Choose one

Each morning I wake up and for a moment I feel the joy of a new day. But all too quickly my throat tightens, and I remember what is happening here. Many people don’t have the grace of that moment. They can’t for a second forget the loss they have suffered this week.

What we know about this mass shooting is bad enough, but what’s worse, is that every day we find out more people have died. There is no digesting this news when more and more grief is added to this meal of sorrow.

Whether you have a connection to the tragedy or not, you feel this tightening, this sense of helplessness that hangs like a shroud over your eyes and heart when death and loss fill every day.

Everyone is looking for something they can do to help. It’s not within our power to bring back the people that have died but we can honour their memory. There are a lot of suggestions on what we can do to move through the grieving process —social media tributes, candles in the window, and monetary donations to the families left behind.

But one thing I know from life experience, is that no matter how much we want to help, for those of us not directly impacted by this tragedy, in the months and years to come, this tragedy will fade. And although now we say we want to remember the names of the victims, not the perpetrator, it is his name we will remember when we think of this horrible event in the years to come.

That is not because we want to remember the shooter but because the human mind can’t remember so many separate pieces of information—not without trying. Phone numbers are seven digits long because seven discrete pieces of information is what our brains can handle. We can’t remember all the names of those lost to this tragedy.

Recently I read something that, at the time, I thought I had no use for—it was a suggestion that in the instance of some mass shooting, natural disaster or terrorist attack- you choose one name to remember. When there are 10s, 100s or 1000s of victims it is difficult to remember the people behind the numbers, so choose one and remember them every day.

Choose one name and say it, write it, read it each day. Pick a time, perhaps when you first wake up, your first coffee of the day, or when you lay down to sleep—but choose a time to remember and do it every day.

I will choose one person and find out one fact about this person to remember them by. I will repeat it every day and I will not think of this person as a victim, because surely that is not how they would like to be remembered. I will think of them as the person who embodied this fact—did this job, played this instrument, was a daughter, son, mother, or father.

I will say the name, read the name, write the name --of a person I never knew. That person will be who I always remember when the anniversary of this horrible tragedy comes around year after year.

I will remember them every day and keep their name alive because it’s the one thing I can do.

Emily Tuck—fiddle player.

Condolences

I was asked to come and cover this reception and memories of Raymond Delorey today. Raymond died last week at the age of 59; an active, vibrant man still working and living life to the fullest.

Before I have even seen the family; I'm feeling the miniature eruptions of grief within me,

I'm not good at facing death with a stiff upper lip and I am not sure why we should. I think it may be better to cry freely at our losses.

Every time I hear of a death-even one that only touches my life in a very small way-it opens up the wounds of every loss I have ever incurred and makes me think of the grief that I know the family is suffering.

This man; father, husband, grandfather and friend to many, died suddenly and unexpectedly. It's never easy to deal with grief and being here in the capacity of work hasn't made it any more so.

I feel crushed and as the people who attended the funeral begin to enter the hall- I can't look at them without swallowing tears for what they have lost.

I really don't know how I'm going to do my job today.

Later...

As I sat getting ready to listen to the eulogy someone I knew asked me where I was working these days and I in turn told her what I was doing and in what capacity I was at the service. She suggested that I could talk to the older gentleman I was seated next to; he had worked with Raymond for over 40 years.

A few minutes after I turned on the tape both the man and myself were crying and I just had to turn it off. I said, “ I just can't do this job today.”

The woman asked me if I had known Raymond well; I get so upset at these events it would be an easy assumption to make, but in fact knew him but in passing. I know his daughter, his wife, his daughter-in-law, his grandchildren- but also just as acquaintances. 

My grief is for them; for the place that is now and forever vacant in their lives. I know that loss and nothing makes it better- you just learn to live with part of your soul amputated.