Tragedy in Tucson, or so it has been dubbed, brought the nation to its knees last weekend when a senseless young man so callously committed a senseless act that took the lives of six upstanding Americans. But it didn’t stop there; when he took aim at those people not only did he end their lives, but so too did his bullets ricochet and shatter the lives of hundreds more, causing a domino effect that will change those families for generations to come. It was one of those events that leaves a gaping hole in us all because each of us is helpless to defend that which one insane man sought to destroy.
My heart ached that day, for those people. It broke for a fiancee whose left ring finger will likely always carry an invisible weight, whether she moves on or not. It broke for the sons and daughters and grandsons and granddaughters of the elderly victims, now left to cope with such an abrupt absence. But perhaps more profoundly, my heart breaks for the mother and father of nine-year-old Christina Taylor Greene who will no doubt be forever changed. It’s likely my station in life at this moment that leaves me broken most for them. I can so vividly imagine the images that must haunt that mother in the black of night: wondering if her baby cried out for her, imagining the fear of her final moments. I don’t know that mother, but I can say with certainty that she tortures herself with if-onlies. If only I’d been there. If only I could have done something–shielded her, protected her. If only it would have been me, instead.
Throughout the last week I’ve stopped mid-activity to pray for the second string of victims. I’ve stopped mid-sentence because I’m too choked up to continue. I’ve stopped to plead that my Father in heaven would wholly restore Gabby Giffords, if it is His will. That He lift up and strengthen and heal the Greene family. And the other families. All of them.
I share this with you because I want it to be clear that I’m neither cold nor callous. That indeed I sympathize with–and have immense compassion for–each and every person who was personally touched by this incomprehensible act.
With that said, though, I respectfully admit that my life has continued. I did laundry on Monday. I lamented over having to rise before the sun. I posted vacation pictures to my blog. I tickled my little man.
My life went on.
I bet yours did as well. As it should.
{This is me, about to tiptoe into that thing I have to get off my chest. That thing that isn’t so PC to say. That thing that might rub some people wrong}.
There are those who–seemingly–don’t want us to move on.
Every day this week I’ve turned on the same radio show I listen to each and every morning only to be met by more sorrow. More woe. More talk of the “city needing to heal”.
There are grief counselors available, they tell me. Callers ring in with tearful voices and dramatized tales of their own grieving processes. Everywhere I turn there are those who almost revel in this tragedy, seeking out their own seven degrees of separation: my cousin’s neighbor’s daughter went to the same school as that little girl.
But it goes beyond the confines of this southwestern Arizona city.
The national news continues to dredge up the residual scum of the shooting. And anyone and everyone who might offer a crumb of detail, no matter how dramatized that detail might be.
It’s nothing new, this tendency to pounce on despair and lick it to the bone. Hurricane Katrina. Presidential indiscretions. The storms of the century.
Why do we do that? Or perhaps, more accurately, why do we allow for that to be done?
Partly, it’s the reality that any one of us could have been there that morning, at Congress on the corner. Any one of us could have worked in the twin towers. Any one of us might have sent our kids off to school at Columbine. Any one of our children might have been enrolled in that Oklahoma City federal building daycare.
And so we obsess. We thirst for details. We run them over and over in our heads trying to assign some degree of reason when clearly reason is nowhere to be found. It scares us–terrifies us–that such horrifically random tragedy could be lurking around any corner. At any grocery store.
I’m here to state the obvious: we’re not assured a tomorrow. We’re just not. We can dwell on the tragedies of today, we can pick them apart and run circles around them in our sleep, but it won’t serve to immunize us against the possibility of our own potential catastrophes. Nothing can do that.
I humbly propose something different. Let us not waste our todays on the tragedies of yesterday. Of last week. Of last month. Let us not forget, by any means. Let us pay our respects and pray our prayers and offer our most heartfelt condolences. But then? Let us go on.
What if we turned off the news, refusing to listen to a broadcaster who would bleed every last drop of emotion from a tragedy? What if we turned off the radio when it became apparent that the DJ’s were wallowing rather than encouraging? What if we simply ignored the newspapers and live feeds and tweets that want nothing more than to pull us deeper into a quicksand of despair? What if?
What if we focused, instead, on hope. On Encouragement. On the silver linings. Imagine what a difference that would make. What a changed world we’d live in.
I’m going to try it. I’ve already turned off the news and the radio. I’ve ignored those Facebook posts that seem to scream out, “look at me! I’m part of it all! I live there!”
I’ll turn to the Bible for my answers. I’ll offer silent prayers to my Father. I’ll start by looking onward. Upward.
What do you think? Is there something to be said for continued, round-the-clock- coverage of the tragedies that befall our nation? Do we garner anything from it? Or, like me, do you turn it off? How do you deal with people in your life (in your family, in your town) who dwell on the negative and play the seven degrees of separation game?
Well said, love. (as always)
It’s amazing how you say the things that others think, but could never say. Does that make sense?
I have turned off the news, and the radio. I am moving on, but am also reminded of it almost hourly in other ways.
Good for you!
Part of me thinks that everyone has to grieve in their own way. Maybe its our human nature to empathize with our own tragedy, either current or past. We see someone else’s situation and it immediately brings up our own fears, experiences, etc. But I totally agree that the details to ad nauseum gets out of hand. My only thought (playing devil’s advocate here…) is that there are millions of people the news networks are trying to inform and everyone comes to learn of events at different times. To watch and watch and watch isn’t healthy. And ultimately there is only One who can answer all the whys and put our fears to rest. Well said, friend.
Good points, Nicole. I think you’re probably onto something as to why they show the same news bites over and over and over. Can you imagine if you were a reporter and were subjected to that stuff all day long? Talk about unhealthy…
I agree with your husband. Well said.
This is so well said and I am in total agreement with you. I think round-the-clock coverage is sensationalized and focuses on ratings rather than actually informing people. I don’t turn off the news completely, but I also don’t watch CNN, HLN, etc. I want to be informed so I usually just read one article a day to get the updates on the situation. For the people who play the seven-degrees-of-separation game, I just ignore them. It is insulting to the families of the people who were lost to pretend that a tragedy like this affects us all in the same way.
Thanks Sarah. I totally agree, and I love the way you put that, “It is insulting to the families of the people who were lost to pretend that a tragedy like this affects us all in the same way.” So true.
You know what? It is a time for people to let the people in their lives know just how much you care for them, because no matter where you live, and no matter where you go or what you do, it might be the last time to say it. Darcie and Jeff, I love your family life and I love the way you share with the world, I know why my daughter loves you and your family the way she does. People have to grieve and we all do it in different ways. When I miss my Dad and I think about the last day I saw him and the last words he said to me that morning when I walked out the door to work….he said “I love You, have a good day” That day was good until 3:00 that afternoon when I got the call I better come home. So I know how those people might feel. I thought I would see my Dad again and be able to say “I love You” one more time. I still grieve for my Dad and I am sure because of the horrible way these people died people will grieve for them for a very very long time. So we all grieve in different ways and sometimes people just need to say a few words, or vent to others to get on with their life. Or they need to share their thoughts. And I love you even more for being so honest and sharing your thoughts with all of us – your blogging family. Sorry if I ramble, I tend to do that when I have a hard time saying what I feel without offending anyone. And I would never want to do that to you. God Bless You and Your Beautiful Family.
I’m not sure it’s possible for you to be offensive. :) You’re as sweet as can be.
Amen, my friend. As always.
Well said, Darcie! I, too, have been struck by the constant coverage that, as you said, “would bleed every last drop” of information! I, too, was deeply saddened, but tragedy strikes people everyday. But, yes, we need to live each day to the fullest and “look onward”!
Very well said.
Interesting to note that today in our online newspaper here in New Hampshire an article was titled:
Giffords opened her eyes after her friend spoke of NH
Great post. I wish I could turn it off, but I live in the wrong town and work in the wrong building to do so. If you didn’t know any differently, you would have thought this happened in DC. Congressmen (& women) want to arm themselves in the Capitol building itself; ridiculous!
They should just let you pack heat at the office. Then they could rest easier! :-) It’d be like our days in the desert.
I can only imagine how many accidental shootings there would be if the Congressmen were armed!
(Or should that be ‘accidental’?)
Darcie- I totally get what you’re saying and I completely agree. Here’s my story: When I was 13 my dad and then 7yo brother were in a boating accident on the 4th of July. My dad did not survive. My brother was injured, physically and emotionally, but he lived. My mom became a 37-year-old widow (who earned no income of her own at the time) and my siblings and I became fatherless. Our American Dream of a family was completely shattered on that perfect American holiday.
Here’s what happened next: There was a write-up in the newspaper with a total of maybe 5 paragraphs about the accident and about my dad. Friends helped us out for a couple of months but quickly got bored and moved on. And you know what? So did we! My mom got a parttime job. Life insurance helped with the rest. We all went to college. We all moved out. My brother walked me down the aisle at my wedding instead of my dad. I had babies. My mom got remarried. We miss him, but we made it and we’re better people having been forced through that life experience.
I tell you this not for sympathy votes but to point out that I went through my own tragedy and turned about be a regular, normal person after the fact.
Now when I hear sensationalized stories on the news about “tragedies” I admit I’m one of those people who can’t get enough of the news cycle. “How horrible!” “How will those people ever move on?!” But then I have to think — wait, is their story really any different from mine? Is it more tragic because their story was played out in the national arena? I feel for them, sure, because I know the feelings they’re feeling right now. But was our family’s story less tragic simply because there isn’t a national/political storyline around it?
Tragedies happen every day. Instead of dramatizing those stories it should be our job to pray. Then it should be our job to carrying on the life of the living. The job we’re called to do right here, right now.
Thank you for the reminder!
Jenny, your comment gave me goosebumps. I remember having read something on your blog about your losing your dad, but I didn’t remember the details.
You are right on so many levels. No, those nationally broadcasted stories are absolutely no more tragic than yours. No different.
The fact that you (and your brother and your mom) endured such a thing makes my heart hurt for you. But I praise God that you all were able to move forward. You illustrated my point exactly; your dad will never, ever be forgotten. Yet, you lived on. As I’m sure he would have wanted you to do.
Thanks for chiming in. Your comments? They stir me every time.
You put into words exactly how I feel about the whole thing. It’s such a terrible, heartbreaking tragedy (and I’ve prayed many times for the families involved)…but life must (and should) go on.