looking through me

Tag: pain

October 11, 2016

too much

The headlines are maddening. New—but not—every day. Shootings. Bombings. Protests. Finger pointing. Name calling. Scandals. Broken Promises. Natural Disasters. Wars and rumors of wars.

Even as I process the details I feel a little less shocked than I was by the last fill-in-the-blank atrocity.

I feel my heart hardening. Because how can I care about all of it? There’s simply too much. The scope is too big to swallow. The pain is too great to comprehend. It’s easier to look away.

Then I remember why I have to care.

I Skype with my long-distance nieces. I see the older one’s art projects and hear about soccer. I watch the younger one crawl for the first time.

I spend an evening with my local niece and nephew. I play make believe and Zingo. I throw paper airplanes and read stories. I give good night hugs and kisses.

And love roughs up my calloused heart.

Looking into the eyes of my brothers’ children I remember statistics are more than numbers. They have faces and names.

I check on sleeping children tucked soundly in suburban beds, and I think of how many children aren’t growing up in a safe place be it their home, their city, their country or their refugee camp.

The death tolls rattled off by the media rip un-mendable holes in families and communities whether it’s half a block from me or half a world away. And that doesn’t go away with the news cycle.

So . . . I listen and learn. I choke on the hatred and horror, but I don’t turn away.

 

Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

2 Comments
September 12, 2016

fifteen years

A glint in the sky catches my eye. I track it as it makes a long arcing turn and prepares for its final descent.

Fifteen years ago the skies were empty. Fifteen years ago the whole country was grounded though the foundation had been ripped from beneath our feet.

Fifteen years ago my eyes scanned the plane-less sky and struggled to understand how quickly life had changed. Today planes are in the sky, but I feel the same restless bewilderment.

A bag of groceries sits on the seat beside me as I drive. Feeding those I love lets me feel useful in my helplessness. I watch the plane until it dips out of sight. I pull into the driveway and unload the groceries. I head to the kitchen to chop and mix, to sauté, to layer and bake.

Fifteen years ago everything changed . . . and nothing changed. Fifteen years ago we recoiled at humanity’s hatred, but the venom burns through us as hotly as ever.

We forget because it hurts to remember. We remember because it hurts to forget.

Fifteen years. And counting.

 

 

4 Comments