by Lori Whittemore,
I was recently in Dayton Ohio, deployed to provide spiritual care on behalf of the American Red Cross. The first day I was tasked with walking around the Oregon District where the mass shooting took place. Offering comfort to those who were visiting the make shift memorials that were set up where the people had fallen. The historic district has quaint, brick buildings with restaurants, shops, and tattoo parlors. Most were closed with noticeable bullet holes through many of the windows. Red Crossers, volunteer mental health providers, various community churches all were out and about doing the same. Many, many city residents came to look at the area. And families of those who were shot and/or killed were there bringing flowers from funerals and bringing pictures to place on the memorials.
As I paused at the largest of the memorials, a woman asked me if I knew the ministers who had been here the day after the shooting. I told her I did not. She handed me a handkerchief. She said that her son had been shot and in her public display of grief the day after his funeral, a minister had handed her his handkerchief. She took it and after pouring her grief into it, had cleaned it and wanted to return it in case another needed it. I told her I would take it and check in with my peers and see if it was theirs. It wasn’t. So I now have a white handkerchief.
I witnessed so much generosity during my time in Dayton: Compassion for those who lost loved ones or had been shot or injured. Grief for those left behind. Fear by those who expressed fear of ever going out in public—anywhere. Generosity of folks donating time and money and ears and hearts to those affected by this horrible, outrageous act. Anguish and despair for the things that can’t be fixed or repaired and that we aren’t addressing to prevent this from happening again.
After I returned home and unpacked, I found the handkerchief again and I realized the double meaning it holds for me. I will keep it for when I am sent again to the next mass casualty. I will offer it in comfort to the people pouring out their grief. I also looked at it as a white flag of surrender. When do we give up to the fact that this is not how civilized society is supposed to be? As my colleague Bob Atkinson said in a previous reflection, “We were not made for this.” I hold on to this white flag of surrender, to the possibility of transformation for a society that is drowning in tears. We are not meant for this!
Lori Whittemore a spiritual care volunteer for the American Red Cross and Maine Behavioral Health, as well as the founder and director of Abbey of Hope and Clinical Pastoral Training Center of Southern Maine (CPTCSM). Through CPTCSM she trains chaplains and pastoral care givers with today’s varied religious and spiritual landscape in mind. Rev. Whittemore approaches interfaith ministry from her Christian background and training as well as her interfaith education at Chaplaincy Institute of Maine.
