still standing

The Weather Channel had predicted a cool, rainy and raw Sunday, a perfect day to stay inside with a good book according to the forecaster. And so it was.

It would have been infinitely easier to stay warm and dry at home, but instead I was among dozens of others who came together that night to commemorate women, children and men who'd been killed during the past year. Dead at the hands of someone they knew -- victims of what is euphemistically called "domestic violence".

Facing something hard and wanting to be anywhere else, nonetheless there is a place in us that knows what is right for us to do. I suspect that many others at the service of remembrance and healing for victims and survivors felt the same way. We showed up because we could.

Watching graceful young dancers interpret "You'll Never Walk Alone", I suddenly recalled singing that with other glee club members at our high school graduation ceremony. JFK had been assassinated several months before, but I still believed that nothing bad would ever happen to me. Now there I was -- decades later -- knowing that bad things had indeed happened and I was amazed at the trembling inside.

After a silent candlelight vigil for those who should still be alive, we broke the silence that too often shrouds the secrecy of abuse. One by one we stood to claim our places as survivors of attempts to silence us. We spoke for ourselves and for those who could not be there. Standing together, we called for change.

That afternoon I'd briefly gone online and noticed this daily reflection on my home page. From John Updike: "Rain is good; rain is the sky condescending to the earth; without rain there would be no life" Suddenly my attitude toward that dismal day changed and anticipating what was to come that night, the following came to me (with apologies to Mr. Updike): "Tears are good; tears are the head condescending to the heart; without tears there would be no life."

It poured throughout the service, but during the silent candlelit procession and later when we all left for home the rain stopped.

In memory of Mary Crawford, 92, and Rachel Entwhistle, 27, whose roses I have kept.

If you are in danger, call 911. Afraid in your relationship? Call 1.800.799. SAFE (7233) or go online to the National Domestic Violence Hotline.
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