Rest in Peace
I guess this isn't going to happen tonight. I'm sitting on my couch, feeling awkward, bloated and uncomfortable in my makeshift 2-piece outfit I'd wear if I ever went to Moksha yoga. As if this is my dress rehearsal.
I am feeling so irritated it's not even funny. All day I've been telling myself I'd finally suck it up once and for all and go to yoga. I'm treating it to be more than it is, I don't understand why. Like I'm standing at the foot of a rocky mountain. I want someone to hold my hand and go with me, but I also know I need to do this for myself, on my own, like a big girl.
Truth be told, yoga isn't really what's bothering me at all. I was fine all day until I heard her say: "he shot him in the stomach 5 times."
I haven't cried about it since the memorial. I've been feeling strong, happier than ever as you may have been reading, but suddenly hearing her say those words, trying to relay her own shock of it, sent me into a downward spiral. I knew only moments later I'd have to go and face his classmates, the same group of broken-hearted 11 year olds who sang "Lean on Me" in his honor just a few weeks ago, their faces wet with tears in front of half the school. Another impermeable image in my mind.
I'm referring to the shooting of a little boy who went to the elementary school I work at. His father shot and killed him in December. My closest friends and family know how deeply this story has affected me even though I never had him in a class. I guess it's sort of all coming back right now because up until then I didn't know many details or where the bullets ended up. And I really didn't need to know. It was just kind of said, without considering how others might react to hearing that information. I'm pretty sure I heard a Canadian "eh" at the end of her sentence, as if we'd be interested in pursuing that topic on a sunny Monday afternoon.
My job, although lots of fun most of the time, also entails the daunting task of helping children grieve. It's something I'm trained for, but not something I can ever be truly prepared for or ever hope to do. Especially not in a scenario like this one; a 10 year old, brutally murdered over a custody dispute.
I'll skip most of the details but suffice it to say that it changed my life forever, like it changed the lives of everyone affected. The first few days were the hardest, listening to his peers describe him as their best friend, their teammate, or their valentine. I'd go home and cry for hours, sobbing, feeling so lost and angry, wishing I could take away the pain from those kids, but knowing they have to go through their own process too and believing they'll come out stronger because of it. I saw mostly fear in their eyes. Fear mixed with unfathomable sadness.
I was also in charge of handling the school memorial, which was a lengthy and detailed process, but I know I did him justice in the end and the kids were appreciative. It's just that I lived and breathed this story for so long that when it came up today it caught me off guard and it sent me right back to December. I guess initially I felt angry at the person who brought it up, but how can I be when all of us still can't wrap our minds around this terrible loss; we just try to let it sink in a little more each time it comes up.
It's taught me, or deeply reinforced the idea that life is short. It's precious. It's motivated me to make a lot of changes in my life and to deal with those things I've left undealt with for a long time. He's become a great source of inspiration for me, and I think about him often. I'm still wearing the necklace I wore to his memorial because I haven't been able to take it off as it's brought me so much love and joy. I put it on two weeks before when things were getting really intense as a source of focus and courage, and now two months later, I wear it as a reminder to spread love to those around me, and that love is all around me (It's a heart-shaped pendant). I catch myself clutching it when I'm feeling stressed or worried. It's become a bit of an anchor. I know he is the reason why I'm feeling so committed to this blog and to wellness, and I knew that at some point I would write about him here.
It transformed me. It really was a life-shifting event, it caused a 180 for me, I pivoted, I moved, and am who I am now because of it.
Last night as I was falling asleep I was thinking of the way I used to describe how I felt in my life. I used to write that I felt as though I was in pieces, all scattered about in front of my being, like a puzzle that's toppled over onto the floor. I could see myself there, all over the place, but couldn't figure out how to put myself back together. I wasn't my old self anymore, and knew I hadn't been in a long time.
Now I look in front of me and see the great outdoors. I see so many possibilities. Those pieces I once felt so out of reach from, have been delicately collected, and put back into place. 2 years ago, I didn't think this was possible. I didn't know I could feel this good again. There are still a few shifting around, trying to find a more suitable position, like my desire to do yoga, but that's okay.
I have patience. And I trust the process.
Peace and love,
Katie
I am feeling so irritated it's not even funny. All day I've been telling myself I'd finally suck it up once and for all and go to yoga. I'm treating it to be more than it is, I don't understand why. Like I'm standing at the foot of a rocky mountain. I want someone to hold my hand and go with me, but I also know I need to do this for myself, on my own, like a big girl.
Truth be told, yoga isn't really what's bothering me at all. I was fine all day until I heard her say: "he shot him in the stomach 5 times."
I haven't cried about it since the memorial. I've been feeling strong, happier than ever as you may have been reading, but suddenly hearing her say those words, trying to relay her own shock of it, sent me into a downward spiral. I knew only moments later I'd have to go and face his classmates, the same group of broken-hearted 11 year olds who sang "Lean on Me" in his honor just a few weeks ago, their faces wet with tears in front of half the school. Another impermeable image in my mind.
I'm referring to the shooting of a little boy who went to the elementary school I work at. His father shot and killed him in December. My closest friends and family know how deeply this story has affected me even though I never had him in a class. I guess it's sort of all coming back right now because up until then I didn't know many details or where the bullets ended up. And I really didn't need to know. It was just kind of said, without considering how others might react to hearing that information. I'm pretty sure I heard a Canadian "eh" at the end of her sentence, as if we'd be interested in pursuing that topic on a sunny Monday afternoon.
My job, although lots of fun most of the time, also entails the daunting task of helping children grieve. It's something I'm trained for, but not something I can ever be truly prepared for or ever hope to do. Especially not in a scenario like this one; a 10 year old, brutally murdered over a custody dispute.
I'll skip most of the details but suffice it to say that it changed my life forever, like it changed the lives of everyone affected. The first few days were the hardest, listening to his peers describe him as their best friend, their teammate, or their valentine. I'd go home and cry for hours, sobbing, feeling so lost and angry, wishing I could take away the pain from those kids, but knowing they have to go through their own process too and believing they'll come out stronger because of it. I saw mostly fear in their eyes. Fear mixed with unfathomable sadness.
I was also in charge of handling the school memorial, which was a lengthy and detailed process, but I know I did him justice in the end and the kids were appreciative. It's just that I lived and breathed this story for so long that when it came up today it caught me off guard and it sent me right back to December. I guess initially I felt angry at the person who brought it up, but how can I be when all of us still can't wrap our minds around this terrible loss; we just try to let it sink in a little more each time it comes up.
It's taught me, or deeply reinforced the idea that life is short. It's precious. It's motivated me to make a lot of changes in my life and to deal with those things I've left undealt with for a long time. He's become a great source of inspiration for me, and I think about him often. I'm still wearing the necklace I wore to his memorial because I haven't been able to take it off as it's brought me so much love and joy. I put it on two weeks before when things were getting really intense as a source of focus and courage, and now two months later, I wear it as a reminder to spread love to those around me, and that love is all around me (It's a heart-shaped pendant). I catch myself clutching it when I'm feeling stressed or worried. It's become a bit of an anchor. I know he is the reason why I'm feeling so committed to this blog and to wellness, and I knew that at some point I would write about him here.
It transformed me. It really was a life-shifting event, it caused a 180 for me, I pivoted, I moved, and am who I am now because of it.
Last night as I was falling asleep I was thinking of the way I used to describe how I felt in my life. I used to write that I felt as though I was in pieces, all scattered about in front of my being, like a puzzle that's toppled over onto the floor. I could see myself there, all over the place, but couldn't figure out how to put myself back together. I wasn't my old self anymore, and knew I hadn't been in a long time.
Now I look in front of me and see the great outdoors. I see so many possibilities. Those pieces I once felt so out of reach from, have been delicately collected, and put back into place. 2 years ago, I didn't think this was possible. I didn't know I could feel this good again. There are still a few shifting around, trying to find a more suitable position, like my desire to do yoga, but that's okay.
I have patience. And I trust the process.
Peace and love,
Katie
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