My Muddled Emotions

Good morning…

When I arrived at our therapeutic community group at PAWkids yesterday morning, I didn’t know what “blob” from the “blob tree” described how I felt (this is a check-in ritual we share each week). My emotions were deeply muddled. I had just received a return text from a close friend who lives in Athens, Georgia, and, overwhelmed by her words, I read them out loud to the trusted men and women in our small group.

“Hey sweet friend, yes, as you know, it’s been a hard, sad time here,” she responded after I reached out following the first murder on the University of Georgia campus in thirty years. “Sue, I didn’t know the student, but I did pass the man who killed her on the trails last week at the Botanical gardens. So, I’ve had to submit several interviews to investigators, etc….I was down on the river trail, alone and it was late in the day, when I passed this guy, dressed in a dark hoodie, who gave me a cold chill of fear. THIS NEVER HAPPENS TO ME. I was so concerned that I doubled back to my car and left…..well, two-three days later he apparently killed the precious student. It’s been surreal for all of us as we’re all on those trails constantly, like I’m sure your kids have been. These trails are just part of our lives here in Athens. I know that she is with Jesus and that brings me great comfort. My heart goes out to her dear, dear family and all of her many friends.”

My emotions were pulled in different directions. Sadness for the victim, her family and her friends. A real sense of vulnerability, that the deadly attack could have happened to my dear friend, to one of our kids, or to one of the many students we know who now live in Athens. Gratitude that my friend’s “inner radar” gave her a cold chill of fear, spurring her to get immediately to safety. A deep awareness that I was sitting with men and women who live in the inner city of Atlanta, where safety is never guaranteed, where incidents of violence happen randomly and regularly. An even wider awareness that so many loved ones are being killed each day in Gaza, in Ukraine, in every powerless corner of this wounding world. With all of these strong, swirling emotions, I was overwhelmingly tongue-tied.

The wise, seasoned friend sitting beside me reached over and pointed to the “blob tree” figure on the top right branch. “To me, it sounds like you might feel like this ‘blob’,” he said. Frowning face. Arms crossed. Drooping eyes. I appreciated his compassionate help and quietly colored the “blob” light purple.