Tuesday evenings, I typically sit back and write an article chronicling the journey of Robyn Troup of the band,“Cadillac’s in Space.” Today, my mind is in another space all together. I am going to take the time to write about my own battle of not spiraling downward on a daily basis, which is only magnified with events such as the Boston Marathon bombings.
Darkness is a place many of us wander on a daily basis and we are in a constant fight to stay afloat and not be consumed by the dark, which at times seems so inviting. We are mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers who battle depression and we must battle it because we want to be a loving and giving piece in this puzzle of life. When you struggle with depression, just getting out of bed and making your children breakfast can be an effort that leaves you exhausted, before the day has truly began. Depression is something that I have carried with me as long as I can remember, although there are times when it has been all consuming, which it could be now, if allowed. Those of us that have the pull of darkness must battle on, as a warrior against a villain.
I am the mother of three children and while runners were dedicating their day to running, nurses bandaging, volunteers offering water to those marathon warriors in need, I was enjoying a day with my children who are on Spring Break. Breakfast was served, dishes were cleared, giggles were heard while I cleaned up in the kitchen and listened to NPR on the radio, which was handed down to me from my childhood. I froze! A bomb?! A what? I stopped and rotated the old school dial to make sure that I was hearing the news correctly, but there was no escaping the news of explosions, glass shards, lost legs and the death of another innocent child. I did what I always do in a tragic or stressful event. I allow the numbness to settle in, so I can go about my life.
My numbness eventually fades and turns to anger, which then becomes an undercurrent of black oily depression. The bombings of yesterday brought my mind racing back to September 11th 2001. All of those feelings swam back over my mind, my heart and my thoughts. September 11th, I sat in front of the T.V. and watched the Twin Towers burn and watched the second plane hit, live. I sat in the chair, curled up as much as a nine-month pregnant woman can curl and stared at the T.V., confused. The right hand corner said LIVE, but I thought and prayed that it was a movie because it couldn’t be real. As the third plane hit the Pentagon, I prayed,” please God, don’t let me have this baby today. Please God.” God actually listened and favored me…this time.
Zion was born four days later, after two weeks of pre-labor and 18 hours of hard labor, which concluded in an emergency C-Section and a near 10-pound baby who spent his first days in the NIC unit. Writing of this journey, it seems that Zion was given his name in defiance to the attacks, however his name had been chosen months earlier. Celebrations of any kind during a time of travesty, can be confusing to the mind. I was given a beautiful baby boy who has been a gift and a miracle each and every day, but with each approaching birthday is also the reminder of the thousands of innocents that have lost their lives.
We live in a time when we must continually grasp towards hope while grappling with death and destruction. The United States was protected for so long from what other countries have been exposed to for decades. We are now aware! We are now awake! We are not protected! It is time for change and it is time for us to find hope in peace while creating more peace. As I grow older, I become more and more aware of how people from all places are similar and carry similar dreams, desires and hopes. One God, who created all of us, unites us and our strands of DNA are proof of this beautiful similarity. It is time for us to realize we can do better, be better and create a better world that our children so deserve. It is time to walk out of the darkness and into the light.