Recovery

I can feel myself coming back. Last week was undoubtedly up there with one of the most challenging. Lance's murder was extremely jarring. I didn't anticipate how much the services would affect me. Typically, these things make me cry, but I leave with a sense of peace and acceptance. This service, full of Lance's family, friends, and teachers, left us all sobbing in heaps on each other. With the death of one so young, with an event so untimely and preventable, only questions remained.

I did learn more about who Lance was today, and it was of great comfort. He was preparing for confirmation, and going to these classes at church each and every Sunday. He'd asked one of his teachers to sponsor him. She spoke with great pride of Lance's faith and commitment. I learned that Lance was walking home after playing video games when he was shot. And I learned that another friend, an employee with the Juvenile Justice Project, will be representing his murderer. His murderer was 15. How much more tragic can this get?

At the service, there were many former students. The bonds between us still so strong. As we cried together, the beauty and importance of teaching was reinforced from the pulpit. Oh yes, we have our work cut out for us. And these kids, no matter how much time passes or where they go, will always be "our kids." I suddenly felt scared for them all. Scared for the baby I'm carrying. Suddenly, the fear of being pregnant became the fear of letting the baby go. Out into this crazy world. I threw everything up for the next two days.

I've found great comfort this week in spending more time with children. My own, and other people's. Just hearing the things they say, or having them ask me for a hug (when I so need one) has been healing. How can one not laugh in the presence of a child?

Ana and El and I have been planting in the garden, and removing old leaves. The days have been so lovely with spring here. I've felt the simple pleasure in the breeze and sunshine, and the longer days spent outside.

Other gifts have been in the form of, well, gifts. My friend Georgia surprised me with a meditation book in the mailbox. About 20 of the pages were dog-eared. Her favorites. The thoughtfulness of this gift is extraordinary to me. Words of comfort, hand-chosen, for me to read when I'm in need of a lift. This is definitely one gift I'll have to pass on.

I'm moving on. But I'm scared to forget. I want to remember that anger, and do something with it. I want people to learn about Lance, and about the countless others who we lump into the heaps of non-news generating murders. I want the courage to keep living in the city I love. A city where there is so much pain, and endless hope.