[Editor's Note: This article was originally published in the September issue of Vines and Branches, the Rachel's Vineyard newsletter.]
Bells tolled in the shattered city of New Orleans on August 23, 2006, marking the specific moment a year ago when Hurricane Katrina caused the levees to buckle unleashing a torrent of water that ripped homes from their foundations and hurled the city into an undefined exile. Survivors of the storm gathered outside City Hall, commemorating the moment when New Orleans began its spiral into a watery hell.
Those in New Orleans felt the need to be there — to solemnly remember in emotional memorials. Undeniably, their lives will never be the same and even though time has passed, for most of them the event is still impacting them in ways few of us can imagine who have not lived through it. The rest of the world watches documentaries, newscasts, and multiple replays of the terrible images etched by the past — bringing the tragedy up again, directly into our focused consciousness. Something in our humanity draws us to remember, to sympathize, to help if we can.
We'll be doing the same thing as we remember the anniversary of 9/11. The media will expose the private personal stories of hell; we'll spend at least a month reviewing the scenes again and again as the towers crumbled and people fled for their lives.
We'll re-hash what went wrong; why people did not heed warnings; what mistakes were made; how communication failed, and how desperation led to violence as we desperately try to understand what happened and seek ways to stop these kinds of tragedies from ever happening again.
Indeed the truth sets us free. By remembering, confronting and embracing the pain of the past we can find strength. We can eventually find meaning. We can stop the endless need for traumatic repetition of thoughts, feelings and behaviors related to the trauma. That's what recovery is all about.
Grief can be healing. It signals our feelings to awaken from traumatic numbness; it opens possibilities for future living; it renews our connection to each other. Grief represents our vulnerability, our humanity. When we remember and mourn our losses, we free our souls to move beyond the pain. Memorials provide closure, a place to grieve and say good-bye, a place to remember with dignity — a time to make important connections to our personal history.
Those who have suffered the tragedy of abortion have the same needs. They too experience intense feelings of fear and worry that the trauma will happen again. They may engage in active re-enactments of the event through multiple pregnancies and abortions, obsessions, depression, addiction and even suicide. The sense of safety and security they once had in their lives and relationships has been stolen from them. Questioning spiritual beliefs and the meaning of life is an important part of trying to make sense of what may have completely shifted the foundation of values and beliefs.
The value of remembering and re-experiencing any disturbing experience lies in the emotional healing and accompanying physiological discharge that allows such events to feel confronted and resolved.
Until that happens, the reminders of destruction will dominate millions of lives. Just as we see continual reminders of New Orleans and Terrorism, we need to seek understanding and awareness of just how badly lives have crumbled in the flood of bitter tears wept by those who have suffered the loss of their children to abortion. We need to challenge society's slow response to that catastrophic loss and provide shelter and housing for those women who find themselves needing to evacuate unsupported and uncommitted relationships during their pregnancies. In Rachel's Vineyard, we're not afraid to remember. We are not afraid to cry. We are not afraid to comfort each other in our grief and learn from what has happened. Grief remains one of the few things that has the power to silence. Those who confront their grief can never be silenced because they learn the truth and are strengthened by it.
