Guest post by Megan Lawrence, director, Camp Wawayanda
Darkness. The sun has shone in the past couple days . . . but I can’t remember it. Why? Why can’t I remember the warmth of the sun and the music of the spring birds? I swear I remember seeing sunshine on the weather report for this week. How come it is so hard to place my finger on all of the good things that have happened?
Weeks like this make me feel like the sun has forgotten me, that there is very little left in this world to hope for-to believe in. Death and destruction fill our news feeds, prayers and sorrow inundate our lives 140 characters at a time. Pictures and messages are shared and passed at the click of a button. Something about how quickly sorrow spreads and penetrates our lives makes it feel less human.
My mind trails back to another dark week, one in 1995 — I was eight years old, waiting to walk to school, sitting at a neighbor’s house. We must have been watching morning cartoons . . . breaking news, a bomb had gone off somewhere far away. In the days following there was a picture on the front of our news paper that will be burned into my mind for years to come — a firefighter carrying a child. I’m sure I wept — scared, I don’t remember for certain — but I will never forget how dark that week was. That darkness didn’t last.
Fast forward four years. I was twelve. I don’t remember much about this week except racing home to watch TRL only to find breaking news being reported that there has been a horrific shooting at a school in Colorado. A school. Students — like me. In the days that followed this event adults talked to us about safety and school — I remember a tension in the air, convinced I would be scared forever that this could happen to me. That dark week ended though . . . we carried on.
I could easily comment on the days leading up to and following that awful day in September. Despite being old enough to understand the weight and the magnitude of the horror and devastation of that event — I was old enough to talk about it, and to reflect on it, and to try my very best to wrap my almost adult brain around it. The events above are burned into my brain because I was just a child.
We can’t protect youth from these dark weeks, when someone steals away the good and the warmth — our sunshine. These weeks are sadly going to happen. I thi