This I Believe -- Book Excerpt

"This I Believe" is a fantastic book that keeps on giving inspiration to me.

 

I recently discovered this book quite by accident.  I was in Richmond, Virginia with my son and his girlfriend and we came upon a local non-profit that was giving away books for free.  I couldn't believe it.  Free. Books.

 

Free books are irresistible to me.  This would be similar to offering the editor of Vogue free clothes and accessories.  A room of tables full of all kinds of books just waiting for someone to come along and adopt them and take them home.  Where do I start?  I immediately wondered how many I would be able to carry to the car.

 

Early in my book grab, I found "This I Believe" and I snatched it up right away because the subtitle of the book said it was about "The personal philosophies of remarkable men and women"  and is also based on the NPR series of the same name.  "This I Believe" features 80 essayists, some famous and some unknown, writing to complete the thought that begins the book's title.

 

 

 

I decided I didn't want to read the essays in order; that jumping around from famous to unknown and back again would make the book more interesting.  One essay, titled "The Making of Poems" caught my eye because beautifully written poetry expands my viewpoint of the world.  Quickly, I found that the essay is really about resilience, one of my favorite topics to explore and talk to others about for never ending periods of time.

 

I love to find out how a person has pulled themselves back together after a personal crisis and what has kept them going.  What fuels their inner strength?  How did they learn so much from the pain in their life?  I think the answer is as varied as the billions of people making up Planet Earth but in this case, let's focus on author Gregory Orr's resilience and his remarkable essay which begins here:

 

The Making of Poems

By Gregory Orr

 

I believe in poetry as a way of surviving the emotional chaos, spiritual confusions, and traumatic events that come with being alive.

 

When I was twelve years old, I was responsible for the death of my younger brother in a hunting accident.  I held the rifle that killed him.  In a single moment, my world changed forever.  I felt grief, terror, shame, and despair more deeply than I could ever have imagined.  In the aftermath, no one in my shattered family could speak to me about my brother's death, and their silence left me alone with all my agonizing emotions.  And under those emotions, something even more terrible : a knowledge that all the easy meanings I had lived by until then had been suddenly and utterly abolished.

 

One consequence of traumatic violence is that it isolates its victims.  It can cut us off from other people, cutting us off from our own emotional lives until we go numb and move through the world as if only half alive.  As a young person, I found something to set against my growing sense of isolation and numbness: the making of poems.

 

When I write a poem, I process experience.  I take what's inside of me -- the raw, chaotic material of feeling or memory -- and translate it into words and then shape those words into the rhythmical language we call a poem.  This process brings me a kind of wild joy.  Before, I was powerless and passive in the face of my confusion, but now I am active: the powerful shaper of my experience.  I am transforming it into a lucid meaning.

 

Because poems are meanings, and even the saddest poems I write is proof that I want to survive.  And therefore it represents an affirmation of life in all its complexities and contradictions.

 

An additional miracle comes to me as the maker of poems: Because poems can be shared between poet and audience, they also become a further triumph over human isolation.

 

Whenever I read a poem that moves me, I know I'm not alone in the world.  I feel a connection to the person who wrote it, knowing that he or she has gone through something similar to what I've experienced, or felt something like what I have felt.  And their poem gives me hope and courage, because I know that they survived, that their life force was strong enough to turn experience into words and shape it into meaning and then bring it toward me to share.  The gift of their poem enters deeply into me and helps me live and believe in living.

Washington DC Navy Yard Shootings

There was something about the first email news alert that came into my work computer yesterday morning at 9:01 a.m.

"Reports of an active shooter at Navy Yard area.  Avoid that area."

I don't know if it was the time of day, the location of the shooter or the fact that it was a Monday that made me stare at the email and think, "This is bad."  Unsure of what parts of the city my colleagues planned to go for meetings or appointments, I immediately forwarded the Navy Yard email to everyone in my office.

 

The "active shooter" the email reported was a former Navy man who had launched an attack yesterday morning inside a building at the Washington Navy Yard, spraying gunfire on office workers in the cafeteria and in the hallway, killing 13 people.  Parts of the city were in lockdown as the police and FBI searched the city by foot and by helicopters for two other shooting suspects seen by eyewitnesses. 

Washington Navy Yard

 

I think that my instincts told me it was bad because I knew the Washington Navy Yard is the Navy's central headquarters, protected by armed guards and metal detectors and employees have to show IDs to get in.  My Washington, DC office building is located in the northwest section of the city and the Navy Yard is located in the southeast section of the city.  Fortunately, I was not physically close to the action.  But that didn't mean I felt safe.

 

I am more than aware that the subject of gun responsibility is a hot button issue in which people feel passionately but when you live in a city where a mass shooting happens, you think only about how such a senseless tragedy could have been prevented.

 

I am tired of reading about people going to work, children going to school, people doing normal things, who then end up getting shot in cold blood and dying for no reason.  It's beyond sad and it's frightening and I wonder how many more times things like this have to happen before gun responsibility becomes something we all are committed to have happen as a nation.

 

When I finally got home after reading news alerts all day that progressively got sadder and sadder, I turned on the television to listen the evening news.  I knew it would be bad but I had not been near a television all day and I needed to hear and see what was going on.  The usual news stories were broadcast at the beginning of the 7 pm nightly news, explaining how the awful events had unfolded and identifying the gunman in the Navy Yard attack killed by police as 34-year-old Aaron Alexis of Texas.



Dr. Janis Orlowski
Chief Medical Officer
Medstar Washington Hospital Center

But then I watched  as a weary woman doctor appeared at a news conference.  She was identified as Dr. Janis Orlowski, Chief Medical Officer at Medstar Washington Hospital Center where most of the victims had been taken by ambulance. The day's tragedy was reflected in her face and demeanor.  She said the words I had been yearning to hear all day.

Here is a full text of Dr. Orlowski's poignant remarks:

 

"You know what, we see a lot of trauma. And you know, sometimes it's just, you know —accidents that occur that we get to help people with, because they're accidents. And then you see what I call senseless trauma. And there is — there's something evil in our society that we as Americans have to work to try and eradicate.

 

I — I have to say, I may see this everyday, I may, you know, be the Chief Medical Officer of a very large trauma center. But there's something wrong here when we have these multiple shootings, these multiple injuries. There is something wrong. and the only thing that I can say is we have to work together to get rid of it.

 

I would like you to put my trauma center out of business. I really would. I would like to not be an expert on gunshots and not to be an expert on this. We are — we do it well. Very experienced surgeons. But, quite frankly, I would rather they were doing their surgery on other things.

 

 And you know, it's a great city. It's a great country. And we have to work together to get rid of this. Because we just cannot have, you know, one more shooting with, you know, so many people killed.

We've got to figure this out. We've got to be able to help each other. We're dealing right now with three innocent people.

 

But my prayers and my thoughts go out to those people who have died as a result of today. And, you know, their families and what they're going to have to go through. So I have to say, you know, it's a challenge to all of us. Let's get rid of this. This is not America. This is not Washington D.C. This is not good. So we have got to work to get rid of this."

Gabby & Mark

I have written about Gabby Giffords in previous posts because she is a source of inspiration to me. 

 

She is the very definition of courage and resilience and lives her life with a great deal of passion.  Despite being shot in the head over two years ago, she continues to move forward and remain in public life because she wants to make the world a safer place.

Gun control is Gabby's top priority and today's post focuses on just part of the dialogue surrounding this issue.

Gabby Giffords & Mark Kelly

With her husband, retired astronaut Mark Kelly, Gabby has been working non-stop appealing to the Senate and the public at large to support expanded background checks for guns.  Gabby and Mark make a formidable team.

You might not know that both Gabby and Mark are gun owners and they take the position that background checks are a responsible common sense measure to reduce gun violence.

Even though 90% of the American public supports expanded background checks for guns, the Senate Wednesday decided to vote the measure down.  But this is only the beginning of a grassroots movement to change current gun control laws in this country.

Frustrated but not defeated, Gabby wrote the following fiery and compelling op-ed in The New York Times.  Please read it and think about how it relates to your views on gun control.

A Senate in the Gun Lobby's Grip

By Gabrielle Giffords
April 17, 2013/ New York Times

WASHINGTON

SENATORS say they fear the N.R.A. and the gun lobby. But I think that fear must be nothing compared to the fear the first graders in Sandy Hook Elementary School felt as their lives ended in a hail of bullets. The fear that those children who survived the massacre must feel every time they remember their teachers stacking them into closets and bathrooms, whispering that they loved them, so that love would be the last thing the students heard if the gunman found them.

On Wednesday, a minority of senators gave into fear and blocked common-sense legislation that would have made it harder for criminals and people with dangerous mental illnesses to get hold of deadly firearms — a bill that could prevent future tragedies like those in Newtown, Conn., Aurora, Colo., Blacksburg, Va., and too many communities to count.

Some of the senators who voted against the background-check amendments have met with grieving parents whose children were murdered at Sandy Hook, in Newtown. Some of the senators who voted no have also looked into my eyes as I talked about my experience being shot in the head at point-blank range in suburban Tucson two years ago, and expressed sympathy for the 18 other people shot besides me, 6 of whom died. These senators have heard from their constituents — who polls show overwhelmingly favored expanding background checks. And still these senators decided to do nothing. Shame on them.

I watch TV and read the papers like everyone else. We know what we’re going to hear: vague platitudes like “tough vote” and “complicated issue.” I was elected six times to represent southern Arizona, in the State Legislature and then in Congress. I know what a complicated issue is; I know what it feels like to take a tough vote. This was neither. These senators made their decision based on political fear and on cold calculations about the money of special interests like the National Rifle Association, which in the last election cycle spent around $25 million on contributions, lobbying and outside spending.

Speaking is physically difficult for me. But my feelings are clear: I’m furious. I will not rest until we have righted the wrong these senators have done, and until we have changed our laws so we can look parents in the face and say: We are trying to keep your children safe. We cannot allow the status quo — desperately protected by the gun lobby so that they can make more money by spreading fear and misinformation — to go on.

I am asking every reasonable American to help me tell the truth about the cowardice these senators demonstrated. I am asking for mothers to stop these lawmakers at the grocery store and tell them: You’ve lost my vote. I am asking activists to unsubscribe from these senators’ e-mail lists and to stop giving them money. I’m asking citizens to go to their offices and say: You’ve disappointed me, and there will be consequences.

People have told me that I’m courageous, but I have seen greater courage. Gabe Zimmerman, my friend and staff member in whose honor we dedicated a room in the United States Capitol this week, saw me shot in the head and saw the shooter turn his gunfire on others. Gabe ran toward me as I lay bleeding. Toward gunfire. And then the gunman shot him, and then Gabe died. His body lay on the pavement in front of the Safeway for hours.

I have thought a lot about why Gabe ran toward me when he could have run away. Service was part of his life, but it was also his job. The senators who voted against background checks for online and gun-show sales, and those who voted against checks to screen out would-be gun buyers with mental illness, failed to do their job.

They looked at these most benign and practical of solutions, offered by moderates from each party, and then they looked over their shoulder at the powerful, shadowy gun lobby — and brought shame on themselves and our government itself by choosing to do nothing.

They will try to hide their decision behind grand talk, behind willfully false accounts of what the bill might have done — trust me, I know how politicians talk when they want to distract you — but their decision was based on a misplaced sense of self-interest. I say misplaced, because to preserve their dignity and their legacy, they should have heeded the voices of their constituents. They should have honored the legacy of the thousands of victims of gun violence and their families, who have begged for action, not because it would bring their loved ones back, but so that others might be spared their agony.

This defeat is only the latest chapter of what I’ve always known would be a long, hard haul. Our democracy’s history is littered with names we neither remember nor celebrate — people who stood in the way of progress while protecting the powerful. On Wednesday, a number of senators voted to join that list.

Mark my words: if we cannot make our communities safer with the Congress we have now, we will use every means available to make sure we have a different Congress, one that puts communities’ interests ahead of the gun lobby’s. To do nothing while others are in danger is not the American way.

Gabrielle Giffords, a Democratic representative from Arizona from 2007 to 2012, is a founder of Americans for Responsible Solutions, which focuses on gun violence.

Do Not Look Away

 

 

Courtesy of CNN.com

  

Holding a hand.  Giving a hug.  Opening your heart.

 

We must not be afraid to offer comfort and empathy.

 

I know it's hard to step outself of yourself and reach out to others in pain. To empathize requires introspection which is not a very popular exercise these days.  Introspection requires you to stop thinking about yourself and imagine what another person is feeling in a situation you would not want to happen to you or anyone else.

 

I know it is only a few days until Christmas, a time when Christians traditionally celebrate the birth of our Savior, Jesus Christ, and people would prefer to surround themselves in the comfort of a commercial Christmas, a Christmas of unending presents and idyllic settings full of twinkling lights, freshly baked cookies and smiles and holiday joy.

 

But there is also another Christmas, equally as powerful: a Christmas belonging to those newly bereaved, a Christmas belonging to those whose child has died. 

Please pause this Christmas and think of these people who are desperate in their sorrow.  No matter what the reason, a shooting, a disease, an accident or a medical condition, these parents should not be ignored because they may make us feel uncomfortable.

 

To truly be filled with the spirit of Christmas, we must give of ourselves.  Though it truly is every parent's nightmare, please do not look away from those who are grieving the loss of a child.  Besides the deep pain they are experiencing, there is also an outrage that they are feeling; an outrage that they will never know what the child might have become.

 

They need our help.  They need to know they are not alone.

 

Please read the following Washington Post story written by a mother who writes of her raw feelings following the death of her child.  May it inspire all of us to be courageous in the face of grief:

 

Courtesy of CBS News

 

The death of a child: A parent’s worst nightmare

By Ann Hood, Published: The Washington Post, December 21

Ann Hood is a novelist and short-story writer living in Providence, R.I.

We are stunned. We are outraged. As a nation, we are questioning laws on gun control, questioning how such a thing can happen. These are all appropriate responses to the tragedy in Newtown, Conn.

 

But there is a repercussion to all this that will continue long after laws are changed and life, unbelievably, gets back to normal: the grief of the parents of the 20 children killed. How many times have I heard that this is a parent’s worst nightmare? As someone who has lived the nightmare of losing a child, I know that the enormous hole left behind remains forever.

My daughter, Grace, was not killed by a gun. She died suddenly at age 5 from a virulent form of strep. As I stood stunned in a church at her memorial, one of the hardest things I heard someone say was, “I’m going to go home and hug my child a little tighter.” Well, good for you, I thought. I’m going to go home and scream.

What can be said in light of such grief? What can you do? The problem is that no one can give the parents what they want most: their child. Long after the memorials fade and the casseroles stop coming, that child is still dead, and those parents are still grieving.

I offer here what I have learned about grief in the 10 years since my Gracie died:

I learned that platitudes don’t work. Time doesn’t heal. She is not in a better place. God does give us more than we can bear sometimes. I have learned that there is more power in a good strong hug than in a thousand meaningful words. I have learned that even in the face of loss, clothes still get dirty and bills still need to get paid. Friends who laundered our socks and answered our e-mails, who mowed our lawn and put gas in our cars, helped us — a lot. The friend who came one afternoon and went through Grace’s backpack, carefully storing her kindergarten workbook and papers, hanging her art on the refrigerator and her raincoat on its hook in the mudroom, had more courage than the ones who told me to call anytime.

Some friends sat with me day after day, week after week and, yes, month after month, and let me talk while they listened. I told the story of Grace’s last day over and over, as if by telling it I could make sense of what had happened to her, to us. But there is no sense to be made of such tragedy, and when I realized that, they let me wail and bang my fists and curse.

As time passes, people return to their ordinary lives, while grieving parents no longer have ordinary lives. They are redefining themselves, and they are at a loss at how to move forward. There is a woman who still sends me a card on Grace’s birthday and every Mother’s Day, who sent cards weekly for more than a year, a lifeline to a grieving mother. The people who even now, a decade later, still say Grace’s name, still comment on her quirky style and artistic talents and love of the Beatles, continue to help me through my days, simply by remembering her.

How easy it is to look away from grief, as if it might be contagious, or too frightening to face. But the Newtown parents have a difficult, lifelong journey through grief ahead of them. Somehow, the seasons will change, the anniversaries will stack up one after the other. They will, unbelievably, smile again. They will make dinner and change jobs and buy clothes and celebrate and travel. They will go on. But there will always, always, be this grief, softened and dulled but present every minute of every day.

Do not forget that. Look them in the eye. Take them in your arms, and do not let them go.