As October rolls around each year, I find myself looking at pink hearts. I see the heart in houses and vehicles across the town and my own, and I remember. Time marches on and some memories fade, but others last forever.
As October rolls around each year, I find myself looking at pink hearts. I see the heart in houses and vehicles across the town and my own, and I remember. Time marches on and some memories fade, but others last forever.
Two years ago, I came into the office on a sleepy Thursday morning.
‘I wonder what on earth I'm going to do today?' I thought to myself - it seemed like a slow news day. But minutes later, the news you never want to hear would unfold, with sirens shrieking in the distance, parents and children crying, chaos erupting and lives forever turned upside down.
I called my husband and told him about it, breaking down into tears at the senselessness of it all. Then we, as a newsroom, picked ourselves up and did what we had to do, what we've done every other time news has shaken this town to its core. We covered the Racette crash story, through the mourning of the loss of Megan's life, through the waiting for news of the other girls injured, through the prayer and pain of a community coming together in a candlelight vigil.
We did the same thing when this past year's downtown shootout happened, shaking off the nerves and unsettled feelings of being at the scene of this horrific crime - the shock that this could happen in our home - to report on the story.
So often, I hear someone or other say the news is always negative, a statement that drives me crazy. There is not a week goes by that reporters don't celebrate stories of success, volunteerism and hard work. Of course, we cover tragedy as well, but it is with a heavy heart we write these stories, because we live here too and we acutely feel the pain of our neighbours and friends' loss, long after the city media crews leave.
When I hear about a teenager dying in a crash, it strikes grief and fear equally into me. At least three teenagers I've met and/or interviewed have been killed in car crashes since I've been working at the Journal, and I grieve for their family and friends' loss, and feel fear that it could happen to someone else I know or love. Every single traumatic incident I have covered in St. Paul has been etched in my mind, and when I see pink hearts, I think of those losses and those left mourning, long after the rest of us return to normal life.
But from time to time, I'll see our newspaper lying on someone's kitchen table, or people flipping through the paper at stores or restaurants, or stories clipped out and hung up on storefronts. Through the newspaper, I see people connecting with the good, bad and ugly - from birth to death and everything in between - and it gives me a sense of pride to be a part of it, to be a part of recording the life of this whole community and whatever it faces, and the acts of grace, dignity, strength and kindness therein. After all, terrible things happen, but it lightens my heart and my hope for the future to see members of this community pulling each other through each time.
Time marches on, but we will never forget our history, our triumphs and tragedies, that we have all faced loss and heartache, but that we supported each other through those times. As long as I am here, I will keep writing, I will keep remembering and I will keep praying for those who are left behind with a pink heart forever.
