Pain, healing, and memories

Unfortunately, we all live in an era where we’ve lived through many tragic shootings. Our hearts break as we watch the stories in the news, we want to reach out and help, try to take some of the pain away… but then our lives move on. The news stories stop flooding in, and our focus shifts back to our own lives, families, and towns. Now, I’m learning it’s much different when you experience it first hand. The chaos, the traffic, the reporters have all left, but the pain hasn’t.

I was a bit surprised on Sunday evening when I realized how incredibly broken I still am over the events that happened on the 14^th. I’d like to consider myself a resilient person, one who can get through anything with the help of God, but I’m learning that even though that is who I am, it doesn’t come without pain. As I spent some time “looking” at my heart, I realized that the business of being a mom, the holidays, and my lack of sleep had caused me to bury my feelings. I had thought I was handling the emotions well, and feeling stronger every day, but the reality was my heart was more of a casket, with its lid closed tightly, than a well-spring of life.

I pulled out an old baby bouncy chair for my son to play with, and a wave of grief struck. I remember that moment like it was yesterday.  A family walked into Ice Cream Heaven on a warm summer day. It must have been a Friday afternoon… one of the sweetest little girls you could ever meet spotted my 3 month old in his bouncy chair. She was so excited to see him. She asked if she could go over to him, and I agreed. She crouched down next to him and proceeded to gently tickle his belly and his toes. I almost asked her not to, as I was in that stage of motherhood when you worry about every little germ, but I couldn’t bare to as I watched her delight and her gentleness. We all talked for a bit, I scooped ice cream, and made an Oreo milkshake that I’m sure I added too much milk to, and then the family and friend went outside to enjoy their treat.  It breaks my heart that I won’t see that sweet little face again on this side of heaven.

Then there was one of our neighbor’s best friends. We’d always see them outside playing basketball together; they’d always wave and would frequently come for a treat together. They sure loved “Mr. Frank” and “Mr. Ray”.  I’m sure that every time he came inside, he’d be wearing a sports uniform.  It’s impossible to forget his smile when he was handed his ice cream.

Then there were the two kids who’d come with their camp. They’d laugh, they’d play, they’d run… but no longer here on earth. I take comfort knowing where they are. And I pray the families take comfort knowing that there’s no time in heaven, so for their beloved children, it will feel like they’ll see their families again in the next moment. It’s only here where the pain lingers; seemingly better one day, only to feel worse the next.

I’ve come to accept that this will be a long journey; much longer than I had expected. As faces of moms and dads emerge in the media, so do memories. The pain seems to swell and ache before the next wave of healing comes.

 I started out to say that I’d never watch a tragedy unfold on the news in the same way, but instead, I guess I explained why.  Sympathy has been replaced with a level of empathy in most of us, and I believe God has a very good reason for that in all of our lives.