We Do What We Can

That t-shirt tells a story, doesn't it?  

It's a story that my uneven gait references whenever I leave the house and expose myself to others.  If my face is unfamiliar, I look like an old lady who limps.  For those who were here and who remember, it's the whole thing all over again.  I can see it on their faces; over six years time it's become a recognizable syndrome.  This happened to all of Tucson is a phrase I've repeated over and over again.  Those looks validate my contention.

My presence as a reminder of evil.... because they don't know me.  They don't know that I am a survivor.  The shooter is not an everyday feature of my life; the physical consequences of his bullets is as far as he gets into my world.  Their looks bring Christina-Taylor right back to me, and that's okay, because she's usually smiling her snarky smile, shoving me back from the abyss.  

I endure the hugs they need to give.  I move on.  I am a survivor.  

Several years ago, watching me galumph from the couch to the kitchen, Brother mused thusly :"You can never get a break, can you?  It's always there to remind you."  He's right, but maybe not in the way he imagines.  I control the memories; my limp connects to I got shot and (for the most part) not much else.  Not the losses, not the blood, not the young man himself; they do not live in the front of my brain.  I can't be that sad nor that scared nor that angry all the time.  I can't wallow, because that would be wasting the fact that the sun came up today and I was here to see it.  To be a survivor, I have to live my life.

And so, June 2nd came and went.  I took a deep breath and wore my t-shirt to the grocery store, where I received a giant smile and an enthusiastic thumbs up from a total stranger at the Deli Counter.  A little boy wondered about our interaction and I gave him the little boy explanation (He didn't know to use his words instead of a gun.) I walked away listening to his mother reinforce the lesson,  and I took myself and my shirt right home.

I couldn't go to the Rally to End Gun Violence.  I couldn't walk around the mall, looking for the perfect little birthday gift for a friend who is moving away.  I couldn't go to the gym.  I felt too vulnerable, too exposed, too scared.  I shared thoughts with a few.  I took many deep breaths.  

I am a survivor.  I do what I can.