Entry #18.3 / 4th July 2022
Apart from the booth itself, there wasn’t a lot to see within the theatre, and after ten minutes of wandering around aimlessly, I headed towards the Peterson House.
There was a little line outside for it and I couldn’t understand completely why until I got inside. It reminded me a lot of the Anne Frank House where the hallways were so narrow that you could only go through in single file and some sections were cut off so that only a certain amount of people could go through at a time.
Plus, it wasn’t a big area to see. We saw the hallway, the living space, and then, finally, the bedroom where President Lincoln took his last breath.
It was weird to see, especially with the bed there (that wasn’t the exact bed he died on but the design is the same). As you imagine, when someone as important as a president, dies, he would be in a big, luxurious room. But… it was just a room. A small, simple room. And I think that was what was the most heartbreaking part. For someone so great and important to history, he died in such a simple room.
However, his cause of death was not simple.
I just stared at the bed, the room, for the longest time. Trying to imagine what it was like for Lincoln. The pain of the gunshot. Of people trying to save him. The feeling of those who cared for him gathered around for his last moments. Was he scared? Or at peace? Did he feel like it was too soon to go?
Both unfortunately and fortunately, I was reminded of other people waiting to get through and move on, the room and emotions staying with me as I moved into the museum area.
As I learned about the aftermath of President Lincoln’s assassination and death, thoughts and emotions kept swirling around inside me. Trying to place something together but not fully getting there.
It was only when got onto Lincoln’s Legacy part of the museum did it finally clicked together.
I do have role models in my life – some people I know personally and others that I have never met. Some are historical and others are in the modern age.
The biggest ones are Anne Boleyn, Taylor Swift, John Oliver… and now President Lincoln. And while they all did/do very different things from one another, one thing that they each had in common became painfully clear.
They had a voice. They hold/have such a unique and bold voice that they use their own way to speak up for things they believe in because, at the end of the day, it’s the right thing to do.
Unfortunately, two of my role models got killed for it.
And, as I remembered that moment at the Lincoln Memorial, as all my life flashed before my eyes, I wondered: isn’t that what I always tried to do? I’d admit I haven’t always got it right or even been in the right headspace to get it right, but I remembered in those harsh few years when I first left Joy’s…
The family hated how open I was about what happened. It often led them to conclude half of what I was speaking out against was made up or that I was being dramatic.
‘Of course, you were dramatic,’ the responsible voice whispered through. ‘You were a kid, a teenager, you were meant to be dramatic.’
‘But it didn’t mean any of it wasn’t the truth.’ The bright voice also whispered, which was more unnatural than anything else.
Truth.
I never liked it, despite what the family thought. I never liked talking about it. I shook and sweated as I spoke about it to them, my Dad, the counselors… I hated talking about it. At one point, in a counseling session at school, I sweated so much through talking about it so much, I put my coat on afterward and refused to take it off for the remainder of the day as I didn’t want anyone to see the sweat marks that ran through my school top and a little bit on my cardigan.
But I spoke about it because, not only was it me standing up against something wrong and should’ve never happened, but because I thought… I thought that by talking about it would feel better. The burden would feel lighter. That I could slowly recover and move on, and do right by me.
It was years after that, but slowly, the talking did help. Slowly I did move on, and afterwards, I felt even more empowered to use my voice. To speak up against what was wrong and for what was right. To used my voice in my unique way so that others would feel seen and listened to as well. So, they too can feel empowered to use their own voice.
Not only is it the truthful way to live, but it is the most brave and rightful way to live.
Just like President Abraham Lincoln.
***
While a part of me wanted to linger about the Ford’s Theatre museum a little longer, I knew I had to get moving to do everything I wanted to do and get to the bus station on time.
As a true tourist, though, I did stop by the Ford’s Theatre gift shop and looked around for the perfect souvenir to cement my time in Washington, DC. At first, nothing seemed to pop out. But then, just near the till desk, there was a hanging station for jewelry made for the museum.
One piece of jewelry was a necklace featuring a compass pressed down onto a coin with Lincoln on the back.
It was cheap and probably wouldn’t last forever, but it was perfect for me. So I bought it, never realizing that I would hardly take it off in years to come.
***
Once I left, I decided that after visiting the Capital again, I wanted to go to the Lincoln Memorial. After everything, I felt Saturday evening and everything I concluded today… I felt a connection, and a great debt to the president and, in some stupid and silly way, I wanted to thank him. For not just what I learned over the weekend, but for being… one of the greatest people to ever live.
However, things went pear-shaped.
I had a choice of either the Capital or the Lincoln Memorial at halfway points but decided to stick to the original plan and go to the Capital.
Complete waste of time! It wasn’t open today either, which should have been freaking obvious as HELLO! It’s Independence Day, so it’s a bank holiday which would make the Capital closed for business!
When I tried to the Lincoln Memorial with an Uber, the traffic was so bad that I had to give up and change the route to the bus station.
Guilt swarmed me when I did. I know it was stupid but… I felt the need to thank President Lincoln in some way. And not being able to felt terrible.
Once I got to the bus station, I looked through the text messages I had exchanged with Ryan and Janette. The latest one stated that they were in a McDonalds area of the bus station getting food for now and the journey.
It took some time but I eventually found them and smiled warmly at them. However, a bit of sadness vibrated through me when I realized that it was over.
The trip to Washington DC was over.
But the change in me – that was far from over.