I’m beyond pissed at the people impugning the kids at Marjory Stoneman Davis High School. Those who find their laughter and outlook suspect. Those who would tell them how to grieve. 1/9
I lost my best friend in high school. He was killed by a gun. It was an accident. On the night of his funeral, after the service, we went to see “Fast Times At Ridgemont High”. By “we” I mean all his friends. My friends. Including the guy who accidentally pulled the trigger. 2/9
We weren’t offered counselors. We didn’t have a school assembly. There was no closure, no definitive slamming of a door. His death carved its way into us, and we had no choice but to pour ourselves back into those new shapes. 3/9
It never occurred to any of us to protest guns. It was an accident. A hand gun, mishandled, a tragedy. We grieved as well as we could. I was 27 before I broke down in a locked ward of a rehab unit and wrote it all out, said goodbye, and moved on. 4/9
What happened to these kids is so much worse. And what they are doing about it is amazing and beautiful. They see the possibility of change where we did not. They’re acting on it, taking charge, taking command, not being overwhelmed. Yet. 5/9
That will come. They will all feel this deeply and more importantly IN THEIR OWN WAY. They will process it WHEN THEY ARE READY TO. Maybe right now they need to be angry. To organize. To change the fucking nation. 6/9
And I hope they do. Because I know that grief is a million flavors of bitter, and it takes a lifetime to spit them out. This will shape them forever. And if you’re criticizing them today for failing to perform grief to your specifications, fuck you. Fuck you forever. 7/9
I grieved by dancing. I grieved by fucking. I grieved by drugs and drink and anything that would take me out of my head. I grieved by listening. There is no right way to do it, there is only the path you pick through the thicker of misery. 8/9
I want these kids to change the nation. To change the world. Because I didn’t. I didn’t even know to try. And they have the rest of their lives to come to terms with the hate inflicted upon them. By the shooter, and by those who doubt their grief. 9/9
