The last time I saw my sister truly alive was Christmas Eve 2002. The days after the phone call were a blur of machines beeping slower and slower, a beat marching me further and further away from normal. I never left her side in the endless days that followed, but repeatedly asked all that came and went, “please take down the Christmas tree before I get home”.
I walked through the curtain after the last beep rang a long flat tone and returned home, in a haze, without my normal, without my only sibling. Greeting me in the living room was the tree I had asked to be gone. It no longer symbolized tradition, love and gifts to me. It was standing there as a shining beacon of loss — a reminder of the last time I saw her smiling. Without thinking, I shook off the numbness I was feeling and replaced it with rage. I grabbed the 7-foot fully adorned tree, ripped it from its base and threw it down a flight of stairs leaving a trail of broken bulbs and memories behind it. I then ran to my bedroom and lay on the bed screaming out to no one that was listening or could head my demand, “I want my sister back!” I screamed and pounded my fists off the bed. “I want my sister back now!”
I know that some see these statues the same way. Even when no logic seems to apply, they represent something bad to you. But, I also know for many, the don’t. They represent history to them. I continued to put up a Christmas tree every year for my young children and the three young children she left behind because I realized we don’t get to CHOOSE for others what symbols mean. We don’t get to CHOOSE how people grieve.
Every time during this pandemic, I cringe when I hear “new normal” because I rather loved my old normal. I grieve for the days we were free, those that have died, those that are losing their livelihoods. Those of us that feel that way get chastised into not “getting it” by those that quickly leaned into the change. But, you don’t get to CHOOSE how people grieve.
The mask became the symbol for that change and they used it to divide us further. Putting away all debates over the efficacy, it stands as a symbol to some as a surrender to a new normal they do not want. You call them stupid for it. You tell them they don’t care. You attack and berate them. But, you don’t get to CHOOSE how people grieve.
When we decide for others how they are to view things, live, breathe and grieve — the results can be nothing but anger. We blame the media, we blame the politicians — but, it’s us, simply us. They can only manipulate us as much as we allow. Freedom isn’t a flag, or a Constitution, or a symbol. Freedom, true freedom is accepting that you don’t get to CHOOSE for other people how they feel or live their lives.
And, if we could all get that … this could end. And, maybe we could find our ways to the end of the grief, where hope and acceptance lives.
Pretty Political 