Grief

Grief goes hand in hand with helplessness.
Anger. Questioning. Doubting. Healing. Action.

From my crisis training, I know the worst thing you can tell someone who
is grieving is "I know how you feel" or "I understand."

Everyday I make sure to look at the Yahoo headlines just to get a glimpse
at what is going on. Today what caught my attention was a bombing in Spain.
To the best of my knowledge things like this don't happen in Spain just like
I used to think they didn't happen here. These are not guerilla torn countries.
These are not places where every other week there is a bus bombing.

One of my friends is Spanish and I needed to check that her parents were
okay and not traveling near Madrid. They weren't. They were safe in the Canary
Islands. She's not sure about friends and acquaintances.
I always think 'no news is good news.' Bad news travels fast.

I've also been reading a few Spanish blogs, one in particular.
I checked in hoping the author didn't have bad news. He doesn't seem to.

Other than that there is nothing to do. Helplessness. Prayer.
Prayer for those affected to find peace in their hearts and minds.

I know how I felt three days after my birthday in 1995, which was also Easter Sunday.
Easter -> Celebration -> Renewal.
My best friends were visiting because I had moved away. I had my family, my friends.
We were celebrating. We were happy.

April 19, 1995 - The Oklahoma City Bombing
My mother and I were out shopping that morning. We thought we felt an earthquake.
But this was Oklahoma, not known for earthquakes. Someone said a gas main had
exploded. We went about our business. When we got home, we walked in to a ringing
phone. There were so many calls from family and friends wanting to know we were okay.
It was not registering. We turned on the TV. We saw. We were speechless. We cried.
My Spanish friend had been in that same area the day before. What if she had been
there that day...
In those days, I worked at a convenience store. After the bombing I did not see some
of the regular faces I would see every day. I didn't know them, but I knew their faces
and they were gone.
To this day, I am not able to visit the memorial that they built for the victims.

September 11, 2001 - World Trade Center/Pentagon
My morning alarm is the radio. In those days, I used to listen to this particular radio
station that pushed the envelope with their jokes. They said something about a plane
hitting a building. In my semi-sleep, I thought that joke was sick. Then they said
something about a second plane. I remember calling them a**holes and telling myself
I was not going to listen to them and their stupid jokes from that day forward.
Just as I was going to shut off the radio, they said it again. That is when I knew it was
not a joke. I turned on the TV. I saw. I was speechless. I cried. I wanted to be with
my family. It was my turn to call my friends and find out if they were okay. They were.
Two calls are still very vivid, the one to my father and the one to D.

These two events changed me. As cliche as it may sound, they took some of my
innocence. Introduced fear. Reminded me that I am not immortal. Reminded me that
nothing is guaranteed. Made me want to tell people I love that I love them.

"Life goes on." "Tiempo al tiempo." I get caught up with my goals, my life.

And then I get a reminder, like Madrid.