The Clubs

We've been ripping our basement apart, a retirement activity if I ever saw one.  We demolished a powder room that we stopped using a couple decades ago--fortunately, when we opened the toilet, we didn't find any dead critters in there.  We pulled down sheetrock from waist-high down, which means ripping out the insulation as well.  There was a unused bar in the basement and it's now in the dumpster.  Finally we pulled up the carpet from the basement stairs.  That night, we sank into our matching recliners in the family room.  Dan looked wearily at me and said, "We're never doing that again."

Damn right.

Anyhow, while demolishing, I've had a lot of time to think, too much time perhaps.  Pulling down the powder room walls, I composed the following letter to my Congressman, Erik Paulsen (R-MN).  I originally intended to send it to all members of Congress and the President.  However, as I researched doing that, it became clear that members of Congress prefer to hear from their own constituents as opposed to every one with some axe to grind and I can understand that.

Here's the letter as it was shared on Facebook by my oldest daughter, Molly.

When I was 14 I witnessed the murder of two people during a robbery at a restaurant. On that day I entered what was then an elite club of people exposed to gun violence. It is not a membership I asked for, wanted or covet. It haunts me daily. Every time there is a lock down drill in my school, I have a panic attack If there is a sharp sound, I freeze. I can not dine with my back to the door.

The rampant increase in mass shootings has changed the way I engage with the world. I questions going to concerts, I fear sending my kids to school, I am on edge in restaurants, I am nervous at work. I feel terrorized by the inaction of our government to ensure my safety with sensible gun laws and responsible gun ownership. I don't understand how as a government we can insist that the owning a gun (any kind) is an inalienable right over my right to feel safe as I walk through the world.

Today my mom sent this message to our congressman. Congressman Paulsen:

Late Sunday evening, over 22,000 were unwillingly initiated into what is increasingly becoming less and less of an exclusive club.
They did not apply nor go through vetting to belong. They paid no membership fees. There was no specific ceremony where they were greeted warmly by others in the club.

Because no one is welcomed into this club. The only greeting is, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you belong.”

Some of you are members of this exclusive organization. You will never hear the sound of gunfire and think, that perhaps it is just a car backfiring. Or firecrackers or fireworks going off. Or a platter of dishes being dropped in a restaurant. You now know what gunfire sounds like. You know.

The last is what I thought on the day I was initiated into the club. It was also a Sunday evening, 25 years ago, on the Sunday after Thanksgiving at the Drake Diner in Des Moines, Iowa. My best friend, three of her four children, her husband, my husband and our four children became initiates. Six of the children, then aged 10-14, witnessed two people being brutally murdered by a young man with a hand gun.

Our family went to counseling following the event. The counselor reassured us all that this was an absolute anomaly. We would again, after time, feel safe eating in restaurants because what happened at the Drake Diner is atypical. We now belonged to a very exclusive group of people and perhaps, in our lifetimes, would never come across others who had lived through this set of circumstances.

Why do I feel like she is soon going to be proved wrong? (By the way, this counselor’s husband had been murdered by the young man in the bell tower at the University of Texas in Austin.)
I firmly believe that you all have it in your power to work tirelessly to prevent the sale of semi-automatic weapons, the true weapons of mass destruction. You also could work on that health care bill to ensure that people suffering from mental illness are able to access and afford the care they need, but that’s for another time.
Here's how I know you can do this. My maternal grandmother ran the Chicago office of Congressman Roman C. Pucinski (D-11th District). While I was growing up, it was a very special privilege to take the bus to the office and “help” her at work. I would hear her talking on the phone to the Congressman’s constituents in Polish. She was obtaining information necessary for the Congressman to work on getting these people’s family members out from behind the Iron Curtain. Many times he was successful. I saw that government agents could make a difference. It was what they were elected to do.

So I believe you can, too.

I woke up Monday morning to the news about the Las Vegas shooting and all I could say, over and over, was, “No,” followed by the slam of The Feeling. My throat closes and my heart aches and my stomach roils and my arms and legs shake and my brain freezes on a single thought—not again. I feel it every time there is a mass shooting. I have felt it far too many times.

The worst, however, is reserved for when I see my now adult children after more people have been initiated into the club, their club. One of us will say, “Columbine.” Or “The movie theatre.” Or “Sandy Hook. The little children.” Or “Pulse.” Or now, “Vegas.” And maybe we’ll hug but then they’ll get a look on their face and in their eyes that is indescribable to anyone who is not in the club. It is grim and miserable and silent and screaming and horrific. They know. And they are so sorry to see more joining their ranks.
As many have posted on social media, no more moments of silence. No more prayers. Unfortunately, sadly, in my opinion these have become disingenuous acts. You can do something. I’m guessing that somewhere along the line, you were encouraged to leave the world a better place. This may have even been a motivator for you to run for Congress. Put that in your heart. Let that encouragement guide your actions. Now. Today.
Respectfully,

Throughout this week, a number of Club members have stepped forward with their stories.  The New York Times editorial page ran this most poignant video which I strongly encourage you to watch, if you haven't done so already.  Over and over, I was struck by the grace under pressure demonstrated by Club members.  And, most importantly, their resiliency.

And that they all had that look in their eyes that can only settle in if you are a member of the Club.

Our family is a member of a couple other Clubs that are even more exclusive that the group victimized by gun violence.  Molly's niece by marriage, Annie, died in 2010 of Naegleria fowleri.  She was 7.  And our grandson, Jackson, 4 1/2, the son of Molly and her husband Rob,  has an exceedingly rare genetic defect, a duplication of the FoxG1 genome.  You can read Molly's poignant story of their journey thus far here.

Let's go back to resiliency.  My youngest daughter, Bridget, told me she cried when she read Molly's Facebook post and my letter, then she went on with her day.  Our dearest framily member McB Smith McManus shared Molly's post with these words: Molly and I were together during that shocking and awful moment. I had just turned 16. The looks of helpless terror on our parents’ faces made such an impression on me that for years I couldn’t even think of becoming a parent. For the last several days, I’ve heard many say that this is a time for grief, not a time to push our legislators to take action. I say those two activities are not mutually exclusive. I urge all of you to reach out to your representatives and encourage them to take action to prevent another tragedy.  

Here's how Annie's mother, Bridget, reached deep into her well and soul of resiliency.  This is from the Children's Hospitals of Minnesota web site: Bridget is a board certified Advance Practice Registered Nurse, Certified Nurse Midwife, working in the Bereavement Services Program of Children's Spiritual Care Department. As Bereavement Coordinator, Bridget is responsible for leading and developing the programming of Bereavement Services, a program which is present to provide expert and compassionate bereavement care to families who experience the death of their child. Bridget received her BS from the College of St. Benedict and her MS from the University of Minnesota. Professionally, Bridget's background has included the care of bereaved families, and personally, Bridget is a bereaved parent herself. Bridget has a passion for caring for bereaved families and for advancing excellent family-centered end of life care.

Molly and Rob honed--and continue to hone--their resiliency skills, then decided to have a second child, Beau, who does not have a duplication of the FoxG1 gene.

Just like other members of the Club have done and will do, we have learned about self-care.  I have to say, this past week has been particularly miserable for me and I am using my resiliency skills by writing this blog, so I appreciate your fueling my resiliency stash by reading this.  Time does not heal.  Time dims, time diminishes and it does not take away knowing that a bullet casing ricocheted off your son's foot.  It does not alleviate the painful memory of said son (and we are talking about Voldemort here, He Who Must Not Be Named) saying in his most plaintive voice, "I don't understand how someone could do that, Mom.  I saw it myself and I still don't understand it."

If I remember correctly, at the time I reassured him that we were not meant to understand how someone could murder someone because that is, in my opinion, simply not fathomable.

Those things that are not understandable are where we, as a society, require protection against ourselves.  There are so many laws currently on the books that are reflections of precisely humans' sometimes inability to make appropriate choices and, in doing so, the poor choice puts others in harms way.  Why not with guns meant to be used on battlefields?

I am so tremendously proud of my fellow Club members resilience.  I am just so, so sorry that once again, the Club was called upon to rally around each other, make the circle wider and apologize to those joining the ranks.

And if you are not a member, it is my fervent hope and wish that you are never, ever, ever initiated into this organization.