June 12, 2016. My clock radio wakes me to news of a terrible tragedy in Orlando, Florida: the worst mass murder in US history, fifty people killed, as many injured. A hate crime committed by a terrorist. Oh, my god!
The story is everywhere—TV, radio, Facebook, and Twitter. The whole country is listening. We’re angry and sad, competing with each other to express how angry and sad we are.
Driving down the quiet streets on my way to church, the story of the massacre is on my car radio. I listen for a while and then switch to Corinne Bailey Rae.
It’s a special day at church, a Baccalaureate Mass for the school’s graduating eighth graders. They sit in the front rows in their blue robes, their hair neatly cut and combed. Father talks about their futures. He asks them to turn to the congregation, and we clap.
After Mass, I tie on my tennis shoes and drive to my sister’s house. We have lunch together at a Vietnamese restaurant and then drive to Green Lake, an almost-three-mile path around a beautiful little lake. A Seattle favorite.
We join the walkers and runners, the cyclists and skaters. Today it’s mostly walkers. Out on the lake, a sailboat takes advantage of a gentle breeze; a crew practices rowing. The weather is perfect, 69oF.
Because it’s an election year, my sister and I find ourselves talking about another election year as we walk: 1968. We remember the Democratic primary that year when the anti-war candidates won 80% of the votes, and yet, Hubert Humphrey, who didn’t run in a single primary, won the nomination. (Talk about a rigged election…) We remember the shock of the My Lai massacre in which 500 Vietnamese villagers, mostly women, children, and old men, were killed by American soldiers. With tears in our hearts we remember the assassinations of Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy. In 1968, we elected the man who would get caught up in the Watergate scandal, Richard Nixon.
“Wow!” my sister says. “Nineteen sixty eight was a really bad year.”
I stop so quickly, a man with a big dog nearly runs me down. “No,” I say. “It was a great year. It was the year my daughter, C, was born.”
My sister nodded. “Nineteen sixty-eight was the year I studied in Spain,” she says. “It was the best year of my life.”
We stop talking about politics and comment on the cute babies in strollers, the man balancing on a tightrope, and the geese at the edge of the lake.
We stop so I can photograph a heron.
We comment on the dogwoods, which have been especially lush this year.
The massacre in Orlando was indeed horrendous. All week we’ve been gazing at the photos of young men and women whose lives were snuffed out. Ended too soon and without reason. We grieve for them and their families and friends. In years to come, we’ll remember this tragedy along with all the other tragedies of our time.
And yet, each day and each year of our lives is more than the terrible events that happened during that day or year. We would be remiss if we saw only the evil and not the good, if we took time to grieve but neglected to love and enjoy the beauty and goodness of the world.
Thank you for reminding us of the beauty in the world.
Terror and horror can hardly be ignored. Beauty sits quietly, waiting for us to notice.
Love this post and a timely, yet classic reminder. I remember when 9/11 happened and having a panic attack over the phone with a friend. She wisely advised me, “People die everyday.” That kind of shook me out of my grief and put things in perspective. I think we have a tendency to over-grieve in these cases, if I can say that without sounding insensitive. It’s not that we can’t truly feel sorrow, but alongside this, we live and keep moving on. We have to.
When we experience a personal tragedy, I think we feel constrained about expressing our grief around other people who are unaffected and therefore have no reason to grieve. We don’t want to impose our sadness on them. But when there’s a national tragedy, even though we’re not as seriously and personally affected, the shared pain intensifies our feelings of sadness.
Regarding 9/11, I suppose a statistician would tell us that more people died that year in other ways–I don’t know, maybe in car accidents or suicides or drug overdoses. So your friend was right, people die everyday. On the other hand, 9/11 was so shocking and crazy and sad. So totally unprecedented and scary.
I, too, can remember the 1968 election. It was the first time I was old enough to vote for President, and when I went to bed election night, the news was wondering when Nixon would concede–I woke up the next morning and Nixon was the new president! I was so upset!
I didn’t remember the whole thing. I knew I wanted McCarthy to win, but I didn’t remember that whole thing about Humphrey getting the nomination without running in a single primary. That was weird. There was a lot going on in the late sixties. The early sixties were calm by comparison.
I love your outlook on life, Nicki. It’s all about perspective.
Thank you so much, Carol. What are all those year worth if not to gain a little perspective on life?
Such a well expressed and timely post, Nicki
Thank you, Derrick. When my sister said that 1968 had been the best year of her life, I thought, I just have to write about this.
This is a beautiful post Nicki. I so agree that the world can be both incredibly beautiful and incredibly awful in the same moment.
Thank you, Chi. It’s a cliche to say it, but the dark days really do help us appreciate the sunny days.
Keeping things in perspective is wisdom, Nicki. I’m glad you spent the day “your way.”
Ah, wisdom. Here’s something from Confucius found on Brainy Quote: By three methods we may learn wisdom: First, by reflection, which is noblest; Second, by imitation, which is easiest; and third by experience, which is the bitterest.
There’s only so much pain and trauma a human can hold. If you don’t stop to exhale the horror, or to marvel at the cloud your breath makes on crisp winter days, you’ll suffocate on the endless suffering.
But, my God, sometimes it is so very hard to remember to breathe and see the beauty.
Throughout most of human history, people only heard about the suffering of their fellow villagers. That was a normal amount of pain and trauma to hold. Now we know what’s happening on the other side of the country or even the other side of the world, and we see it up close–their blood, their screams of pain, the tears of the survivors. It’s all caught on someone’s cell phone and sent out to the world. Isn’t this some kind of overload? I think we should be excused for walking away from it sometimes.
All the comments evoke a feeling of shared emotion or belief with me. There are always sad people around. If it makes them happy (from my own experience), enjoy! Others have moved on, they are still hanging with the same crowd and singing to the same tune!
One of our challenges in life is to be able to empathize with the tragedies of others and at the same time to find joy in living. Don’t be afraid to look at the bad, but don’t let the good pass you by.
It is terrible what is happening in this world. Events like these just goes to show there is hate within our communities…and sometimes it is hard to change these sentiments. It is nice to read though that you were able to go about your weekend last week, though it did sound the tragedy wasn’t far from your mind. You can never be too careful with oneself these days.
Even though the tragedy may be far away, we care, and we feel obliged to care. But I think one of our biggest obligations as a human being is to appreciate the life we’ve been given, which means to appreciate the good things all around us. Be grateful.
Well said, Nicki. What happened was indeed awful and sad. You’re right though, as is Kate Crimmins. We need to seek out what’s good. I haven’t heard any good news lately. We all need that too.
I’m trying to think of some good news to share with you, Linda. There’s lots of it out there, but it seldom makes the national news. The twelve girls found in a house in PA. That’s a bad news/good news story. I do find good news on my Facebook feed–not national news, but still good news. My friends are celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary. Jill Weatherholt tells about two birds who have been fighting all day, now sitting down and having a meal together. A man saves a dog standing on top of a spillway. Small good news stories.
Most people are afraid we will forget but we don’t. The first traumatic experience is always the one we remember most. For me it was John Kennedy’s death. I was in school and this was the most horrific thing that I had any memory of happening. 9/11 was indeed awful. I was at work at the time and it was the age before constant cell phone use. I didn’t hear about it until an hour or two later. Maybe the difference was that I was an adult at the time and already knew bad things happen. We can’t let these things mark our lives. We are resilient. We must continue to seek out the good. Each year has good stuff happening.
For me, it was also the assassination of President Kennedy. I was walking down the stairs in the Liberal Arts Building at Seattle Univ. when another student told me. I spent the rest of that day and the next with my friends, crying in our dorm rooms. No, we don’t forget. When the tragedy is farther removed from our personal lives, resilience is easier. But it’s also possible for those personally affected, and that’s what we hope for them–resilience and healing so they can enjoy all the good things.