Collective Grief Lives Online
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Seeking Solace
I’ve been meaning to write a post about Bad Bunny’s new album, about the amazing feat of this kid from Puerto Rico becoming a chart-topping, Billboard record breaking, global phenomenon – but the topic seems moot today.
Where were you when you learned of the killing of 19 school children and two teachers in Texas? I was standing in my kitchen, checking my email on my phone. Roxane Gay is the one who alerted me to the news when she sent out a message cancelling a talk she was planning to give last night. In light of the tragedy in Texas, she was postponing the event.
With a sinking heart, I opened my browser and typed in Texas. Google auto-filled the rest for me – “school shooting.”
Another one. Unspeakably tragic and yet almost mundane, or at the very least, commonplace. Just another instance this month when innocent people going about their business—learning, praying, buying groceries—are slain by a stranger.
This morning, my email inbox contained several responses to the tragedy that spoke to me, enraged me, and soothed me. I’m thankful for the work of female writers whose newsletters land in my email inbox. Reading their words made me feel connected, however briefly, to the pain of others, pain that resonated with my own.
Desperate to connect, I reached out to my mom friends via text and we shared our fears about raising babies in a world filled with violence. I sent around the articles from my inbox, other people’s attempts at making sense of this senseless act. I cried into my husband’s chest, my hot tears staining his baby blue t-shirt.
I’ve been off social media since December. I decided to de-activate my accounts in preparation for my baby’s arrival. I wanted to minimize outside distractions so that I could truly devote as much of my attention to my little one. It’s been a lovely break – I am often out of the loop when it comes to the news cycle and Hollywood gossip. I may decide to make the break permanent.
But this morning, as I was struggling to process yet another horrific tragedy, I logged back into my Instagram account. As I expected, it was full of fury, sadness, horror, frustration, and despair. I soaked myself in that stew, intaking post after post after post – statistics about gun violence, angry memes on political duplicity, heartbreaking videos of the children whose lives were taken. Something about it soothed me, to take part in the communal suffering that was on full display.
I remember the day after Trump was elected, my colleagues in the English department all wore black and we tearfully hugged one another as we tried to process what was happening to our country. I suppose if we had a town square, I may have gone there looking for solace from my community. But these days, in a moment of full-bodied fear and anguish, my Instagram feed, email inbox, and group texts are the best that I’ve got.
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