To Hear a Mockingjay Scream

Watching the following video before reading this story provides helpful context.

Homemade Halloween costumes were something my family used to make every year. We’d go all-in on crafting something authentic for the annual Halloween costume contest hosted by our local fire department. When I was in second grade, I remember being the Disney princess Rapunzel. My parents helped me braid yellow yarn into a long lock of golden hair like that of Rapunzel, the princess locked in a tower who let down her hair for Prince Charming to grasp as he scaled the tall tower, rescuing her. I recall many people asking if Rapunzel was my favorite princess. I’d respond honestly in saying that I only chose to be Rapunzel because of her long, thick, and strong hair, something I don’t have. I had tried growing my hair out to donate to cancer patients in need of wigs due to hair loss from chemo treatment. While the donation center appreciated my intention, my hair was too thin for donation. So I was excited to be Rapunzel, the princess with heroic hair for Halloween.

Being asked about my favorite princess made me realize I didn’t have one throughout most of grade school. I witnessed my peers identify with their favorite princesses and talk about them as if they were best friends. I saw my classmate rejoice when she got the role of Belle, her favorite princess, for our school’s performance of Beauty and the Beast. In more recent years, I’ve seen young girls wearing the dresses of Elsa and Ana, the ice princesses from the sensational animated movies, Frozen. I never connected with the love for a particular princess until eighth grade when I encountered Katniss Everdeen. A classmate kindly let me borrow her copy of The Hunger Games, a young adult fiction book with Katniss as the main character. I don’t believe Katniss is classified as a princess. She probably isn’t walking around taking photos with fans at Disney World or Disney Land. But in my world, Katniss is my favorite princess.

Katniss lives in the futuristic fictional nation of Panem ruled by The Capitol, an oppressive government. The Capitol controls its twelve districts by forcing each district to provide one male and one female as tributes that must fight to the death in an arena. There can only be one victor. The twelve districts witness horrific brutality among the twenty-four tributes who fight for their lives during the annual battle known as The Hunger Games. The Capitol exploits The Hunger Games as a reminder of its powerful ability to bring more destruction upon the districts if they fail to remain submissive. Primrose, the younger sister of Katniss, is randomly selected as District 12’s female tribute. I admire Katniss’s ultimate act of love for her sister when she volunteers to take Primrose’s place as tribute. Most princesses are waiting to be saved while Katniss sacrifices herself. Most princesses wear dresses while Katniss wears a sleek combat outfit in the arena. Most princesses accessorize with sparkly jewelry while Katniss humbly wears a pin shaped like a Mockingjay, a bird that becomes a powerful symbol of resistance to The Capitol. Similar to Rapunzel, Katniss braids her long hair, but not to be saved by Prince Charming. Rather, Katniss’ braid keeps hair out of her face as she runs for her life. Katniss always has an archery bow in-hand as her only weapon in the unforgiving arena. I totally vibe with Katniss’s selfless character, tactical appearance, and gifted archery skills, making her my favorite princess.

I could only imagine what my favorite princess was like until The Hunger Games movie debuted only a few months after I finished reading the book. I attended a Catholic grade school where we had days off to celebrate the Easter Triduum and holiday. My friends and I arranged to watch The Hunger Games in theaters over the break. While my mum probably wished my focus was more on praying to Jesus, I was preoccupied in seeing Katniss on the big screen. I was so excited that I made vanilla cupcakes with pastel frosting, despite my Lenten sacrifice of no sweets until Easter. The cupcakes made for a tasty car ride snack among my friends as a parent drove us to the theater. But the sugary treat didn’t curb my hunger for The Hunger Games. Many scenes I had read in the book came alive before my eyes in theater. I watch Katniss, with love beyond words, speak up to volunteer as tribute to spare Primrose, her younger sister. Katniss enters the arena, a large forest, with her Mockingjay pin, a sign of rebellion, secretly secured to her tactical outfit. Her braided hair bounces as she runs towards the Cornucopia, an abundant stockpile containing food, water, and supplies that could be helpful during the Games. She manages to snatch her signature weapon, a bow and a quiver filled with arrows from the Cornucopia.

Katniss avoids the other tributes until she allies with Rue, a tribute that reminds Katniss of her younger sister. Rue is sweet like a cupcake while stealthy like a devoted prince scaling a tower. Through her agility, Rue swings among the treetops to spy on a group of tributes who have confiscated all the remaining supplies from the Cornucopia and formed into an ominous pyramid. Katniss and Rue scheme while eating meager dinners to destroy the supply pyramid so the other tributes experience real hunger like them. Before separating to execute their plan, Rue strategically suggests they have a signal to lead them back to each other. Katniss and Rue look at one another expressing uncertainty over what cue to use. The Mockingjay pin perched on Katniss’ inner jacket is spotted by Rue, giving her the idea to communicate through Mockingjays, birds that mimic music. With innocent lips, Rue whistles a tune that the Mockingjays quickly echo among the treetops, creating their safety signal. The sisterly pair hug before going opposite ways to complete their part of the mission. Smoky fires set aflame by Rue lure tributes away from their booby-trapped supply stockpile. Without tributes guarding the goods, Katniss approaches the pyramid until she identifies land mines safeguarding its perimeter. A dangling bag of apples invites Katniss to pull an arrow from her quiver. She takes a deep breath before releasing the silver arrow that strikes like gold by severing the bag of apples. The hard fruits strike hidden mines, igniting the explosives and destroying the supplies. Katniss is knocked to the ground by the immense force and temporarily loses hearing, the one sense she needs to find Rue. Katniss lays low until she regains hearing in one ear. Mockingjays sing their signal guiding Katniss back to her ally, until the sweet song suddenly turns into Rue’s cry for help. Katniss races among the trees until she finds Rue caught in a net like apples in a bag.

Katniss frantically untangles Rue from the net. They hug like sister until a spear impales Rue in the chest. Without thought, Katniss retaliates by sending an arrow directly through the chest of Rue’s attacker. Primrose may have been spared from The Hunger Games. But Katniss watches as someone like her sister slowly dies in her arms. The treetops sorrowfully sway as Katniss sings like a Mockingjay to Rue who is breathing her last. Tears formed as I watched this mournful scene unfold. I was so moved by Katniss’ grief, despite it being an unfamiliar emotion to me at the time. I couldn’t hold my tears in anymore when Katniss began surrounding Rue’s delicate body with dainty flowers of colors like my pastel-frosted cupcakes. My young heart quivered as I caught a glimpse of grief from Katniss honoring Rue with a proper burial.

Watching the first movie in the trilogy was an impactful experience for me. I didn’t anticipate encountering grief so profoundly because I already knew the plot line of Rue’s death and Katniss’ response from having read the book. But seeing grief portrayed among real people struck a chord in my heart. Although watching the first movie was incredibly memorable, I don’t recall my initial experience from seeing the second movie, Catching Fire. I do, however, remember the second time I watched Catching Fire, for my heart felt like it had caught on fire.

Rewatching Catching Fire originated from the events that unfolded during a road trip I took with my brother Paul two weeks before his wedding in spring of 2023. Paul was temporarily staying with our brother, Nicholas who lives in Houston, Texas. Paul was attending medical school located in West Virginia, but he intentionally selected a medical rotation in Texas so he could reside with Nicholas. Paul had driven over 1,200 miles from the Mountain State to the Lone Star State. I offered to take a one-way flight from Pennsylvania, where I was living at the time, to Texas and drive back with Paul. He had departed from West Virgina but needed to ultimately return to Pennsylvania, the location of his wedding. I didn’t want him making the long journey alone again. Also, it served as the perfect opportunity for sibling shenanigans before he tied the knot only two weeks later. I arrived in Texas expecting to drive northeast, the direction from Texas to Pennsylvania. Instead, I was met with Paul’s enthusiasm over taking a different route. He suggested we first go southwest, the exact opposite direction of our destination. I actually wasn’t surprised by Paul’s proposition because he’s known for being adventurous. Growing up, Paul was usually found climbing a tree and he never wore shoes outdoors. He was like a mini-Tarzan swinging among the branches. The Tarzan I shared a childhood with was about to transform into a refined groom. I couldn’t pass up my golden opportunity of more adventure-time with Paul before his Tarzan days concluded.

While Paul and I didn’t swing among the trees like Tarzan, we drove in Cardinal, the nickname of Paul’s old red vehicle. Somehow Cardinal survived the 4,000 miles we traveled in 10 days despite needing motor oil to avoid a catastrophic failure. The old car burned oil more quickly, so Paul had to make an emergency pitstop at Walmart. In a Walmart parking lot, Paul opened the beak of Cardinal, filling the old car with necessary nutrients like a mother bird feeding its young. Cardinal was unreliable, but we didn’t let that prevent us from having the sibling road trip of a lifetime! We ventured west where we watched the sunrise during our hike up Guadalupe Peak, the tallest mountain in Texas. Paul and I had stopped hiking to simply sit on the mountainside and soak in the morning rays. Warm hues of yellow, orange, and red shone unto us. We shared a very special moment together as the sun cloaked us with its morning glory. We didn’t linger in our morning glory too long for we had a mountain to climb before the warm sunrise turned into a scorching fireball in the Texas sky.

After ascending a high mountaintop, we descended hundreds of feet into Carlsbad Cavern located under the Guadalupe Mountain Range that extends into New Mexico. The cool cavern was a nice reprieve from the hot sun. Paul and I traveled south from the state of New Mexico to the country of Mexico. I was amazed by Mexico’s beautiful landscape, especially the mountains. I didn’t know Mexico has magnificent mountain ranges. While Mexico’s natural beauty was captivating, what stood out the most was all the man-made speed bumps. Unfortunately, Paul became sick during our time in Mexico so we left at three o’clock in the morning to return to the United States. I offered to drive since Paul wasn’t feeling well, but he insisted on being the one behind the wheel. He needed to drive to distract himself from being sick. I tried falling asleep only to be jolted awake every ten minutes by a speed bump.

Although our southwest adventure had been grand, it was time to finally head northeast, the direction of our final destination. The Appalachian Mountains began surrounding us as we neared Asheville, North Carolina. We didn’t pre-plan accommodations for a night in Asheville because we had been mostly sleeping in the car. Car camping gave us the freedom to stop and sleep wherever we needed. Also, we couldn’t predict where our adventure-filled days would leave us by nightfall. But I was ready for a hot shower and a soft bed, so I booked an Airbnb in Asheville. While in Asheville, I introduced Paul to his first experience in an Airbnb. He was amazed by the concept of a lodging that wasn’t a hotel. I’ve come to appreciate Airbnbs for their homier feel and oftentimes their more unique experience. The Airbnb in Asheville was no exception. Although this Airbnb was a basement with beds, they did an incredible job of making it cozy, clean, and well-decorated. What I remember most about this Airbnb was its extensive bookshelf. The host kindly allocated a section of books that guests were allowed to take. My eyes brightened like the rising sun over Guadalupe Mountain when I saw the entire Hunger Games trilogy. I quickly snatched all three books from the shelf like Katniss grabbing her beloved bow and arrows from the Cornucopia. I felt greedy at first to have taken the entire trilogy, but I knew the books were going to a good home.

Paul and I continued north from our cozy Airbnb in Asheville up through West Virginia. Paul’s car, Cardinal, miraculously held up as we drove the twists and turns of the Appalachian Mountains. Cardinal was like a bird with a broken wing. It was still alive, but the end was in sight. Cardinal carried us through the Appalachian mountainsides that were cloaked in light green from the budding trees. Spring hadn’t fully arrived yet in the Northeast like it had in Texas and Mexico. The seemingly endless curves of the road finally unraveled into a straight section as we crossed the New River Gorge Bridge. This colossal bridge spans across New River, a powerful river where adventure enthusiasts flock for whitewater rafting. However, New River looks like a calm stream while driving across the bridge because the river is hundreds of feet below the massive crossing. Although Paul and I had no itinerary for our road trip, we had perfectly timed arriving at the iconic bridge for sunset. We pulled into the New River Gorge Visitor Center and made a short hike to a wooden overlook facing the steel structure. The setting sunrays scattered over the mountainsides, cloaking them in a softer green. Sun rays converged through bridge trusses creating a powerful beam of light. It felt as though a spotlight was illuminating Paul and me standing on the overlook admiring the sunset.

Sadness began setting in like the darkening sky as I thought about our sister, Sarah. She had stopped at the New River Gorge during her move from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, to Knoxville, Tennessee. She took a selfie on the New River Gorge Outlook with the bridge in the background where her smile radiated the excitement of her life’s next chapter. Sarah was thrilled to start a new job as a traveling nurse in Knoxville. She jumped at the opportunity to pack her belongings into her small Ford Focus car and move to the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains. Sarah was free to feed her adventurous spirit until she was tragically killed after living in Knoxville for only three months. Paul and I thoughtfully took a selfie together on the New River Gorge Outlook in honor of Sarah. The New River Gorge Bridge hadn’t changed since Sarah’s visit. It remained immovable with its foundation anchored into the mountainsides. But the lives of Sarah, Paul and I had rapidly changed like the raging water beneath the New River Gorge Bridge. Sarah’s life drowned while the lives of Paul and me were shattered among the jagged rocks of grief.

Paul and I returned to Cardinal after the sun had completely set behind the New River Gorge Bridge. It was special to have watched the sunrise over Guadulupe Mountain in Texas and to have witnessed the sunset behind the New River Gorge Bridge in the Appalachian Mountains. Our road trip was coming full circle like the sun’s cycle.

Thousands of miles were filled with a variety of conversation topics like the changing landscape we traversed from the Southwest to the Northeast. It felt as though Paul and I had discussed everything under the sun. Except for one topic, our sister Sarah. Although Paul and I had taken a selfie together on the overlook in honor of Sarah, neither of us had verbally acknowledged why we took that photo. During the entire trip, I couldn’t bring myself to talk about Sarah because I felt guilty to be the sister Paul went on this road trip with. Before Sarah died, Paul and she had planned a road trip to our cousin’s wedding in Wyoming. They were excited to drive across the United States from Pennsylvania to Wyoming. But their cross-country adventure never happened. I couldn’t shake the guilt of going on this road trip with Paul knowing he was painfully denied his opportunity with Sarah. Also, I was still learning how to share my grief with my family. I was nervous and uncertain about how to articulate where I was at and what I was feeling from Sarah’s death. Silencing grief became my standard mode of operation like a car stuck in autopilot.

As Paul and I drove away from the New River Gorge Bridge, he jolted me out of autopilot when he asked me about my grief. He asked why I hadn’t mentioned Sarah the entire trip. He acknowledged that we were both thinking about her a lot. I responded to Paul’s question and shared just enough to keep him from asking more. But I didn’t let him know how I was really feeling because I actually wasn’t sure myself. I had silenced my grief for so long that I didn’t know how to talk about Sarah’s death and how it affected me.

Paul and I finally concluded our sibling road trip of a lifetime. Cardinal became the unsung hero of our journey by holding up the whole way. However, Cardinal didn’t pass its next state inspection because its chassis was rusted beyond repair. Cardinal was sold for scrap, but the memories that were made between Paul and me as we drove thousands of miles in that rusty red car are priceless. Paul quickly shifted gears upon returning to Pennsylvania to prepare for his upcoming wedding. I also swiftly switched out of vacation vibes to focus on my scheduled move to a new apartment. I felt like Sarah as I packed my belongings into my car, except I wasn’t relocating across state lines. Rather, I was moving only ten minutes down the road from being a roommate in a townhome to my own apartment. After Paul’s wonderful wedding, I unpacked more of my belongings and slowly transformed my apartment into a home. I was excited to have my own place, although it was a lot of work, and I was tired from the road trip and my brother’s wedding. Throughout the entire move-in process, I remembered The Hunger Games trilogy that awaited me. Those three books had undoubtedly gone to a good home. I just needed the time to sit down and reread them. Within a few weeks, I could at last enjoy my apartment in leisure instead of unpacking. That night, I rewarded my patience as I curled onto the sofa and began rereading my favorite books from my teen years.

I devoured The Hunger Games trilogy and redeemed my guilt of having snatched all three books from the Asheville Air Bnb by cherishing the trilogy like a child adoring her favorite princess. After finishing the books, I was also very excited to rewatch all the movies. It’s common for a movie to vary greatly from its accompanying book and falter in matching its brilliance. But I feel The Hunger Games trilogy movies enhance the books. The movies depict profound emotions, intense plotlines, and harrowing wisdom. Additionally, the actress, Jennifer Lawrence, does a phenomenal job as Katniss. While nestled up on my sofa with the three books now resting on my bookshelf, I eagerly rewatched the movies. I expressed a similar sentiment over rewatching the movies like my eighth-grade self who leaped to the theater with my frosted cupcakes all those years ago.

I rewatched Katniss volunteer as tribute for Primrose, sparing her sister from the merciless arena. My heart ached that I wasn’t even given the opportunity to fight for my sister’s life. I witnessed Sarah die for over four hours as she lay brain dead in a hospital bed. There was nothing I could do to save Sarah. Again, I saw the scene of Katniss singing like a Mockingjay as Rue dies in her arms. It hit me that Katniss did experience a loss that she couldn’t rescue. My young heart had only quivered the first time I watched that scene because that situation was something I could only imagine. This time, however, grief and the pain of hopeless loss were not something to be contemplated. Hopeless grief became my reality as Sarah died before my eyes. My heart was intensely pierced by grief like the spear that impaled Rue. At times, it feels like the spear is still lodged in my heart as a painful reminder of Sarah’s hopeless death.

The most impactful scene to me during my initial viewing of the trilogy was Katniss’ response to the death of Rue. I didn’t remember much about the second movie, Catching Fire. However, a scene from Catching Fire affected me the most when I rewatched the trilogy as it left my heart burning from grief. Catching Fire starts with Katniss following the tradition of a Victory Tour where she visits all the districts to give a speech. The sunken tone of her speeches reflects the inner trauma she’s battling. She may have left the arena, but the horror of it lives inside her. Catching Fire takes an ultimate twist when The Capitol announces that tributes for the next Hunger Games will be selected from the pool of victors. Since Katniss was the only female victor from her district, she is forced back into the arena. Katniss fights for her life again as The Capitol, with its futuristic technology, adds elements to its tropical arena that are more difficult to stay alive from than an attacking tribute. Seemingly harmless fog moves towards Katniss. She outstretches her finger to touch the fog that is mysteriously appearing. Her hand recoils as she cries out in pain. White boils quickly form on her hand as she realizes the fog is a poisonous vapor crafted by The Capitol. She runs as fast as a flying arrow from the poisonous fog until she trips and struggles to get up. The toxic vapor continues coursing towards her as she faces her impending death. However, the fog moving towards her suddenly lifts upward, colliding with an invisible wall. Confused, Katniss just stares at the mountain of fog that would have otherwise engulfed her like flames.

Katniss regains her footing and finds water to wash the poison out of her hand. The reprieve of the water distracts Katniss from malicious monkeys that begin surrounding her. These vicious apes are programmed by The Capitol to kill. Katniss slowly becomes aware of the monkeys cornering her. She finds an opening among the mutated beasts and runs for her life. She fends the monkeys off as best she can with her bow and arrows. Like the fog, Katniss is about to be overtaken by The Capitol’s cruel elements when the monkeys suddenly collide with an invisible wall.

Katniss finally pieces together that this arena is different than the first one she was in. This arena is like a clock with twelve sections. The Capitol introduces a cruel element within each segment of the clock. Although Katniss is spared from two of The Capitol’s ruthless mechanisms, she does not escape the third. Katniss is deciding what to do next when she hears the voice of her sister Primrose screaming. Katniss expresses confusion similar to when the fog and monkeys suddenly hit an invisible wall. Why is Primrose in the arena? But instead of running away like she did for the fog and monkeys, Katniss sprints towards the voice of her distressed sister. Katniss races deeper into the arena in search of her little sister. She frantically yells for Primrose as a bird, looking like a raven, circles around Katniss. Admist the chaos, Katniss finally realizes that Primrose’s screams are coming from the bird. The skilled archer swiftly launches an arrow, silencing the cries coming from the wretched feathered flier.

Similar to the mutant monkeys, The Capitol created special birds called jabberjays. These birds were originally created to be spies for The Capitol among the districts by recording and repeating human speech. But The Capitol’s plan backfired when jabberjays mated with natural mockingbirds, creating mockingjays that couldn’t be controlled by The Capitol. Mockingjays rose as a symbol of defiance to the The Capitol among the districts. In the arena, Katniss becomes more than an oppressed citizen wearing a mockingjay pin. She emerges as the incarnate mockingjay whose love for her sister provides a powerful hope that catches like fire among the districts.

The Capitol consistently seeks to suppress Katniss, The Mockingjay. The ways in which they try to physically harm her in the arena don’t succeed so they turn to psychological and emotional tactics through the release of jabberjays. After Katniss silences the first jabberjay, she painfully acknowledges those birds do not create sound from nothing. Jabberjays always mimic real noises they hear. Primrose had been tortured so the mutant birds could broadcast her excruciating cries to Katniss. The Mockingjay shudders and looks bewildered as the psychological stress builds. Her skin turns ghostly as her mouth contorts downwards. Jabberjays, the next section of the clock, is just beginning.

A swarm of jabberjays screech across the sky. There are too many of the mutant birds for her to silence with her arrows so she breaks into a sprint. For the third time now, she tries to escape The Capitol’s evil elements. Jabberjays mercilessly pursue The Mockingjay. They swoop closer to her, amplifying their heart-wrenching messages. Unlike the monkeys that aimed to kill Katniss, the jabberjays don’t intend physical harm. Rather, their mission is to extinguish Katniss’ rebellious spirit by the very thing that started it all – love for her sister.

The Mockingjay wishes she could fly away when she can’t outrun the jabberjays like she could for the fog and monkeys. There appears to be no end in sight until she sees Peeta, an allied tribute ahead of her. Peeta, the male tribute from her district, outstretches his arms. But he’s not trying to give her a hug when she reaches him. Rather, he is signaling for her to stop because he’s in a different section of the clock. Katniss slams into the invisible wall, separating her from Peeta, and denying her freedom from psychological abuse.

Katniss pounds her hands against the invisible wall with an intense expression. Her mouth gapes in terror as she panics over the psychological pain from which she cannot escape. Jabberjays circle The Mockingjay like a flock of hungry vultures ready to devour their prey. They continue diving towards her to release the cries of Primrose directly beside her ears, creating an echo chamber that Katniss must endure. The Mockingjay moves her pounding fist from the invisible wall to hopelessly cover her ears. She shrinks from standing to sitting on her knees. Her whole body rocks as the jabberjays create a dark cloud behind her, filling the air with piercing pitches of Primrose. The Mockingjay lets out a shrill scream with an intensity that catches my heart on fire as the screen flashes black.

I don’t remember my reaction the first time I watched that scene. But the second time, I was deeply affected where it felt like flames were consuming my grieving heart. I could relate in very real ways to Katniss this more recent time watching the scene because of what I experienced with Sarah’s death and have lived through the past years, unlike the first time I saw it. I understand Katniss’ instinctual reaction of racing to help her sister who she thought was in the arena. I had rushed to Sarah’s bedside over 600 miles away when I got the call she was in a terrible vehicle crash and the doctors didn’t think she was going to make it. Katniss was initially hopeful that she could protect Primrose until she realized her sister wasn’t in the arena. Primrose had already been abused by The Capitol. The jabberjays were sent to prove that Katniss couldn’t help her sister, creating an ultimate mockery of the mockingjay. Likewise, I was optimistic that Sarah would live and I could be her caretaker, until I arrived at her bedside. When I saw the blank stare of Sarah’s eyes, I coldly confronted there was nothing I could do but watch her slowly die. Death had mocked me for my naïve hope of helping Sarah. I’ve been running from grief like Katniss desperately dashing from the jabberjays. Grief has been chasing me these past years like jabberjays. The painful memories of Sarah’s death and my life without Sarah follow me everywhere I go like the relentless jabberjays pursuing Katniss. I try to escape grief like Katniss fleeing the jabberjays. I am reminded, however, that there is no freedom from grief when Katniss slams into the invisible wall that hold her captive to the cries of her sister. Similarly, I continuously confront and remain confined within the invisible walls of grief. I will never escape because I will always love Sarah and I will never stop missing her.

My grief demands me to listen and hear its cries like The Capitol which forces emotional control over Katniss. Both Katniss and I want to escape because it is too much to bear. Katniss helplessly covers her ears as I powerlessly yearn for Sarah to be alive. While there are many parallels between Katniss and me, she did something different in the jabberjay scene that has provided me with a new perspective on my grief journey. The Mockingjay screams. She allows her pain to be released through the raw emotion of vocalizing it. Not all, but at least some of her pain is carried away through her screams. I was immensely impacted and emotionally enlightened as I watched what it’s like to hear a Mockingjay scream.

Watching Katniss scream reminded me of being jolted out of autopilot mode when Paul inquired about my grief. For months, I had remained silent and cruised through life without voicing the grief building inside me. I wasn’t braking to address my grief. I wasn’t stopping to share with others how I was feeling. I wasn’t turning grief into healing. When Paul asked during our road trip about my grief, I felt a large lump form in my throat. This lump has become familiar to me where it signals my need to scream. Oftentimes, I find myself in similar situations where the lump develops, but I remain mute. Sometimes, it’s because I’m in a location where yelling like that would be socially unacceptable and disruptive. But most times, I wish I’d just let myself scream like Katniss.

Looking back on the day Paul and I hiked Guadalupe Mountain, I wish I had screamed at the peak. An entire desert spanned before me. It would have been incredibly freeing to release my pain into miles of desolate land. I also think of descending into Carlsbad Cavern. Although it wouldn’t have been socially mindful of me to yell in a cavern filled with visitors, there was a part of me aching to send sound waves bouncing off the ancient limestone chamber. While in Mexico, Paul and I had another mountain hike planned until we returned to America sooner than expected when he fell sick. I imagine the freedom of screaming from a mountain in a Spanish-speaking country. It’d be a testament to grief which doesn’t speak a certain language because it is universal. And I feel the missed opportunity of shouting from the New River Gorge Overlook. I wish I had raised my vocal cords from an exact location Sarah had visited, letting the rapid water beneath the bridge wash away some of my grief.

While I missed a lot of opportunities to vocalize my pain, I reflect on the chances I have going forward. Maybe the next mountain hiked, I could scream at the peak. Perhaps when I’m driving alone, I could bellow like a loud radio. But what makes me saddest is that I probably won’t. Years of managing and tempering my grief have resulted in ‘tidier’ ways to release my grief. I run. I journal. I pray. All of these actions don’t scream that I’m grieving. There’s still a part of me aching to be like Katniss and not just because she’s still my favorite princess. Screaming allows what’s in the heart to travel through the body and be released by the mouth to be carried away by the surroundings, whether it be a desert, cavern chamber, or the river. But my mind seems to get in the way where it talks me out of screaming as a form of healing.

What gives me hope is that I’m not alone in what I feel. Katniss, The Mockingjay, portrayed to the world that screaming unloads what a lot of us are feeling. Amidst her mockingjay status, she’s still a human reminding us what we do when we’re in pain. She acted out what it means to truly love and the cost of our love which comes at a price that isn’t neat or comfortable. Whether we actually scream or not, there’ll always be a part of us wanting to vocalize how much we want our loved ones back. Perhaps when we can’t scream, we remind ourselves that we’re not alone and there are others in the arena of life battling to heal from their wounds. We can heal by helping others who are also struggling. Sometimes it’s most healing to not scream, so we can listen to hear a mockingjay scream.