Inside the circle

Inside the circle that gathers at 3:00 every Tuesday, forcible emotions wrangle, bouncing off the fragile periphery. At times, their intensity is violent, almost like they are trying to smash open a confining boundary. No one knows what storm will brew on any particular Tuesday, but as life charges on and death never takes a breather, it is a given that new faces will appear.

Graciela lost her mom two days before her 10th birthday. At age nine, Dakota lost his granddad, the closest man he will ever have to a father. They are the newest faces and they sit; their chairs back a little from the rest of the circle, as if not fully reconciled with the fact that something precious has been stolen from them.

Veteran members lead the way with stories of little sprigs of hope: laughing after a home run in kickball, making a wise crack about the school cafeteria’s mac and cheese. Veterans always seem shocked when a seed of contentment pokes its head through the maelstrom. But, hope is easily eradicated with guilt about levity. In their minds, having a light hearted moment might mean they have forgotten their loved ones or loved them less. They feel resigned to being sad all the time.

But inside the circle, they get reassurance, knowledge and power; so they might mend the path that was interrupted by death and get back to the business of a flourishing childhood. Graciela and Dakota are light years away from flourishing. Grief is still sharp, like a piercing cracked rib that robs them of stamina. Grief is their constant companion. It is all they can see ahead, behind, and next to them.

When it is Graciela’s turn to speak, she is barely above a whisper. Her head is down, her dark hair a cascading cloak hiding her features. She tells her name, nothing more. The circle waits patiently. Sometimes it can take up to 5 minutes before a child can speak further. Graciela doesn’t speak again on this Tuesday. But, eventually she will.

Dakota doesn’t speak either. He abruptly leaves before his turn, throws open the door and kicks over a garbage can in the hall. The circle hears the shrill clatter of metal on the linoleum. Sadly, there is nothing new here; just a boy who is flailing and lost, his anchor no longer in this world. In time, the circle will become his safe haven. It is the most difficult place but yet the most beautiful place he will ever have the courage to be.