I've struggled a lot on whether or not to write about this. I've struggled a lot on what I was going to say. I've just plain struggled. And now I'm just sad. I can't think of a reason why I shouldn't write about this, and I'm almost at a loss for words but I firmly believe this is something that needs to be written, needs to be remembered. So here goes.
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On Sunday, we woke up to a different world. One distinctly missing the presence of five, and the blue and white of Facebook made it seem like a joke. It wasn't real, because one didn't equal five and one couldn't take away five, could it? Scrolling and scrolling and then the texts came in, fast and furiously and then all I felt was my little sister's tears, hot and heavy on my bare shoulders and all I could hear was "Whywhywhy?" The words melded together and became one and everything melded together, and became one.
Death is hard to wrap one's hear around, in any context. Untimely death is even harder to wrap one's head around, death so violent and purposeful, that it leaves a hole where you once had skin, organs, bones. My sister was born in 2000. So were they. She was purple and squishy; I thought she was an alien, but still tentatively handed her the stuffed elephant I had. She was a baby. She is a baby. They were babies. They were someone's baby. They will be babies, always. Babies, purple and squishy and new to the world. Just babies.
I keep thinking that this isn't real because one is never supposed to be able to cancel out five; I learned that in first grade, maybe earlier. We rely on the rationalities of every day life during times that make no sense to us but I can't seem to reconcile one with five and they can't equal each other and how can this be happening, how can this be happening?
Tragedy is a natural disaster that doesn't pick and choose-- it resonates. Facebook wasn't a good enough conveyor of how much this hurt, but it was the only thing we had, the only thing we knew how to do. Our hearts, so young and unaccustomed to tragedy and now so, so heavy, didn't know what else to do. So we shared, and we hoped it conveyed how much it hurt.
It still isn't real. I went to the vigil, I sat in the freezing cold and sobbed silently as paper lanterns light up the sky. I've read their obituaries. I saw where it happened. I've talked and talked, I've hugged, I've texted and I've taken stock. I've shared, and shared, and shared, and I'm keeping my candles lit. But it's not real. How could this be real, this awful and horrible thing that should never have happened? How could people so new to the world already no longer be in it? How could one second be the deciding factor, the vessel that carried them away? It doesn't add up. It never will.
And in this moment, a community is aching. Our hearts will never quite be whole. No one will ever really be right. And that is part of it. We will never really be right again. We will find ways to live because what else is there to do, but we will never be really right again. We came together, thousands of us at the drop of a hat, and many more who wanted to but couldn't, and we were there for each other. As much as anyone could be in that moment, we were there. I have never felt more alone, or more connected to such a large group, as I felt when I watched those paper lanterns go up. I don't know if that all-body ache, concentrated at my heart, will ever be as painful as it was that night. I don't know if I'll ever feel the cold pierce me as much as it did. I don't know if I'll ever not feel the cold as much as I did. I don't know if I will ever be that numb, that sad, that brokenhearted for so many people at once.
I do know that you were so loved, that you are so loved. I do know that I will remember the way it felt, the way you felt. I will remember that five will still always be five, no matter if one tries to take it away or not. Five, will always be five.
"Blue, blue windows behind the stars,
Yellow moon on the rise,
Big birds flying across the sky,
Throwing shadows on our eyes,
Leaves us,
Helpless, helpless, helpless."
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