My Ticket Out Of Here

Connecticut.  Boston.  West.  That's how it all began to spiral down for me, in that order.  I won't go back and relive the details, as you are probably aware of the recent tragedies.  More aware than maybe you'd like to be, in fact, given our ease of access to information today.  Really, when tragedy strikes, the "ease of access to information" is more like an onslaught of media coverage that morphs into a recurring nightmare from which you cannot wake.  It's overwhelming ... though I remind myself it can't be any worse for me than it is for the victims themselves and the loved ones, families, communities, and towns left to bear their sorrow in the aftermath.  I do not compare my despair to theirs ... I've faced no tragedy yet that has caused me so significant a loss in one fell swoop.

This is only my attempt, virtual as it is, to connect with anyone else out there who might feel like I have felt these last few months.  Just knowing someone else might read this and say, "Yeah, I know how she feels ... " helps me somehow.

Since the Connecticut school shooting, I've been afflicted with dreams that leave me sad when I wake, recurring more often after Boston and West.  They don't come every night, but not knowing when they'll happen is difficult to deal with.  I'll have a few consecutive, better days, and then it happens again.  I wake up trying to comfort myself by grasping for the bed underneath me and searching for the floor to stand on.  Anything tangible, concrete.  Then the rest of the day goes on with a heaviness.  A silent grief inside, released only with deep sighs, because until now I haven't really been able to express it in words.

In the waking hours, I've dealt with my grief by imagining ways I might prepare myself for such an awful occurrence, should it arrive.  Needless to say, the greatest temptation I face at this time is not giving into the depression that comes with my conclusion that I will never be prepared for anything like that.  Creeping in with the depression is a coldness that slowly freezes my heart and maybe even my body, come to think of it, as sleep is the easiest way to entertain that temptress.  I confess to sleeping more than usual lately, only to realize that I sleep because I've allowed the despair to settle in, slow me down and before I know it, I've bowed low to hopelessness instead of freely believing in Hope.  That line of thinking is so far outside of my typical mindset that I understand a little better now what a powerful poison sadness can be.

I'm not trying to preach "positive thinking".  I think that's mostly a crock, anyway.  I believe if you're sad, be sad and don't try to cut it off and act happy.  I'm not "happy", but I've caught my mistake in believing in the hopelessness.  No one asked for these tragedies to happen and I certainly didn't expect to be so affected by them since they didn't happen in my town, or my community, or my home.  But if there's any way I can honor those who did suffer such loss and not allow the tragedy to continue, I need to turn and take up with Hope again.  For me, for us.

Some of my favorite lines of poetry are the last three lines in the lyrics to a song by Mumford & Sons, "Not With Haste".  It's definitely a hopeful song, but I'm taking the last three lines as my ticket out of my own despair.


"Do not let my fickle flesh go to waste
As it keeps my heart and soul in its place
And I will love with urgency but not with haste"


I speak this to God in Heaven, to every particle of the Universe, to my deepest, saddest feelings:

No more will my flesh waste away in sadness and sleep.

 I will let Hope thaw my heart and ignite my soul.

I will love deeply, fervently, with great care.

And I will give others reason to hope in me.