It’s been a while since I’ve felt a sense of numbing shame.
It’s been a while since I’ve felt so uncertain about who I am, what I want, and what’s important. But I’ve recently learned that everything I’ve come to place in priority isn’t a priority. Not in the least bit.
Grades. Finals. College. That’s all that has been on my mind, lately. Nothing seemed more important than getting the score I needed to prove my worth–to prove that I made the right choice. Nothing seemed more important to rising up to family expectations, and then exceeding those expectations.
I took too many things for granted. I thought I had it figured out: complete undergrad, finish medical school, survive residency, and cure all the mental problems as the world’s most successful psychiatrist. Fix society’s problems. Help save humanity. Own a dog.
I lived for the future.
But those kids…those kids, those teachers, those faculty members…they lived for the future in a different way. They lived for the future by living in the moment, thinking in the moment, loving in the moment. They did what I would not have had the guts to do. They are–and for several, were–braver than I could ever hope to be.
I spent a lot of time wondering, Who could have done this? Why would he do this? How could he do this? But now I think…I think that doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter who, or why, or how. What matters is that it happened. What matters is that 25 innocent people were killed in what would be the most innocent location in existence. What matters is that several of the deceased died as heroes, sacrificing their lives for others. What matters is that those who survived worked together, cried together, coped together.
What matters is that we as a society do not forget.
Do not forget what America has lost: its heroes, its dreamers, its innocence.
Do not forget what America has rekindled: its unity, its compassion, its love for life.
Do not forget what America stands for.
Do not forget what humanity stands for.
Everything else is unnecessary.
Do not bother to remember the name of the murderer. He does not deserve a place in our thoughts.
Do not bother to figure out his motives. We may never get an answer, and our efforts could be spent elsewhere.
Do not bother to blame it on the degradation of humanity. We saw the extremes of both good and evil on Friday. Don’t insult those who sacrificed their lives because of the sociopathic tendencies of a few.
But even still, knowing this, thinking this, believing this–it’s a lot to take in. It’s overwhelming, but not the kind where I hyperventilate and jump up and down trying to relieve the stress. It’s the sense of overwhelming akin to being slowly dipped in ice. Overwhelmingly numb.
I know that I will feel like this for at least awhile. Maybe another day. Maybe a few more. It’s almost suffocating, but I feel that if I resist, then I won’t be able to fully embrace the lesson that was taught on Friday morning: good and evil exist in tandem. One cannot be without the other. We cannot appreciate one without the other–much like we cannot appreciate life until we see other come face-to-face with death.
To the victims of Sandy Hook Elementary School, please rest in peace.
