Years later and I'm still moved to inaction by this time of year, still unable to shake it from my bones. My heart senses the shift in time and reminds my soul that once again, it's here.
The deaths of those amongst us are marks upon our lives. We still wear the imprint of young death, heavy in our eyes and in our voices, even for a few moments a year. It taught all of us who bore witness that life is fragile and our legacies are much more of a present, rather than future, matter.
It is often this time of year, a few weeks into January that I am reminded. I am listless, fatigued without reason. I am quick to cry and fall ill, if only in my heart. It creeps up before my mind even puts the pieces together. My body, scarred with the memory, reverts before I catch on. Eleven years later I am still haunted by the images of those weeks, tear stains on green blazers, the grey carpet of my classmates floor, how cold the ground was through my leather shoes in February.
It's taken work to get from there to here. Where trust was hard to muster and keeping a stoic exterior my suit of armour, I have slowly learned to let the light in through the chinks, along with the people. I'm not close to being good at it but I've found someone who's strong enough to trust that I can only get better. What I'm looking for is not pity, I am no victim. What this time of year reminds me is that everyone is marked by some tragedy, it is what makes us human. It can't be covered up or fixed. Scars heal with time but never leave the body in their entirety. Be gentle with yourself and others, you never know what's lurking in the shadows of another's eyes and know that the events that mark our lives as milestones along a road they always do so for some good, never just bad.
The deaths of those amongst us are marks upon our lives. We still wear the imprint of young death, heavy in our eyes and in our voices, even for a few moments a year. It taught all of us who bore witness that life is fragile and our legacies are much more of a present, rather than future, matter.
It is often this time of year, a few weeks into January that I am reminded. I am listless, fatigued without reason. I am quick to cry and fall ill, if only in my heart. It creeps up before my mind even puts the pieces together. My body, scarred with the memory, reverts before I catch on. Eleven years later I am still haunted by the images of those weeks, tear stains on green blazers, the grey carpet of my classmates floor, how cold the ground was through my leather shoes in February.
It's taken work to get from there to here. Where trust was hard to muster and keeping a stoic exterior my suit of armour, I have slowly learned to let the light in through the chinks, along with the people. I'm not close to being good at it but I've found someone who's strong enough to trust that I can only get better. What I'm looking for is not pity, I am no victim. What this time of year reminds me is that everyone is marked by some tragedy, it is what makes us human. It can't be covered up or fixed. Scars heal with time but never leave the body in their entirety. Be gentle with yourself and others, you never know what's lurking in the shadows of another's eyes and know that the events that mark our lives as milestones along a road they always do so for some good, never just bad.
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