Okay. Afterall.

I watched a woman hand a flag to a man today.

Rows of blue standing silent and still in the morning sun, beads of sweat the only evidence of strain among the rank and file. The plaintive wail of the pipes disappearing into the air, tartan and flags snapped lightly. The crack of rifles thrice over. White gloved hands rising and falling in slow salute. Pain diluted and sharpened, the sound of silence washing over us in awkward waves of comfort.

And in the silence, her whisper thundered “Are you okay?” in my head as she walked me past a line of blue.

Am I? Am I okay?

In a few short months it will have been four years since she whispered to me, officer to grieving spouse, stranger to stranger, woman to woman. Four years since the rifles fired for him and my fingers welcomed the flag that was the last gift. Four years since a little boy asked why “that man was saying things about Daddy that made you cry” and a little girl screamed at the injustice of it all.

Four years of loss and renewal. Questions and answers. Resistance to change and rushing toward it. Memories not yet made, lost. Sleepless nights and comfortable slumber. Tears and laughter. Anger and adjustment. Four years after a moment that changed everything. They are the lost and found years.

A life lost and a new life found.

In four years we have processed trauma mentally and physically debilitating. We have embraced new friendships and watched others languish. We have found new passions and embraced new experiences. We’ve questioned the expected and chased the unexpected. We have challenged norms and demanded more.

The pipes still tear at my heart. The crack of rifles continues to pierce my soul. The line of blue remains uncomfortably comforting.

 

Because we’re more than okay.