The Summer of Grief
This summer will hereby be known as The Summer of Grief from here on out. A brutal summer. In fact, I currently feel black and blue, emotions assaulted over and over again. I can't make sense of any of it.
Its the summer our beloved mountains burned... the summer our grandmother was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer, after suffering from a stroke and heart attack... and most recently, a movie massacre taking place in a town just 45 minutes from us, a place numerous family and friends call home. I almost added the word finally to that sentence, but my fear is that there is still six weeks of summer left and who knows where that'll take us.
Every time I feel like I've exhausted my supply of tears, a new event unfolds. I cried watching flames come over ridges. I cried watching a neighborhood in Colorado Springs be destroyed. I cried at the news of Grandma's cancer, then again as I realized there's a new normal where she's concerned. And this morning I cried as the anchor shared a story of a husband and wife at one hospital, while their 7-year-old daughter was taken to another hospital. All victims of gunshot wounds, at the hands of a mad man.
Some of these situations have affected me directly, some indirectly. I'm not sure it matters. Feeling helpless as a fire rages through mountains and homes is no different than feeling helpless to stop cancer's growth. A night at the movies turned nightmare feels no more senseless than knowing some in the community watched their homes burn on the newscasts. A loss of innocence has been felt across the nation. I'm not sure I'll ever feel completely safe stepping into a movie theater again. I know for sure that I'll be looking for exit signs the minute we sit down.
I am officially over this summer. It has given us a beating that no one should have to endure. Its horrifying to see such devastating news associated with this state of ours. I honestly feel like a battle is being waged and though I'm sure we'll all come out stronger in the end, we need a break. I'm ready for this summer of grief to end.