"How can we honor the fallen? How can we be true to their memory?...If this tragedy prompts reflection and debate, as it should, let's make sure it's worthy of those we have lost." ~ President Barack Obama, January 12, 2011
A few weeks ago, my husband and I cleaned out all of the VCR tapes still stuck under our TV. I haven't had a VCR in at least a decade, and our DVD player broke three years ago. But I still held up the DVD of Woody Allen's Take the Money and Run and announced proudly, "We're watching this on the computer tonight. Funniest. Movie. Ever."
My husband waited a respectful minute before asking, "Really? Still?"
I do think Take the Money and Run has some hilarious scenes. The sweeping violins during the escape from prison and the montage of eating lunchmeats on the beach is definitely brilliant. But this is not a film review. I know I've colored this movie with the memory of my father, sitting on the edge of our coffee table, laughing until his face was bright red and his eyes dripped tears. I wanted this to be my favorite movie too so I could share his flushed giddiness. He died from a swift cancer when I was 11. I've been talking about that lunchmeat montage for the 26 years that have passed since then.
I know there is a truer way to honor my father. If he were still on earth most likely he would've changed favorite movie status by now too. But I often get stuck thinking I can only show my love for him by repeating his words and adopting his opinions. Many of my OCD rituals started when he died - kissing his photograph hundreds of times and practicing his dance steps. I still pray with a small Charlie Brown figurine that he gave me when we had a daddy-daughter date in 1983. I think beneath the layers of ceremony is a fear that if I don't profess my adoration and loyalty to him I could, in some way, be culpable for his death.
My husband and I never did watch that DVD of Woody Allen. Instead, I was glued to the telecast of the Tucson memorial. An arena full of flushed faces and wet eyes, crying and cheering en masse. President Obama spoke eloquently and forcefully. For me, he proposed a direct challenge. How can I honor those whom I have lost in an honest, communicative way? Instead of holing up in my room and planting secret kisses on my father's photo, how can I each day, share some of what he taught me with my husband, my children, my community? And how can we as a nation do the same for the people who died in Tucson?
Judge John Roll served in the legal system for almost 40 years, becoming Arizona's chief federal judge. He worked passionately to end drug crimes and to protect civil rights for migrant workers. His rulings were not always popular - he got death threats in 2009, but refused to press charges when the threats were identified.
Dorothy Morris enjoyed the ease of her retirement community and the trips she took with her husband in their RV. She followed the Republican Party, but wanted to speak with Democratic Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords and ask some questions. Dorothy's husband of fifty years tried to stop the bullets that killed her with his own body.
Phyllis Schneck was another senior who enjoyed the sun and open skies of Arizona. She volunteered at church and decorated her house with homemade aprons and photos of her family. On her dining room table was often a jigsaw puzzle.
Dorwan Stoddard was a retired construction worker. After he was widowed, he found his sweetheart from sixth grade, who had also been widowed, and they remarried 15 years ago. Every Saturday morning they made sure to go out for a breakfast date.
Gabe Zimmerman was Giffords's new outreach director, and the organizer of Saturday's "Congresswoman on the Corner." He was the guy who listened to complaints and comments from Giffords's constituents. When someone came in to her office, he thanked him or her by offering carfare home. Gabe hiked the Grand Canyon twice and was engaged to be married next year.
Christina Taylor Green. Nine years old and already a dancer, gymnast, helping in charities and practicing for the major leagues. She was born on September 11, 2001 and featured in a book called Faces of Hope. On Saturday she went to the grocery store to find out more of how democracy worked.
I'm sorry that these are poor descriptions of six people I never met. There are moments and details of each person I couldn't know - maybe Gabe chewed his thumbnail when he was nervous, or Phyllis hiccupped after drinking soda. I'm guessing Christina had a favorite outfit for school that made her feel particularly strong. In many ways, these are the intimate parts of loss that I think the President was instructing us to study.
I will never be able to emulate all of these people's actions and ideals, just as I can't with my father. But for me, in the smallest, most incremental steps, this is what I can set as my intentions today. This is how I can try to honor the fallen.
In deference to Judge Roll, I can learn to educate myself more before passing judgment. To read the facts before jumping to conclusions. For Dorothy, I can be more curious about the world. Phyllis reminds me to take out a jigsaw puzzle and Dorwan instructs me to slow down on a Saturday morning. Gabe makes me want to learn how to walk outside without it being for errands. Christina is the reason I will teach my daughter the national anthem.
And for my father, today, I am giving away my DVD of Take the Money and Run. Not because it's not funny, but because I've watched it enough for now. I will also find something new to laugh at. Hopefully with a full red face and tears.
