Every day, for two months, I faithfully watered those seeds with my tears.In late February 2024 I was asked to join a team of social workers and therapists to be available for a school meeting set to discuss the mobilization of the school’s faculty concerning the murder of a student’s sister. In preparation, our director asked me to write out helpful passages about lament. I scraped together everything I had learned from books, articles, podcasts, and my own experience of lament. The director was so impressed with my writings that she asked if her husband could use it as his teaching for that night. On the night of the meeting, as our team was being introduced, our director looked confidently at me and said, “This is Anna, a survivor, and the one who wrote your handout.” She smiled gracefully and then continued to introduce the therapist and social workers who sat next to me. Aside from my writing, I didn’t know what more a 23-year-old college dropout who suffers from c-PTSD could offer to a community grieving such a horrific situation. But as a teacher began to express her concern for the murdered girl’s siblings, still in attendance at the school, I knew I had a lot to offer. My heart raced as memories of my own post-trauma school experiences replayed in my mind. I remembered the days I couldn’t pay attention in class. I would wander to the counselor’s office and sit, blankly staring out the window. Some days, I would bring a friend who would sit and watch while I cried, ripped paper, or scribbled nonsense in a notebook. I had my story to lay down as help for the siblings of the murdered girl. I nervously raised my hand and a microphone was passed to me. Softly, I started to share the things that helped me, as well as the things that heaped more shame onto me. At the end of the night, the principal, his wife, and another teacher came to me with tears in their eyes to thank me. “That was so helpful. I am so encouraged, and I’m hoping our teachers will be less focused on their grades and more on their well-being,” the teacher said. That night, I bore witness to lament’s bloom. The sorrow of my past, the weight of its consequences, and the grief I endured to work through my heartache were never devoid of hope. My lament bloomed into a Calla Lily of hope. Though the night was heavy, I caught glimmers of peace laced within the expressions of the grieving teachers. We lamented for the children, but inwardly I rejoiced for a faculty that strived to provide a safe environment for them. We lamented, knowing the arduous trek of sorrow the children will one day embark on, but inwardly I rejoiced, knowing that so many wise guides surrounded them. We planted our seeds of sorrow, but inwardly I rejoiced, knowing that lament’s bloom is possible for the whole community, and that one day they may abundantly rejoice in its beauty.
Anna-Marie Musico was born and raised in Hawaii. She comes from a mixed-ethnic household and is a childhood sexual abuse survivor. With a dream to counsel others, Anna is studying to complete her degree in psychology. She devotes her spare time to hosting dinners for women with trauma, offering respite care to foster children, and leading book studies through material affiliated with The Allender Center. She is working on writing a memoir, while actively sharing her poetry and writing on her Instagram account, @lamentsbloom.
