Outlaws and Outsiders

So, quite clearly I’m terrible about writing for my processing. Partly because I’m lazy and mostly because, even though I created this space for me to process my life experiences, I’ve been avoiding that which does not spark joy in me. In hindsight, this was probably not the most thought-out strategy. At least that’s what I’m thinking based on what happened today.

Before we fall too far down this shit hole (it’s not a rabbit hole – this is most definitely a shit hole), I should note that last week marked the one year commemoration of the realization that my sister was truly dying and there would be no intervention other than divine that could change that fact. Consequently, I’m experiencing a pretty extreme fibro-flare while very poorly navigating this rollercoaster that is grief. Now back to our long-winded, poorly told story.

Earlier this afternoon, shortly after 3:00pm I learned about a shooting in my town from my Facebook feed, as my city’s police department updated our community. All I knew immediately was that it was in or near the mall. But I didn’t know which mall. Once I learned, I completely Lost. My. Fucking. Shit.

Side note: A massive adrenaline dump can drive a migraine away. Other side note: it may come back with a vengeance once that dump of adrenaline has been purged.

My sister’s eldest daughter works at THE mall. I was off work unexpectedly to treat a migraine, so I yelled to my husband and informed him. He pulled up the scanner and there were a few thousand listeners. That’s never a good sign. I texted my niece asking her to let me know she was safe, as soon as she was able.

I knew I couldn’t call her because if it was an active shooter situation, I knew she could be hiding and a call could jeopardize her safety. So I sat on my couch bawling hysterically, apologizing to my poor dead sister because I failed her, while listening to the play-by-play on the scanner. The closer they got to her store, the more intense and ugly the crying got. I sat here for roughly 30 minutes crying and listening and begging the universe to protect her – to please keep her safe.

Now, please understand that I am in absolutely NO way downplaying the experiences of the people who were sheltering in place, filled with terror. I am not at all saying my feelings are more important or override or in anyway diminish the experiences of those involved. My feelings are from a purely fucked up mental health failure to deal with my trauma and grief effectively space.

Where I went to mentally, was back to the night my sister died. The night that I told her that I would take care of her kids and keep them safe. The night that she briefly opened her eyes after I told her, and I looked into her eyes and promised her that it was okay to let go because the girls are in good hands. That we would all keep them safe and take care of them. I told her that it was okay to let go.

And this afternoon I was terrified that I’d lied to her.

I was completely lost. I felt sick and there was an excruciating pain at my very core. All I wanted was the hear from my niece telling me she was okay. It felt like forever. I thought about her birth (I was present). I thought about her first sleep-over with Auntie Nana at a month old. I thought about how much I love her and how all I wanted was to hear that she was okay.

I contacted her best friend (who is very much pregnant, by the way) to ask if she’d heard from my niece. It turns out she’d also been listening to the scanner. I am heart-broken over thinking what she must have been feeling hearing everything and not knowing either. On top of normal bestie stress, she has pregnancy hormone stress!

Ultimately, this whole experience for me was less than an hour long and I am completely fucked up over it. If I hurt this badly and I’m one of the “lucky ones” because my loved one made it, this can’t even possibly scratch the surface of how this felt to all of those parents, siblings, friends, and loved ones that have ever experienced the loss of a loved one to gun violence. I have no words…

For my mental health, I’m going to frame this as my sister kept her safe because the rest of us can’t be there every moment in time. I’m going to try NOT to dwell on how much suffocating despair overtook me. I’m going to try NOT to beat myself up over failing to keep her safe – but so far I’m utterly and absofuckinglutely failing in that task.

I’ve only mentally touched on how this whole thing would or could impact my other niece, my sisters youngest. She’s already lost both parents. Her sister is all that’s left of her mother. And that doesn’t dismiss the efforts, kindness, love, and devotion my brother and sister-in-law have gone through to care for our niece. She is in a good home, with arguably and quite literally the kindest members of our family. (They get bonus points because my sister-in-law is for real, legitimately, the nicest person to ever grace this planet).

In case you’re wondering, as I write this, they’re still looking for the shooter, it doesn’t appear to be some mass-shooting attempt scenario, and my niece is home and safe and trying to work through her own adrenaline dump, trauma experience, and such. We were lucky. And it hurts me deeply and brings forth tremendous guilt over it. I am not ungrateful to the universe and whichever entities were involved, not in the slightest. But I am sad for those who don’t get to feel this same sense of relief.

This week has been hard. And exhausting. And overwhelming. And fortunate. And I am grateful.

I’m sure I’ll probably be back to blather on about other commemorative and painful experiences to come. Pretty much, I’m a loose cannon through sometime around July or so.

I hope I don’t implode and completely fuck my life up because I’m too fucking stubborn to face my traumas and pain head-on like a normal fucking human being.

Finger crossed!