Working through Grief

I am deeply sorry for the victims and their families in Oregon. I am also mad as hell. As I try to comprehend what has happened, again and again, I find it harder to cope.

It’s more than a political issue. It’s more than finding better ways to help people with mental illness. It’s more than how the media portrays it and how we react.

I don’t have the answers, but I know this complacency we have settled into isn’t enough.

Writing is my sanctuary. I am not much of a poet, but this was in my heart. I hope to share with you, through my writing, my grief, fear, and anger. It’s the only way I know how.


I see my face in all the victims

Splattered blood spreads but I’m not sure from where

Might as well be mine

As it happens all the time.

No action speaks louder than broken promises

Thoughts and prayers go devoted to unknown people

Families grieve and we say sorry

I try to sleep but I’m full of worry.

These are our children we raise to be good

Greeting the world with their heads down in this land of the free

Bang, a loud noise hangs in the air

It was nothing this time but I’m covered in tears.

Watching a movie, the darkness suffocates and shadows loom

Sitting in class, the doors remain shut and locked

Running down the street, feet hit pavement with trepidation

Praying, whatever our beliefs may be, for a spark of salvation.

When it happens in front of us we preach love

When it happens to one, it happens to all, and we seek love

When people are different than us we neglect love

Then we wonder how others can destroy love.

Another night, another headline flickers across the screen

Sorrow for the victims, anger towards the committer, emotions stimulated

Fear coils and lingers within, but so does complacency, ridiculing us all

How many more until we hear the call?

If we put guns in the hands of the perpetrators

The blood of the victims is on our hands

For all those who have been slaughtered

These scars cannot be washed away by soap and water.