OP/ED: A very personal look at recent local tragedies
By Kyra Hoggan
I think our community is reeling a bit, right now. The loss of three of our young sons (preceded by the loss of an 18-year-old girl under the cruelest of circumstances) with a fourth still missing, and a family still in agony. Two of our teachers, just gone. Flooding that cost people their homes and livelihoods. Not to mention a catastrophic fuel spill and an uncontained forest fire, to boot.
I’ve already written the column about how we should care for ourselves and each other in the face of community tragedy, with advice from the experts – I wrote that back in the summer when we lost Zack and Josh.
But I wanted to speak to you, not just as a reporter stating hard facts and quoting experts, but as a fellow human being, and a fellow resident. I hate penning news coverage that increases people’s already-staggering fear load – but it’s been a truly scary summer, that’s just how it is.
Even if you didn’t personally know any of the people we’ve lost, I’ll bet every single one of us knows someone who did. A region this small is like an extended family – perhaps we don’t all have dinner together every night, but what impacts one of us, impacts us all.
But it’s hard to acknowledge or talk about – we see people who are more closely affected, and we think that means their pain eclipses our own, so we can’t speak to the fear and hurt we’re experiencing ourselves.
What folly.
I’m not immune to the emotional impact of recent events, and I don’t think this entire community is, either.
I hope people who are struggling with all this do talk about it, and reach out to each other – so much so, in fact, that I’ll go first, in hopes it will make it easier for others to follow suit:
Reading and writing these stories makes my stomach hurt, and makes it very hard to feel safe. I have a son, too – and the truth is, I’m sometimes scared to let him walk out the door. We drive these roads. I swim in the river, and so does my kid. We eat food from our garden that’s only safe if our water supply is likewise. I have a house that would burn down pretty easily if a forest fire encroaches.
Empathy becomes a little frightening, too – how much can you allow yourself to feel for all these people before you risk it becoming debilitating?
It’s scary wearing my reporter’s hat, as well, because really, who the hell am I to be speaking to critical issues like environmental crises and emotional, community-wide trauma?
I don’t always feel like I’m smart enough, or informed enough, or educated enough, or ANYTHING enough to tell anyone anything. I’m not a cop, or a firefighter, or an analyst or a therapist. I’m an expert at journalism, and a rookie (at best) at everything else.
What keeps me writing is this: I’m reasonably intelligent, plugged in, and intuitive. And I really, really care. If I’m feeling a little frightened and lost and confused, then probably, someone else is, too. In fact, LOTS of someone elses are, too, most likely.
Perhaps I can help, as a reporter, just by sharing that uncomfortable truth, and by seeking answers in the face of it, from experts who know more than I do.
So – that being said (a friend of mine teases me for saying that too often, so this one’s for him), I just want to say that it’s okay to feel frightened and lost and confused, with all that we’re experiencing as a community – whether you personally know all the players or not.
It’s okay to make yourself vulnerable and talk about it, whether you’re related to any of the people who are struggling with immediate tragedy right now or not.
It’s okay to look to expert advice in how to manage what is, at the very bottom line, an unmanageable reality.
I’m sharing some of my darker unease in hopes you’ll share yours, too – not with me, necessarily, but in your own safe places, where there’s an opportunity for healing and moving forward. And in the hope that, perhaps, we can be more compassionate toward the fear of those around us.
Courage doesn’t indicate an absence of fear – it’s about being afraid and coping our way through it.
And I think our best route to that is taken together.
I’m so very sorry for what Castlegar and our people have had to face, of late. It makes my heart hurt.
I wish I could offer an easy band-aid solution, but at the end of the day, I can only offer this: you’re not alone.
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