“You're Her Aren't You?”
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We grew up inside Pulse. My little kids grew up in there, came to meetings with me every week during the summer when they were too young to be at home alone. They knew everybody and everybody knew them. My older daughter went to Pulse all the time since she was 18. It took me probably three or four months to even realize what they might be going through. Before Pulse, I was the mom who dropped you off and picked you up every day, made your lunch, made your breakfast, had dinner ready. A pretty traditional mom, I would think. I’d go to all your sporting events and had your calendar and kept you organized and on top of your grades and knew where you were, where you were going, your friends. Since June 12, I'm none of those things. I miss being a mom. * I don't remember how many months school had been going on. I was finally trying to get up and make breakfast and get them dressed and out the door. Even though I wasn't even taking them to school yet. I just looked at my son, who is 15. And I'm like, "Do you want lunch?" He said, "That'd be nice.” "What have you been doing for lunch at school? Did I buy you a food plan? I mean, what have you been doing?" He was just like, "Well whatever, you know. They've been helping me and stuff. And other people.” I was just like Oh God. I haven't made my son lunch. * That was such a lightbulb moment. How much I was worried about taking care of everybody else and I hadn't taken care of my own kids. How absent I had become. I'm trying really hard to be better. * After it happened, my mom and my brother had come to help take care of me and the kids. They were food shopping and they were feeding them and they were taking care of them constantly. One day, I looked at my mom, and I'm like, "I want to go to Publix. I want to be normal. I want to go food-shopping," She said, "Well all right." I drove there, which I probably shouldn't have, but I got us there. I wanted to buy turkey. So I'm standing in line for turkey, and I look at this guy behind me. He's just staring at me, and all of sudden he starts to cry. He says, "You're her, aren't you?" Yeah. I'm her. He started telling me his story, started to cry, wanted to hug me, and I did all that at the turkey counter. He went and bought flowers at Publix then brought them to me. I just wanted to order turkey. * That's my Publix anxiety. There have been times where I actually had three-quarters of a cart full and walk out of the store. Can't do it. I'm not going to make it today. I have more Publix stories than anybody could imagine. * I'm always going to be the owner of Pulse. I'm always going to be that person. I'm always going to be her. I've had that conversation with them. We're always going to be those ... we're going to be that family forever. Not that it's a bad thing, but it changes your life. * When you grow up and you face one tragedy, trial, tribulation after another, it changes you. I don't think it changes how you're hardwired, but it certainly makes your coping mechanisms different. I've always looked at life, I don't want to say necessarily black and white, but I do look at it as a sink or swim, and I'm a swimmer. I refuse to sink. My goal was to make sure I got two good meals a week on the table. So I make sure I get to Publix, try to get everything that they want. I'm making a conscious effort to make sure I have the right favorite foods. I'm always going to be a mom. But I miss being a good mom. ************************* Barbara Poma is the owner of Pulse nightclub in Orlando. She and others affected by that night have started the One Pulse Foundation to raise money to replace the club with a memorial to the victims. Instructions/Permissions *Interviews are edited and condensed *Tag @dearworld on any social/digital use. We are @dearworld on Instagram/Twitter and we are at *Facebook.com/dearworld *Credit Dear World/Daymon Gardner for portrait