When I do, I am always repulsed, disturbed, or traumatized
in some way. It’s like hearing the
digest version of the worst things to happen—in our city, state, country,
world—in the last 24 hours. Sure,
there is the occasional lighthearted piece, the weather, sports, but… none of
that outweighs the constant onslaught of terrible news.
This means I miss lots of “news.” But there was no way to miss what happened this past Friday
at Sandy Hook Elementary School. I
am grateful this news did not make itself known to me until after I was done
substitute teaching in a K-2 classroom for the day. In fact, there wasn’t a whisper of what had transpired
anywhere in the teacher’s lounge, hallways, or office. Sometimes ignorance is bliss.
But now… I can’t stop thinking about what happened. I’ve cried a bucket of tears in the
last three days. I had a
ridiculously hard time dropping Eli off at preschool today, lingering on the
playground, hugging him too many times, zipping his coat a little higher,
messing with his hat, asking him if he was okay (he was, of course), just not
wanting to step away.
Because once again the blind faith we put out into the world
when we leave our children behind has been rattled, to the core. Because we all know what happened could
happen anywhere, anytime. Because
we all know that losing a child is our worst nightmare, period.
This tragedy brings up all manner of difficult, complex, and
emotionally-charged discussions. I
could write for days about gun control.
About the need for readily available mental health care. About the fact that we as a society are
failing our children.
These are all important discussions, and they are happening
all around us. This is a start.
But I have to go back to where I started. I don’t watch the news. This means I gather my news from the
internet. Not that it’s any more
reliable or less sensational, but at least I have some control over what I
choose to read and can avoid the visual aspect traditional news brings along
with it (in my mind, an added layer of trauma).
I have been careful not to read too much about this tragedy,
as it only serves to overwhelm me further. Saturday morning as we sat around the table eating breakfast
as a family, I couldn’t stop tearing up, was repeatedly overtaken by a
suffocating mix of emotions: grief, anger, sadness, relief, helplessness,
despair, all-encompassing love.
Still, I have been following this story, part of the
incessant need to “understand” how someone could do something so unimaginable
to any reasonable mind. It’s
foolish, because there is nothing that could be revealed to help me
understand anything about this.
So when I clicked on the latest story I wasn’t expecting
(why, I don’t know) to be met with specifics detailing how the children were
killed. And these
nightmare-inducing details were just simply released out to the public, as
though we are somehow owed this information. As though we somehow want to know this information.
Another layer of trauma.
Can we have a discussion about the role of media? About their duty to the public and the
instances where discretion might be in the best interests of the public? I don’t care how many CSI-type shows
you watch or how desensitized people have become to violence, what good is
going to come of describing in great detail how these children were gunned
down?
It’s not about me, though I would certainly prefer not to
know these things. I am an adult,
long out of my youthful school days (though my current job finds me back in
that setting). I have accrued the
wisdom, maturity and emotional strength to handle most of what the media
decides to throw at me. Children,
however, are infinitely more sensitive to details such as these. And guess what? They’re on the internet, too.
I can’t speak to what is being shown / talked about on
television since I have avoided it, though I imagine these grim details are
being played out there as well.
What are we doing to our children? How do we expect them to feel safe, to want to go to school,
when we are so thoughtlessly painting a terrifying picture for them? I don’t think we need to keep children
in the dark, but no child needs to hear these kinds of details. In fact, no one needs to hear these
details. It certainly brings no
comfort to the poor families who have lost their children.
No, all it does is underscore the depth of this young man’s
diseased mind (I refuse to type his name—we need to stop giving these monsters
their celebrity). And the callousness
of the media.
Like I said, there are any number of difficult discussions
happening around us. In many
instances I feel helpless, the what-can-I-do-to-make-it-better quandary I often
find myself in. Here’s a
start: Turn off your TV. Stop clicking on every story about the
tragedy. I know it’s hard. There’s an allure to this shared
experience, a reassurance that you’re not the only one crying buckets of tears,
not the only one who is heartbroken, or furious, or sad. Let’s do this: Turn to your friends,
neighbors and loved ones and start talking. Start noticing the children in your life that may need a
little extra love and help. As
hard as this is for us as adults, we need to make sure that our children are
doing okay, too.
I, for one, do not have the first clue how to talk to kids
when it comes to tragedies like this.
But I’m (reluctantly) learning.
One of my friends posted a link if you need some help in this area,
developed after the Virginia Tech shooting (thanks, Shane). Go here for more information. Let’s be there for each other right
now, friends.
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