Ever since I heard the newscasts about the killings in Orlando, it feels like a part of my being can’t help but reach out to the broken hearts of each and every parent being forced to learn what unimaginable really means. I try not to lean into their unspeakable pain too much, but my mind keeps repeating…I am just so very sorry!
As I watched the media coverage in the days and weeks after, I could not help but notice how quickly the 49 victims — each one unique and special as we humans tend to be — disappeared under the noise and political power of group labels.
That is not to say we should never use generalization in reporting or discussions surrounding unimaginable events. There is often a greater community or societal good that comes from the worst of tragedies — which by the way REALLY sucks and speaks poorly to our intelligence — but to the grieving parent, labels such as LGBTQ or even more innocuous ones such as teenagers (as in my case), can shift public thinking away from frightening unspeakable loss of life to the much safer political or social viewpoint which quite frankly, does not come close to the heart and soul of what happened on June 11, 2016 for those forced to live with that truth.
When Kalei was killed, along with 4 sons and another daughter, at first I did not appreciate the fact that a group death tends to be presented and viewed by the regular universe as, well, a group rather than by individual. It wasn’t until a month or so later, when I was able to pay more attention to the regular universe, that I began to appreciate the fact that while I continued to feel a kind of distance based pain for the other children’s parents sorrow, my grief, the real rip your heart and soul out of your chest kind of anguish, was focused 100% on my child. The ‘group’ of the car crash had long since disappeared and I hated it when Kalei’s name and individuality became lost when people spoke of her death as being part of a group via words like ‘the crash’.
Each and every person killed in that nightclub share one thing in common…they are all sons or daughters. Those are titles not labels and unlike labels, which often change or fade in time, titles are with us forever; it the same with given names.
I have to tell you my spirit smiled last week when I was out shopping and came across a magazine cover with the names of each and every person whose life ended at the hands of another. As I stood there saying each name out loud, it did not matter to me if that person was old, young, gay, not gay, happy, sad, tall, short, have children, don’t have children, married, not married, etc., for I only knew them as someone’s son or daughter.
In that moment, not only did I feel like I was honoring their life, death and spirit but the lives of their parents and loved ones who face and long and difficult grieving journey. While distance and lack of interaction prevents me from personally giving the gift of saying their child’s name and asking that parent to share the story of their son’s or daughters life and death (if they so wish), for those of you not faced with that restriction, please, please, please, find it in your hearts to do both…forever. While tears may occasionally fall, their hearts will always be smiling and ever so grateful.
