I Still Have PTSD

All of our crew members have career specialties and life skills in which they excel. In his working life, Bac is an expert craftsman who does high-end faux finishes in homes of Bay-Area legends. When he comes to work on Temples, he teaches us how to gold leaf, which is something David loves to add to the spires and elements around the Temples. It’s time consuming, expensive, detail-oriented, physically stunning, but most importantly, it shows people how much we car

Bac, who came to the United States on a boat from Vietnam at age 15, was raised in Sandwich, Cape Cod—a place settled in 1620 by the Pilgrims. It’s a place I also love and one we connect over. Bac regularly works alone, doing incredibly detailed work with expensive materials and little room to make mistakes. Because of the focus needed, he prefers quiet. When we did gold leaf for the Temple of Time, there was blowing wind and pouring rain; a stressful situation to say the least. We parked vans around our tent to baffle the wind, and David blocked off our area so we weren’t interrupted. We needed to concentrate.

But soon, a few crew members, and their families, and then hard-working volunteers and curiosity seekers started to drift over. How could we not let them help? How could I not engage in conversation? Wasn’t this why we were here? It was hard to concentrate with the distraction, but gold leafing happened, in a messy, imperfect, let’s-make-this-work, kind of way. It was a reminder that we weren’t here to demonstrate our abilities, we were here to share. While I guided volunteers in and out of our tent, making sure a variety of people had a chance at this experience, Bac began to teach. It was wonderful to see him share his expertise and to see how excited volunteers were to be a part of this process. I asked someone what his favorite thing was to do was, and he excitedly told me scuba diving! I asked if he ever explored wrecks, which I knew took special training. He lit up and told me he was taking that class the next weekend. And so a discussion began, about apparatus, ways to prevent the benz and where he wanted to dive in the future.

Later, someone told me that he had just taken his first diving class that weekend. Someone else mentioned how terribly sad he looked. I don’t know if that was just the beginning of his diving exploration, but I know that he was excited about it. I also can’t possibly know how sad he was, but I witnessed a teenager who had been through great trauma, who was engaging in life and exploring new worlds. To sit together, telling stories about the underwater world, brushing gold leaf on glittering spires—one to memorialize his friend and 16 more to remember the others who were killed—was why we were here. I love that David has the foresight to know the importance of gold leaf, in both its beauty and its process, and understands that bringing out Bac, with all his expertise, makes our crew whole. Ultimately, I’m so glad we work with and learn from our friend Bac.

Alice was one of the first volunteers to show up. She lived near the site and immediately showed us that the community was going to be very supportive. We crossed paths a few times acknowledging each other. There is work that we do by using the drop outs of the pieces of intricate plywood to glue onto 4 x 8 pieces of plywood as an intricate mosaic to be laid down as the floor.

Our conversation was that thing you do, Florida weather, how many temples have I built, what a pleasure to be working together… Alice in her sweet way wanted to invite our group over to her house for dinner one night. She had run out of glue so I volunteered to fill her bottle. As I returned and handed her the full bottle a siren sounded in the distance and slowly got louder as it came closer. The louder the sound the more her she became lost. The bottle of glue slipped out of her hand. The siren got louder and her frozen eyes glazed over and stared past me as it drove past us. The ambulance turned at the intersection and the sound disappeared into the distance.

She was still frozen in mid sentence. I picked up the glue at her feet. Her eyes were red and glassy. She wasn’t shaking, but she didn’t seem solid. It took her a small moment to gather herself.

“I apologize,” she said looking at me.

I didn’t understand exactly what was happening. “Apologize? You don’t have to apologize for anything.”

“I still have PTSD, especially when I hear sirens,” she said rubbing her eyes as if to clear smoke. “On weekends it’s not so bad as I know there is no school.”

“Ahhh, yes yes,” I said trying to validate and hold a comforting space for her. I had no idea that this was how it felt to be living in this community a year later.

“That day Dash, that day.... There were so many sirens, so much confusion. It was like that horrible sound would never stop. Each time you heard it you knew there was another child in it....” her voice trails off.

“I’m going to give you a hug?” I said as a question and opened my arms towards her

“Yes. I could use one.”

We held the moment. I felt the presence of something significant. I understood the reason why we had come to Florida. It wasn’t just the families who had lost children. It was everyone.

Whatever Trepidation I had arrived with had now been irrevocably erased.

Ray wore a burgundy t-shirt with #MSDSTRONG on the front and the Marjorie Stoneman Douglas fierce eagle on the back. He was tentative when we met. I invited him to help me on a project. One thing I love about building the temple is that so many of the jobs are repetitive. Not that anyone loves repetition, but as we learn the process of something, it begins to make sense. We need 20 columns, there are four sides, there are frames, there are cuts, there are angles. 20 times 4 times 4 times 4 equals 1,280. The first few go-arounds are daunting; finding dimensions, materials, fittings, tools, correct size screws, nails, staples, timberlocks. The first piece may take 20 minutes for two cuts. Once you figure out the materials, tools and what the hell you’re trying to make, you start to see short cuts. You use a different way to cut, a new order, a template, a block; you cut four at once, you turn and stack and repeat. What begins as time consuming and pointless, slowly becomes a well-formed dance. Working with Ray

“Hi, my name is Dash.” “I’m Ray,” he said, looking at his tennis shoes. “You go to Stoneman Douglas?” “Yeah.” “ Cool, kinda been a tough year I guess?” I asked, trying not to pry. “Yeah, pretty tough.” “ Let me guess how old you are? “Okay.” “Hmm, not 13. Maybe 15…are you 15? “I’m 14,” Ray smiled. It was a good smile. He looked straight at me. The only thing I ever want to do with a young person is validate them. His smile made me smile. His eyes looked up. “Ha, ha, I knew it was 14. You act like you’re 15. What are you in to? “Swimming.” “I bet you’re good at it. I grew up surfing. I love swimming. Do you surf?” “I wish!” “What’s your stroke?” “Butterfly.” “Dude! You’re kidding, that’s awesome. That’s a tough stroke.” “Yeah.” “Are you good?” “Hmm, I don’t know, but I swim with kids that are 15 and 16.” “I can tell you’re good! No wonder I thought you were 15.”

We both laughed. The smallest bonding occurred. There was feeling in this moment that I felt account able for. I knew he went through a great tragedy of epic proportions. I did not know his story, what he saw, who he lost or how he felt a year after the trauma. But it was not my place to know, or ask, or in trude. I lost a daughter ten years ago. People always want to know how she died. What is that story. The only story in that moment, was the small laugh between us.

“Have you ever used a high-powered nailer or stapler connected to a compressor?” I held up one of the nail guns. They are called “nail guns.” We decided that the name “nail guns” was too reactive a term, so we call them nailers or staplers. It’s a good tool for a young kid. It’s easy to put in a staple that is strong enough to hold up the Temple. Learning to build something with integrity, surrounded by a supportive crew, can be a life-affirming experience for a kid. I witnessed this during the Temple build in Ireland. Kids who never worked before, arrived with nothing but attitude and lived off the dole. Yet, by the end of our build, they transformed. It was a glimpse of what has the power to change the trajectory of a life. When you build, create or do something you love, work is more than fun, it is meaningful. I handed Ray the stapler.

“Put these every 12 inches…”

After a while, Ray learned to use a stapler, framing gun, impact driver and a skill saw. We moved in harmony. He was athletic and intelligent, witty and charming. We were smiles and had a great rhythm. In our routine, we realized we had half of them done by the time we broke for lunch.

Ray joined some of his friends. A young woman, attractive, mid-30s, sat across from me with her plate of pasta and salad that Maggie prepared. “Hi, I’m Alicia. I’m the art therapist for ShineMSD,” she said, smiling. “It’s so cool see you working with Ray.” She explained about the group and what they did. ShineMSD was created for the MSD kids to nurture healing through the Arts. Ray was in her group. “Yeah, he’s an awesome kid. I really like working with him.”

She leaned forward and whispered, “I’ve never seen Ray so happy. He is all smiles today. I can’t believe it.”

“Well he is enjoying himself. I’m enjoying working with him. It’s kind of contagious.” I waved towards the build. Small groups of people formed around different projects. It was a beehive of activity. “Really, there is nothing else like this,” and I added not for the first time nor for the last, “Helping to heal others is a powerful way to help heal ourselves.”

Working with Briana

After lunch, Ray and I worked together in step, right where we left off. The good feelings continued. David Best walked over with a young girl and said to her, “You can help here.” He looked at me and I nodded.

“Of course!” I told them both

“I’m Dash,” I told her.

“I’m Brianna,” she said so quietly I had to ask her again to get the pronunciation. “Brianna,” she repeated glumly.”

“Brianna, got it,” I said. There was a little attitude, a small edge. I don’t need to name it, but I recognized it. I may not get a smile from Brianna.

“So how are you doing today, Brianna?”

“Alright I guess,” she said, still looking downward.

“Alright, just alright.” I said, trying to sound jokingly light. “I know ‘alright’. Yesterday, I had to spend the entire day in my hotel room because I was too sick to work out here. Yesterday, I was totally miserable! Snot all over yech! So today, I’m just alright too! I’m looking for ‘good,’ though. I’m going ‘miserable,’ ‘alright,’ ‘good’ and then ‘great.’ First, let’s try to get to ‘good.’” I sounded like a camp counselor. Ray knew me well enough to recognize I was playing. Brianna looked a little stunned. I gave Ray a thumbs up, he gave me one back. I looked at Brianna and gave her a vigorous thumbs up and she grimaced and gave a half-hearted thumbs up. But it landed kind of cute and timid and it made me smile. “Awesome. That’s a good start!”

Ray and I had worked together for a few hours and I wanted to include Brianna in our project without making her feel uncomfortable.

“So here is the deal about working,” I began. I tell this story a lot to people who newly come on board. “Here is the trick to be a good worker…Watch what we do. See what tools we use. What pieces of materials we need. What screws or staples we use. What templates and pieces help hold or measure things. There will be a moment when the person you’re working with needs something, and as they are looking around you just reach forward and have it in your hand when they need it…that’s when you become part of the team. That’s what makes a great worker. Watch, pay attention and be ready. I’m a contractor back home and if I hire someone and they are this kind of person, believe me, I want them on my team! That’s a good employee.” That’s my pep talk.

We went back to work and Ray taught Brianna how to use the staplers and move pieces of plywood and framing. I cut three pieces of plywood into a shape that was the exact measurement of the frames. We used them to hold the frames in place. We used a more powerful framing nailer (nail gun). We had worked together for about an hour and were beginning to get our teamwork figured out. It was a rainy day, with

periodic showers. A couple of times, it rained so hard we covered our tools and found shelter. But the sky would clear, and we’d uncover our tools and get back to work. I looked around for something I needed. I wasn’t sure what it was actually, I just looked around, a little disoriented.

A hand thrust forward. No spoken word. Just a hand thrust in front of my face, holding a piece of wet wood that we had used to space 2-by-4s. It was exactly what I needed. I didn’t even know what it was and then… bam… I stared at this piece of wood in front of my eyes. I traced the hand back to elbow, shoulder, face and smiling Brianna. A kind of pride in her eyes, a joy in her face. In that moment it was so much more than a piece of wood she offered me. I took the template from her. “ Ha, ha…Yes! Perfect!” I turned towards Ray and he was smiling also. He saw it too. I can’t really explain this, but in that moment, I got a swelling of emotion. It was raining hard, we were sopping wet, but it was not cold. The three of us were together. The Temple was in the background, being made by friends and wonderful people of the community. The three of us had a moment and I felt so grateful. In that moment, I loosen some doubts about the build, about what we were there for, even my own grief for my daughter, my own awkward relationship to wisdom, insecurities and fears. Because in that moment, I felt Brianna’s same feelings. Ray’s same feelings. It gave me goosebumps.

“Oh my god, I’m feeling so emotional…” The kids saw me tearing up. “So Brianna, how are you feeling now, still just alright?” We all laughed. She searched for the right word.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“Yeah, me too. I might even say Great.”

“Ray, how about you?”

“Great!” he said.

“Brianna?”

“Yeah, Great.”

The rain continued and so did we. Later, Brianna joined her mother under the tent to help make the parquet floors. During the build, she was one of the kids who always showed up after school, she loved being around. We didn’t work together on any other projects, but anytime I’d pass her way, I’d sneak up on her and ask…

“Hey Brianna, how are you today?” She’d always answer deadpan, “Alright,” adding a late smile, ready for the next question. “Just alright?”

She would answer, “Okay…Good.”

“Not Great?”

Then she’d look at me and tilt her head to the side a bit and say “Hmm, maybe…” On February 13, the final day before we finished the Temple, I tapped Brianna on the shoulder and we recited our “alright” to “good” routine. “I wonder,” I said, “if it goes miserable, alright, good and then great, what comes after great?”

I tried to sound perplexed and sincere.

Brianna looked at me thoughtfully, paused, and then exclaimed in a loud strong voice,

“MAGNIFICENT!”

Her strong voice, her beaming smile, her good humor, even an inner sense of wonderful irony landed on all of us. I started to laugh, Ray started to laugh, Brianna looked at us and burst out into laughter. The rain started up again. Warm water.

Through my laughter tears started rolling down my cheeks. I hold out my arms.

“I got goose-bumps. I know I’m crying. Brianna your so perfect!”

We just kept laughing in the rain, and then slowly got back to work.

There was a temple to build.

Ruthie and Joey

David introduced me to a married couple, Ruthie and Joey. “Here, you can help here.” She did most of the talking. “I’m the artist and he’s the builder.” He looked bewildered at the description.

We were busy on the last phases of construction, working with our heads down and pushing hard for the deadline. Sometimes it’s easier to push hard into the project, rather than take time to teach a person how to use a tool and align them with the task at hand.

I was a bit impatient, feeling the stress to finish on time. I gave them what I thought were clear instructions, and they both immediately took off in different directions. Their faces were pink and sweaty and their bodies were out of shape. Their clothes were tacky, even for Florida. They didn’t follow directions and didn’t know how to use the tools. I was frustrated and about to ask them if they would like to work in a less-technical tent. I found myself judging, impatient and irritated.

A feeling on compassion suddenly grabbed me like I was some kind of tool, which perhaps I was. Suddenly, I became interested in who they were and why we were suddenly working together.

“Hey,” I said, “let’s stop for a second. Do you have kids?”

“We have a son,” Ruthie spoke up.

“How is he doing?”

“Not well, actually. He wasn’t shot, but he was talking to a girl and as she turned to walk away, he watched her get shot. He ran for cover. It was in the hallway where the heaviest carnage took place. He hasn’t been well. He hasn’t been able to return to school this year. Lots of kids haven’t.”

“How are you two doing?”

“I’m okay, but truthfully, Joey’s not doing so well.”

I looked over at Joey. His face was now red and sweat dripped off his forehead. He looked like he was on the verge of a panic attack.

“Joey has PTSD,” Ruthie whispered.

Joey looked up at me. He started to sob. He spoke through the emotions.

“I wanted to know what our son saw. The police showed me the film they have of the hallway. I wish I didn’t see it. I can’t sleep. I can’t focus. I can’t even talk about how horrible it was.”

I suddenly saw them in a different way. I felt absolute tenderness. We fell into each other’s arms and held a family hug for a few minutes. The light seemed different, the day felt easier. I explained how a railing needed to be nailed and somehow this time they got it.

They worked the rest of the afternoon. Two other people joined them. They worked slowly and handled the nail gun like it was an expensive piece of china, but it didn’t mater. They were smiling.