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There is an adage that says that time heals all wounds. I’m not convinced. It might not be the entire scab, but commemorating it is enough to make you re-live the pain. It doesn’t go away. You learn to live with it, integrate it into your being, and either develop skills to cope or hone the ones that you already possess in your toolbox.

Certainly, one of the challenges I acknowledge is that reminders of 10.27 are everywhere. Whenever I drive by the cold, dark shell of the main sanctuary I am reminded of that fateful day. When I’ve had a bad moment and purposely detour so that I do not see the main sanctuary, the choice of making a detour reminds me. No matter how welcoming Rodef Shalom and Calvary Episcopal Church have been, and they most assuredly have been incredibly welcoming, we remain homeless, and that reminds me. Businesses and homes still post the signs “Stronger Than H” and “Stronger Together”, and they remind me. I continue to meet people who share with me their story of where they were and what they were doing on that day. The events of that day are regularly referred to in the media, especially when it comes to subjects having to do with antisemitism. Choosing to speak at an event reminds me. This doesn’t mean that I continue to have difficulties coping with the impact of the day. Perhaps it is a way to let you know that it is difficult being a survivor of a mass murder. Reflecting upon the past six years, most days are generally good ones, minus the aches and pains of no longer being 29. I do not believe that I have bad days. Rather, there are moments of remembering that are painful, but I have enough tools to manage these moments. I also recognize that there are moments where I am unable to keep it in, and the tears flow as the pain overwhelms me for that brief moment, and I emphasize the word “brief”. On occasions such as these, it will take a few hours to move beyond the moment, and if asked if I am okay, I may respond “no”.

I cannot speak for anyone else, just myself. The answer to my question is, “No, it does not get easier. It just is.” Despite gratitude for surviving, there is also the occasional pain of surviving, the guilt of surviving, the wish to have been superman. It’s a totally reasonable way to think, and then I remind myself that I am not superman. But I wanted to be. And I couldn’t. And it hurts, even six years later.