Monday, December 17, 2012
Today I walked Alex to school for the first time in a week, and when we got there I kissed him at least a dozen times and hugged him closer than ever. I let him run off into his school building, watching the other children leaving their parents as well, and all I could think of was how safe school always felt, and how that feeling is broken now. I was reminded of that day when the safety of our school was shattered too, and even though it's been 20 years, the fear rushed back. I broke down on the way home and was never so happy that it was raining, so I could use the umbrella to shield my face from the looks of strangers. I wouldn't begin to know what to say to them. I wouldn't want to discuss Beamon or Judy or Jason or Mr. Brens. I wouldn't begin to know how to explain what a former student, who was mentally ill and had not received the care he needed, felt he had to do in order to set things right.
No one out here has ever heard of the Lindhurst school shooting. All of my support system is 3000 miles away and I feel like an anomaly. I want to reach out to my community for support, but I'm afraid of triggering someone else's memories of the day. I want to speak to someone who already knows the back story so that I don't have to relive it when I try to explain why I'm so affected by Newtown. But I can't. So I'll share this now, and hope that it will help those who have never been personally affected by an act such as this one to understand the long term fall out. Time took away the sharp, unbearable pain, but it left the dull throbbing ache, and I'm feeling the old injury act up right now.
at 6:52 AM