A War on Hope

This week is hard. The senseless, random murder of nineteen beautiful young children and their two teachers who died trying to save them hits deep. I use murder rather than massacre because massacre, although accurate, feels too general in context. The word murder, for me at least, personalizes each individual cold-blooded act of killing, each individual thought/ decision made by the killer to shoot that child or adult. 

The murder of innocent 10 and 11-year-old children at school, a place we once considered the safest place for our children, is an unfathomably dark act.  It hits hard and deep into the psyche, into the core of hope, resiliency, and optimism that I have always considered myself well-armed with. My inadequate grasp of the agony, hopelessness, depression and trauma, along with the lifelong damage inflicted on the surviving families, children, teachers, first responders, and community amplifies the impact. On the heels of the shooting murders in Buffalo a week ago, the feeling is of a repetitive, Matrix-like series of “gut punches” to the soul. 

This morning I spotted a phrase while reading through a pile of daily news and feeds. The phrase, “Hope is Hard Work”, was the title of a note from Rosalie Whitlock, Ph.D., the CEO of the Children’s Health Council. 

As a member of a wonderful team at nView committed to improving mental healthcare, her words resonated and I have quoted excerpts below:

“Our work often draws people who feel deeply, and believe fiercely in the power of hope. But we are also human. And hope is hard work these days.”

“It is not always easy to maintain optimism, but, as author-activist Mariame Kaba says, 'hope is a discipline.' There are always reasons to be hopeful. There is still so much good in the world and so many people who are working to make our communities a better place. It is going to take tenacity and resilience, but we owe it to ourselves–and to our kids–to remain diligent in our fight for change.”

I don’t know Rosalie personally, but I want to thank her. Her words helped me today. I hope they help you. Words matter. This week is hard. This week hurts and will continue to hurt. It should. I am far from okay, and I am very okay with that. The feelings are fuel and motivation for change. The feelings are a reminder of my humanity and the responsibility that comes with that gift.  A gift that was cruelly denied to innocent children this week. As Rosalie says, we owe it to our children and ourselves to be resilient, tenacious, and to fight for change.

Please take good care of yourselves and of each other, now more than ever. You are so very worth it.