Several days after this abomination, I knew at some point I would have to go down there. I also trusted myself that I would know "when " I could do so. It mattered to me.
As many of you know, I went down there last Monday fully aware that the scene was was blocked off. On that visit, I had to see to the media, from all over the world , caring about this story. It mattered to me.
I decided last night that today would be day. I would go early, so that if I got lost I did not have to attempt to find my way with traffic all about. I was also aware that it was an experience I wanted to do in quiet, without a lot of people around. That, too, mattered to me.
On my way down there it was moving that all the signs above the expressway, usually warning of an upcoming traffic delay, today , mentioned June 12.
Over the past week , I began to notice that my furry friend had been staying a bit closer to me, knowing instinctively that I needed her presence a bit more these days. . That mattered to me.
On the way to the center , I passed impromtu memorials, many large, at random locations on the side streets. .As I got closer I could see the the vast open space adorned with colors - rainbow colors,, and "ojects" of all sizes and shapes.
As i was getting closer , the magnitude of what had transpired, grew. I had forgotten my Kleenex. Upon getting closer, the creativity of the community, and many others, struck me profoundly.
While finding a parking space I saw that a parking meter, still claiming that the parking space was "for media only". Another reminder of enormity of the past week. For some reason I was glad that it had accidental been left. It mattered to me.
I saw lighters left about, so that visitors could light a candle, if one could find one that, unlike like the victims, had not flickered away, I found one, and lit it. That also, mattered to me.
I begin to see the pictures of those forever seared into our hearts and minds. Although unknown personally, they had become familiar faces for many of us here. Too familiar. For incomprehensible reasons. In all likelihood it shall remain so.-forever.
Magic markers were left all about the memorial. Many of those that had been there before, some many times, knew that many others would follow, and experience a yearning to leave their words as well. That mattered to me.
There were about 8 people doing what they needed to do for themselves, each in their own way and mind. For those that were there with someone, their conversations consisted of whispers. It was solemn ground, filled only with stillness. Walking slowed down, too much to take in. That too, mattered to me.
There was a homeless man sleeping about 15 feet away, his torn back pack,and sun burnt cheeks, reminded each of us a different kind of misery. I noticed about 8 folding chairs facing toward the flowers, reefs, pictures, candles,with goodbyes all over them. We had, after all, made promise not to forget them. One elderly man sat, hands clutched. That too,mattered to me.
Many of the flowers had begin to wither. They had, however, unlike the people we all were forced to say goodbye to, had lived their lives as designed.. Fresh flowers , in some places, stood out in the bright sunshine, reminding me that people had laid them recently,fulfilling the promise not to be forgotten. That mattered to me.
I bought a small candle, and set it down but chose not to light it. I would save it for others that were sure to come behind me. I grabbed a magic marker and continued to absorb what I was immersed in.
I knew that I would wait, until, I saw and felt the item that called out to me for my words. It happened , for reasons that shall remain unknown to me, and sat down.. I had not noticed that the marker was bright red,and had leaked upon my hand. In much the same manner as copious amount of blood, had left the confines of the victims my right hand was red. The red ink on my hands, chilling in its own way, was, startling, but befuddling fitting .
The reasons why certain words heaped an intense sadness upon me remain unclear.
There were various separated beds of collections, appearing as if when one area become to much, another one had started and blossomed. Too big, and intimacy might be lost. prohibiting one of the ability to see the weary words surrounding me. The ache was profound.
There was an area where big sheets and blankets lay beside one another, with words scrawled upon them, in a wide array of colors and handwriting. There was very little room left for a future visitor that would too, have the same compelling need to need to witness what lay before me. I was flooded with memories of my little sister and and I doing the AIDS quilt decades earlier. in Washington.
My first thought was, how far we we have come, HIV being a monster of hate, while only the opposite was before me.Love. I quickly reminded myself there was more than enough hate continuing to fetter in other lands being oblivious to the reality that others of my ilk were deemed worthy of having their heads lobbed off, or heaved off high buildings.
I could not help but remember the irony I experienced when a few, very few, spewed hate of the same magnitude that had given birth to June 12.
As a gay man, I could grasp the notion of a safe haven, in our bars, being yanked away. Although i rarely attend with the ferocity I did decades ago I could easily understand that truth. Hopefully, there will a balance between moving on while never quite forgetting as well. It mattered to me.
A bright pink and orange, gay, colorful couch was in the bright sunlight - it too had little room left for another who yearned and needed to leave sentiments. I could not help but think that couches are where people lie down to rest. Usually in peace. Our 49 had nothing of the sort. That too mattered to me.
One of the areas had no one there, I enjoyed not being surrounded , far away from grief that passed me bye at the other locations. Behind me I saw people kneeling down randomly , when their need to do so, compelled them, to pick their own special space where and when it was their moment to do so.It mattered to me.
I noticed that the city had made signs of our gay and festive rainbow flag that was created in celebration , decades ago, for those of us lucky enough to celebrate " being". The signs claimed "Orlando Strong". The hung from street lights. I never particularly cared for those words, the word "Orlando" had made it too close. Strong I had not felt since the 11th.
In reality strength never accompanies powerlessness,lack of comprehension, confusion,grief or anger. In unison, together , they are actually draining and weakening.
In passing other swollen eyes, there was a need to make quick eye contact , to give a nod of comfort , to share a similiar yet unique sadness. The breif glances provided comfort. No words were necessary or spoken, with one another in passing.That, as well mattered to me.
I found comfort in finding out that items in the memorial would be saved and placed somewhere where visitors could , forever, feel what that night meant to the world. That, too mattered to me.
Upon returning to my car, I elected to drive the short distance to Pulse. On this Sunday , it was a small gathering. There remained a small police prescience . One police car was feet away from the collection that had amassed at the front of the horror. Its presence, was, in truth a unneeded reminder that all was not well. Another cop car was on the other side, parked in the car wash where the killers van had been. White and orange plastic barricades lined the actual road.
The black screening that had been put up in the unsuccessful hope to block what had occurred inside was laden with more words from others that felt to need to be at the location of such loss and despair.That, too, mattered to me.
There was a large box truck, behind the black screening that was too high to be blocked.. It was a disaster clean up vehicle. Its presence, at this point in time, reminded me of the intensity of the cruelty that had transpired behind closed doors.
Through the screening I saw two men in white boo-hazard suits and blue gloves walking toward the truck with another gentleman in regular clothing. Over time, I noticed that every car on the 4 lane road, in front of the club ,tapped their brakes. Every single one. That mattered to me.
On my drive home, I passed a giant electronic,billboard, with "Orlando Strong" reminding me the widespread impact June 12 has had here.
Although having only been up a couple of hours, I felt as if I needed sleep, I was zapped,spent and weary..
Was I glad I followed my compulsion to experience this day. Indeed. I was correct in knowing when I emotionally available to do so. could do so. When strong enough - in quiet. That mattered to me as well. .
Upon my return home I had hoped for a dreary thunderstorm.Both clouds and hunger evaded me. .
As I walked away, I was struck by the thought that at that very moment I was doing the very same thing that the 49 Innocent kids had done on that night leaving.....................................
