R.I.P Taka
Yesterday, some parents in Japan received the phone call that every parent dreads.
Yesterday, a young woman driver began a tormentful journey trying to live with a nightmare memory.
Yesterday, a bunch of work colleagues, family and friends began a grieving process, and will start to navigate the rough road dealing with trauma.
Yesterday, nine cyclists including me, were first responders at an accident scene we all wish we could un-see.
Some of us have jobs that expose us to horrific injuries: emergency department employees, paramedics, police, I guess some military personnel. I am not one of them. I know that familiarity and mindset can desensitise us to what we would normally find confronting and I'm grateful that people like my friends Adie and Richard have some life experience, alongside just being impressive human beings, that means they 'clicked into gear' and became 'superhuman' when the scene emerged.
I've been thinking about my reaction to the 'violence'. What is an appropriate response to seeing a fellow human being's body so broken? In some ways we are so resilient and strong. But our bodies are incredibly vulnerable and so life feels fragile, especially today. And trauma gets deep into us. Our memories relentlessly feed our consciousness.
For me, part of processing is writing. This blog won't get shared on social media, but if you come across it and it is a bit 'brick in space-ish'; my apologies. Yesterday will always be with me and this blog is where I muse about patterns of human behaviour, so I can't not muse.
And I know that I need to keep processing. I had a 'better' day today with some exercise and work, but as soon as I stop, the grief comes flooding back. I can still see that young woman staring into space in comatose shock. I fear for her mental health and hope she has amazing support structures. I can't imagine what those who knew Taka (as I believe he was known) and were present would be going through. I can still hear that woman screaming in the immediate aftermath. I can still see Adie dumping her bike and running toward the victim. I can still hear Richard's voice breaking the eerie morning air with numbers, encouragement and frustrated angst.
R.I.P. Taka. I never knew you, but you are one of us. We breathed the same air. We loved the same stretch of coast. Somehow, we are connected.
Yesterday, a young woman driver began a tormentful journey trying to live with a nightmare memory.
Yesterday, a bunch of work colleagues, family and friends began a grieving process, and will start to navigate the rough road dealing with trauma.
Yesterday, nine cyclists including me, were first responders at an accident scene we all wish we could un-see.
Some of us have jobs that expose us to horrific injuries: emergency department employees, paramedics, police, I guess some military personnel. I am not one of them. I know that familiarity and mindset can desensitise us to what we would normally find confronting and I'm grateful that people like my friends Adie and Richard have some life experience, alongside just being impressive human beings, that means they 'clicked into gear' and became 'superhuman' when the scene emerged.
I've been thinking about my reaction to the 'violence'. What is an appropriate response to seeing a fellow human being's body so broken? In some ways we are so resilient and strong. But our bodies are incredibly vulnerable and so life feels fragile, especially today. And trauma gets deep into us. Our memories relentlessly feed our consciousness.
For me, part of processing is writing. This blog won't get shared on social media, but if you come across it and it is a bit 'brick in space-ish'; my apologies. Yesterday will always be with me and this blog is where I muse about patterns of human behaviour, so I can't not muse.
And I know that I need to keep processing. I had a 'better' day today with some exercise and work, but as soon as I stop, the grief comes flooding back. I can still see that young woman staring into space in comatose shock. I fear for her mental health and hope she has amazing support structures. I can't imagine what those who knew Taka (as I believe he was known) and were present would be going through. I can still hear that woman screaming in the immediate aftermath. I can still see Adie dumping her bike and running toward the victim. I can still hear Richard's voice breaking the eerie morning air with numbers, encouragement and frustrated angst.
R.I.P. Taka. I never knew you, but you are one of us. We breathed the same air. We loved the same stretch of coast. Somehow, we are connected.
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