Remember How They Lived

By Sharon Moran

If only I had the right words to express my fears and sadness following the recent events at Virginia Tech. Unfortunately, I don't. In times such as these, no words can truly express the complexity of human emotion that occurs in response to such a tragedy.

I cancelled my cable many months ago, so I no longer get the wildly addictive channels like CNN that I would usually watch when such a tragedy unfolds. I had to rely on the Internet and the AOL stories I get when I login to learn about the tragedy at Virginia Tech. As I get older, I pride myself on not crying, so I thought for sure I’d be able to escape a crying episode when I logged onto AOL and started clicking through the pictures of the victims. I was fine, or so I thought, until I reached the picture of a poised and elegant Emily Hilscher sitting atop a beautiful, brown horse. I’m an animal lover, thoroughbred owner, and on-again, off-again vegan, so this picture sent me over the edge. Seeing the relationship between humans and the animals they love is as powerful and moving as the relationships between fellow humans. I managed to look through the remaining pictures with tear-filled eyes, incredibly grateful that I would be spared repetitive images of the same events as network television often handles such tragedies.

Time is eventually accompanied by healing, but along the way, time can create more pain. When a loved one passes away, in the days immediately following that person’s death, it is possible to be comforted by having just seen that person yesterday or two days ago. One week after a death is certainly a milestone, and when one month passes, a feeling of disbelief sets in as you reflect on the fact that you lived a whole month without seeing or hearing your departed loved one. One year is another milestone of disbelief, but fortunately by that time most of night terrors and difficult breathing episodes that sometimes accompany them have stopped. Still, though, time passing creates a fear, a fear that the memories will fade, and you’ll begin to forget.

I’ll spare readers the cliché of referring to Seung-Hui Cho as a “monster” or “deranged.” He was a troubled soul whose behavior was behaved in an extreme and horrific manner. It’s sad he ever felt it necessary to take his own life. No matter how desperate life might be, it’s all we have, and death is an unavoidable reality, so deliberately hastening death through suicide is difficult to comprehend. Cho’s suicide creates an unfinished type of closure for the victims’ families because even before they’ve had a chance to grieve, there is really no one left to blame.

I’ve heard one bit of advice numerous times, usually following such tragedies of monumental significance. Don’t dwell on the final desperate moments of the victims’ lives but remember them by how they live. Emily Hilscher was living the life I one day hope to achieve. She had the dream job I often fantasize about; she was an exercise rider for thoroughbred Trainer Moody Aylor. I don’t have clearly defined religious beliefs, but I’m somewhat spiritual, and I’d like to think when Emily Hilscher entered eternity she was greeted by a vibrant and galloping Barbaro.

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