Ninety Days

This weekend will mark ninety days since the horrible school shooting that happened in my little town of Marysville, Washington.  And I worry.

On the surface, things seem to be getting back to normal.

The only young person to survive the shooting is home and recovering, although he has a long road of surgeries and rehab to endure.

The massive memorial fence outside the school was taken down, with the help of students, parents and community members.  There have been many town meetings and discussions about what to do with the cafeteria where the shooting occurred.  For now it is closed, and students eat in the gym.

Several benefit concerts, church memorials, and candlelight vigils have taken place. Both high schools have had grief counselors, therapy dogs roaming the halls, and assemblies on depression and how to recognize suicidal thoughts.

And yet, nothing is normal.  The scars remain, and the tiny bit of healing that has taken place is all on the surface.  Everyone is so tentative, still unsure of what to say or do. The tension in town is palpable.  Last week there was a bomb threat at the school, and the news media sent out helicopters.  Just hearing them hovering overhead sent many students right back to that traumatic place.  Every time I hear sirens I tense up.

Last month, the mother of the lone survivor, herself a Tulalip Tribes member, gave an interview to the local paper, where she called out the leadership of the Tribe for sweeping the situation under the rug.  She is angry that the shooter has been given so much sympathy, and that we have all been asked to forgive his actions.  She wonders why there has been no apology from the Tribe or his family - only silence.

After the article was published, I held my breath, waiting to see what would happen, or if people would finally start talking.  Really talking, about the real issues.  But sadly, nothing.

Recently, a friend of my son wrote a very touching blog post about her attempts to find some closure.  All of it broke my heart, but especially this:

      "it seems like things are almost worse than ever....behind closed doors, that is.
        I think all of us realize it, but think we are too crazy to actually believe that
       MAYBE it is acceptable for us to still be in pain.  Teachers avoid the subject
         because it's uncomfortable and parents avoid it because they don't know
            what to say.  Everyone avoids it because they think they are alone.

               I am asking this for myself and my peers at Marysville-Pilchuck:
                                          please, someone, say something.

        Say something besides 'It's time to get back to work!  We have tests in May!'
            Say something besides 'We have to move on' or 'You'll get through it.'
   We need to hear, 'It's ok to not be ok right now', because a lot of us don't think it is."

I know that healing will take time.  No one - not the students, the teachers, the parents or the community - can be expected to feel normal after only ninety days.

Still, I worry.....