04.16.07

Today marked the one-year anniversary of the Tech shootings. Being a Virginia native, and a college student at the time of the shootings, it impacted me, although I didn't directly know any of the victims. I still remember the shock when the death count suddenly increased from four to twenty. And the numbness of trying to process it all.

That night, my pastor had emergency gall bladder surgery, so I went to watch his four children while his wife went to be with him. Turns out the organ was filled to the brim with gangrene, and could have exploded and instantly killed him at any minute. It was therapeutic to take care of them, and just be around them and off campus for a bit. After they went to bed, I sat there and flipped through the channels, watching the various news reports. Wendy didn't get home until 11:30, and we spent the next hour just talking and processing everything. Those two events are forever entwined in my memory.

Later that week, we composed some responses in my creative writing class. Mine focused around the state-wide candlelight vigil held that Thursday night. I dug around on my computer and found it; figured it's worth sharing on this day.

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The words that pour out of my ink pen, that emerge from typing fingers, remain disjointed and emotional. Asking question after question, in search of some answer to make sense of everything.

But no matter what I write, nothing can be reversed. They are still gone. And my words seem to add to the constant talking.

Four days later, we stood there. Each holding a flickering candle, creating a glowing circle. Standing with those across the state. Remembering. Mourning.

In silence.

After four days of nonstop talk, of blaring televisions and flashing computer screens and ringing cell phones, we were silent. Even after being officially dismissed, we stood there, not wanting to break that moment.

One by one, a light would go out, and we would see a dark figure slowly walk away. Car doors would open and shut, engines would start, murmuring conversations would pass by. Each a reminder that though we stop to reflect and remember, life still goes on.

Why for me, and not for those who live on only in memory?

I cannot answer that question. I cannot answer any of the questions that continue to flood my mind.

But in those brief moments, I found a peace.

In silence.