But this brings back old, hard feelings for me, and I think that's why I'm having so much trouble dealing with the shooting that happened there on Monday.
Lakewood is just one town over from Littleton, where Columbine high school is located. I was a sophomore when the shooting there happened, and I remember being numb. I remember walking with my eyes to the ground, then thinking I should look up to be more aware of my surroundings, then being angry and hurt that I even had to think of looking up to see anything potentially dangerous for me at what was supposed to be a safe environment. Green Mountain had a few bomb threats over the next few weeks. Talk of banning trench coats and installing metal detectors at the door seemed to cloud the fact that people, wonderful people who could have easily been my people, died.
And just as eight years ago, the killer's name is all over the news in some kind of sick parade. To this day, I remember Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris, but couldn't tell you the name of a single person who died. It's worse than a tragedy. It's something that haunts you, stays with you, every once in a while nagging at your mind. And just when you think you've shaken the horrific feeling that's followed you, something like this happens and all that's needed is something like this to make it all real, all alive, all raw to you again.
I haven't talked to anyone about this aloud, with the exception of my mom, and even then I became choked up. I'm not sure I could vocalize any of this without that happening. When I think of these promising people whose thoughts, memories, ideas, friendships, and loves were ended so abruptly, it's too much.
There was a girl on the Today Show this morning who was interviewed by Meridith Viera who was a freshman at Columbine when the shooting happened and is now at Virginia Tech. It seemed that, politely and professionally as she could, she asked the media to simply tell the story, then let the community grieve. Don't hang around, don't post the picture of the person who caused so much grief. On a more personal level, when someone loses a person they love, you're there for them only as much as they need you. When they ask to be alone, there's no talking back or suggestion of something else. They're left alone with their thoughts.
I want to be strong enough to hope for a better future for them and concentrate my emotions on looking forward. But right now, I'm in pain for them. Pain for people who experienced it firsthand. Pain for people notified that their loved ones were taken to the hospital with multiple gunshot wounds. Empathy is there for all who need it.
I think about them, and I find no other response.
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