tragedy."
Among the phrases and words that make me want to scream, coincidentally, is tragedy, along with its qualifier "unthinkable." Really? Unthinkable? It wouldn't be nearly as terrifying if you couldn't imagine it, couldn't believe it could happen to your family, your child, your parent, your friend if you truly *couldn't* imagine it.
I'm a jerk, right? I am. I'm really, really sad. None of this bullshit we call "helping" does JACK for these mothers, fathers, siblings, grandparents, children, and friends in utter agony right now. My own solution? Forget all that noise, the memes and the FB pages and the pictures of sad candles and the j-man field trip. Send light, and love, directly from my own broken heart to theirs. Say the names of those children and teachers. Honor their memory by emblazoning their faces on my heart, making room for them there with all the others.
Turning off the television, tuning in to their pain and honoring it. Shutting out the distractions and sending them love. This is all that makes sense to me, it is all I would want.
It's all I did want.
Love to you all. xo