Dear Tucson,
I love our town - don't you?
Twelve months ago, I typed the same words to you, thanking you for caring for me and worrying about me and praying for me.
Twelve months ago … it feels like yesterday and it feels like forever.
Twelve months ago, I walked through the grocery store anonymously. Twelve months ago, Chistina-Taylor and I stood, holding hands and giggling, as we waited for our turn to tell our congresswoman just exactly how the world should be run.
We never got the chance.
That's a shame. It's awful. It can't ever be made right. But it is not how I have come to frame my thoughts about that day. Dwelling on the horror got me no place. Feeling comforted by my community has helped me heal.
It began immediately, just as the shooting stopped. Right that very minute, the awful sounds were replaced by calming words and soothing hands. People of action, everyday heroes, regular people who shared only a ZIP code. … Tucsonans held my hand and called my family and reassured me that I would be fine.
The caring continued after I left the hospital. Neighbors and newcomers brought us dinner every night for 12 weeks. Each afternoon, sometime between 4 and 5, a little bit of the outside world came my way.
Along with the chicken casserole or the Mexican lasagna or the heart-shaped meatloaf for Valentine's Day, our visitors carried with them a connection to the outside world. Leaving my house required planning; opening the front door required only six short steps. And, at the end of those short steps, there was a hug and a smile and someone new to tell me how well I was doing.
As I recovered and felt more comfortable venturing farther from my perch on the couch, I found myself the center of attention, no matter where I went. Strangers ran out of restaurants, carrying half-eaten slices of pizza, just to tell me how wonderful it was to see me up and about.
Riding the motorized shopping cart through the grocery store was a series of congratulatory smiles and encouraging words. "I know you!" became the Muzak to my life.
As a transplanted New Yorker, I carry with me a certain sense of physical reserve. The secret to living in a bustling, overcrowded metropolis is to maintain your personal space. In the last 12 months, I've learned that the secret to living in a loving community after suffering a public tragedy is to open myself up to the possibilities contained within each hug and smile and kind thought.
So, thank you to the couple in the produce aisle, to the mom and son comparison shopping for flour, to the woman who recognized me as she turned the corner.
Thank you to the officer who gave me a warning instead of a ticket because "You've had enough already this year" and to the ladies behind the sandwich counter who refused to let me pay for my lunch.
Thank you to the elementary-school children who have read to me and hugged me and written me stories.
Thank you to the volunteers who have joined me as we GRIN together, bringing the generations together in new and exciting ways.
The physical rehab has been my responsibility. The emotional piece seems to be shared between us.
You are in my life; you have shown me you care. I cannot let you down. Please don't underestimate how important your love has been over these last 12 months.
I love you as much as you've shown that you love me. It's how I've managed to muddle through.
The next time you see me, please remember that my recovery is your recovery, too.
Fondly, Suzi Hileman
Hileman, 59, brought neighbor Christina-Taylor Green to the Jan. 8 Congress on Your Corner event, was shot in the chest, front right thigh and back right hip.
