Monday, April 15, 2002

Matthew

I can't stop crying about it.

On October 12, 1998, I stood alone in the backyard and gazed through wispy clouds at the stars in the autumn sky and hugged my arms tightly around my shoulders, occasionally bringing the cuff of my sweater across my eyes to wipe at the tears.

On June 15, 2000, I staggered along 17th Street in New York, not knowing where to go and unable to think clearly and sobbing so hard that a stranger stopped me and asked me if I was okay -- in New York City! -- and offered to just stand with me for a minute until I pulled myself together.

On January 11, 2002, I believed that words on a page couldn't make the tears come but they did. I closed the door and sat in my office and cried like the first time. Like the second time. Like I did last night.

It was third time I've seen or read The Laramie Project, the play by Moisés Kaufman and the Tectonic Theater Company about the events in Wyoming following the murder of Matt Shepard.

I have stood face to face with Rev. Phelps. I have held the hand of Judy Shepard. I have said eulogies and I have written elegies and I have taken punches and I have never cried about those things. I have never given myself to permission to cry. I have a more urgent need to act.

Sometimes, though, words, time, distance...these things give us permission, whether we ask for it or not.

It's been four years and I can't stop crying about it.