It’s been 11 years since the terror attack on the Army Public School (APS). Every year on December 16th, our social media feeds are flooded with the memory of those whose lives were cut short brutally and heartlessly, in the blink of an eye.
Even in our darkest moments, we could not imagine the horrifying tragedy that unfolded for the children, parents, and staff of the school. The residents of the area live to tell the stories today.
But how can a nation learn from this heavy moment in its timeline? Every year, we are served wrapped versions of the “best moments” of our lives. But no one brings up the people we lost, the heartbreak that nearly broke us, the pain of news about a loved one fighting cancer, the loss of a family member or friend, or personal struggles too private to share – let alone feature as a “make or break” moment on our timeline.
Have we forgotten how to grieve? Do we even allow ourselves to grieve, other than on the moments that mark the day? Throughout the year, do we filter out the bad and focus only on the good? Because when we don’t grieve, we deny ourselves something essential. In grief, there is healing. In grief, there is strength – we find moments when we thought we were weakest, and yet, we manage to face the gut-wrenching blows life delivered us and still keep going.
Ask the mother who lost her child – or several children – in the APS attack. How does she wake up every morning and not think of the child she prepared breakfast for, sent off to school, whose uniform needed washing or shoes needed polishing? Ask her if her grief sometimes returns with a fury, and on other days, as a quiet voice urging her to finish the day.
Ask the father who buries the memory deep inside, pretending to be strong, yet grieves silently every time he counts the years gone by. How old must she be now? If she was 7 then, 18 now?
Our timelines reflect the horror of the day, but then we move on to a “Year in Review,” our grief packed into a recyclable carton to be reopened yet again on December 16th next year.
For those who lost a loved one or suffer the physical and psychological aftermath of the APS attack, grief doesn’t stop on December 17th. It didn’t begin a day ago either. It began 11 years ago, and next year, it will be 12 years old.
This post is not about feeling guilty for celebrating life’s high moments. It is about recognizing that all our moments belong to us – and we belong to them.
When we grieve on December 16th each year, a nation must remember that our lowest moments – the ones when we didn’t win – also help define who we are today, and how strong we have the power to be.
They also remind us how much louder we must speak for those who cannot speak, and the work we have left to do so that no child suffers as they did, and no mother wakes up to a vacant spot at the dining table. If you want to know what strength is, it is in the moments she grieves the hardest – and then picks herself up and carries on.
Her timeline will not allow her to forget. And neither should ours. The APS attack was one of the lowest moments in a nation’s life, and it deserves a spot on our timeline, to remind us how strong we must be to overcome the worst tragedies that threatened us once.
It reminds us to grieve.
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