Four nights before Tyler Clementi jumped from the George Washington Bridge I was sitting in a hotel room in my own town calculating exactly what I had to swallow to keep a bottle of sleeping pills down.
What I know about living is that the pain just isn’t ours. Every time I hurt, I know that wound is an echo, so I keep listening for that moment when the grief becomes a window where I can see what I couldn’t see before.”
This is the feeling of fear seeping back into who I am.
There is no light at the end of the tunnel,
only a pack of matches handed down
from one generation to the next.
Humanity does not have a long fuse
and this generation holds the last match
JonArno Lawson, Bad News, in The Noon Whistle, 1996
Pilgrim, Timothy Findley
re-sil-ience [ri-zil-yuhns, -zil-ee-uhns]
1. the power or ability to return to the original form,
position, etc., after being bent, compressed,
or stretched; elasticity.
2. ability to recover readily from illness,
depression, adversity, or the like; buoyancy.