Yesterday, in Marysville, WA, a small town just a bit north of us, a 9th grader shot 5 friends he was hanging out with in the cafeteria, then himself.  I suspect you have all heard it – because it became one of those jarring tragedy stories, hitting national news.  For this 14 yo gunman’s last minute of life, i have no explanation.  I realize we all will “try” to understand “why” — as we humans have a need to “order chaos” and that way protect ourselves from the chance it can happen to us.  There will be a new slew of articles about teenagers, guns, mental health, etc.  These are worthy topics.  But I am struck this morning by the last sentence of the New York Times article about this horrific event when it quoted a local pastor who was leading a standing room only crowd through an impromptu gathering .  He said “Where do we go from here?…  I don’t know, but I think it has something to do with loving each other“.

I work at the state’s level one trauma hospital: Harborview.  I heard about this event as I was working in my office and received the blast email update from the administration to expect camera crews, reporters, and police presence as Harborview would be receiving some “high profile patients”.  My office is right by the heliport.  The decibel level and whirling rush of blades is not subtle.. and the frequency of takeoffs and landings pushed their way into my office– a ready distraction from the mundane – like writing a research paper on maternal immunization.  Yet, somehow the tragedy did  not hit “personal” until I started to leave work. On my way out,  I ran into the head of media, who had had quite a day.   We talked about the privilege of working at such a fine trauma hospital, the importance of that first 24 hours of medical care after a head or other types of trauma.  Then she asked how Conor was doing. I physically felt a “jolt” … pulled back into the mesh of that dizzying initial time of “new” trauma.

Shane and I just visited Conor last weekend for Family Weekend at Carleton.  He seems emotionally well integrated, continuing to physically heal at an amazing rate as he regains his speed and quickness on the frisbee field, and engages and enjoys his classes–always looking for a chance to play Settlers of Catan.  He is blessed by an amazing group of friends and teammates – and it was also fun for me to reconnect with some of them.  He continues to deeply grieve those 3 car members who were sitting near the passenger side of the car–and  how to integrate that grief with “normal”.  When I told my Harborview colleague this, she said “no one with any medical knowledge can believe how thoroughly and quickly he has returned to his life.  He really is a miracle. ”   “He probably won’t appreciate that for years”, she said.

As I left Harborview, indeed, every major news station truck,  and reporters prepping for their evening news shot, and police cars enveloped the exits.  All of sudden it “registered” that the victims at Harborview had been shot in the head.  Those families would be gathering in the ICU waiting rooms, or surgical waiting rooms – eagerly waiting for reports of the extent of the brain trauma.  They would have received those phone calls, and have now been catapulted into the cacophony of unknowns that will now be their reality.  I began to weep.

I couldn’t leave right away – I was too overwhelmed with emotions.  I prayed with deep groaning that those families and victims and the family of the 14 year old gunman would somehow be enveloped by their communities, by our hospital community, by the larger Faith community.  That somehow, they would find the GRACE to carry each other.  Through whatever rehabilitation journey lies ahead for them.  Through their grief, and hopefully some triumphs.

I remembered our friends, and  all the teammates and friends of Conor who lifted us up when they came to visit in the rehab units.  The two months of meals.  The friends and strangers who dropped everything to support us.  The immense grief that continues for lives lost.  Our return to the dichotomy of “normal” of a son at college, and a son at home enjoying his senior year and applying to colleges, yet the life-changing altered definition of “normal” we now carry.  I paused to empathize with these families and school community as they endure the numbness of  the next few days-

and I fervently wished for them the ability to “love each other“.

It really is how we get through, isn’t it?

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