When I sit down to write my column, I draw on experiences in my life and hope they connect with you as a reader. I describe my writings as Erma Bombeck-like, a humor/slice-of-life commentary (and then have to explain who Erma Bombeck was to anyone younger than myself), but I hope you have felt that I am honest and as open as privacy allows.
This week I have been grappling with a sense of helplessness, of grief, of profound anger. The news out of Parkland, Florida was too real, too close to my reality, to ignore. The thing I have learned about myself is that I hate feeling helpless. I have to turn that impotence into action, that emptiness into doing something.
I don’t consider this political, because I’ve had to consider how to try to keep 3- and 4-year-olds quiet in a 10-by-10-foot darkened bathroom in a “run, hide, fight” scenario. I’ve had to listen to a middle-schooler tell me how she hid in the boys’ locker room while helicopters circled overhead. Parents shouldn’t have to kiss a kid goodbye in the morning and hope they’ll be safe; teachers shouldn’t have to plan how to use their bodies as shields to protect their students. Period.
Maybe the following letter is still a hollow gesture – I recognize that words can feel empty when you are grieving – but short of gathering these children and their parents and teachers in my arms, this is what I can do.
Stoneman Douglas High School
5901 Pine Island Road
Parkland, FL 33076
February 19, 2018
Dear students and faculty,
I am a mother to an 18-year-old daughter and a 15-year-old son, and I work in a special-needs preschool class in Windsor, CA. Your experience has touched me on a personal level, half a continent away and I wanted to reach out to all of you with a hug … so this is the next best thing.
There are events in life that leave a permanent mark in who you are, at a visceral level; the tragedy at your school – and so many others before it – will remain a touchpoint forever as a midline between Before and After. There will always be a unique connection to your fellow survivors, because they, too, know the event at a bone-deep level. You share a sorrow and an anger that can never be denied.
I hope that you can accept the sorrow. Accept the anger. They are valid, and they are part of the healing process. But also, I hope that you accept help. Accept hugs, and know that there is healing in the giving and the receiving. Accept that while experiences in life shape you, ultimately, you have control over how the final form that shaping will take place. Know that you will turn the feelings of helplessness into action, whether by speaking out, or simply taking a walk and noticing the sunlight on leaves dancing in the breeze.
I hope that you know there will be more moments that will impact you as you move forward, with many more good than bad. There will be triumphs of being accepted to a college, or landing a job, or someone saying yes to a date.
There will be births – children, grandchildren, family members. There will be laughter, there will be joy, and there will be feelings of deep contentedness, because these are the quiet pleasures of life. When sorrow does touch you, I hope that you find ears to listen, shoulders to lean on, and hope and comfort in loving support systems.
The world over grieves with you. We are sending you healing light, and surrounding you with love and hope. We join you in “never again” and we join you in the cry of “enough.” We will lift you up in our thoughts and prayers, but we will put action behind them and join you to change the world.
Hugs,
Juliana LeRoy
Juliana LeRoy wears many hats, including wife, mother, paraeducator and writer. She can be spotted around Windsor gathering material, or reached at ml****@so***.net.
