Before SoCal · life

There are no words.

I don’t write on here as often as I should, and I haven’t written about Sandy Hook because the words wouldn’t come.

As a resident of Connecticut, the past week has been difficult, as it has undoubtedly been for the rest of the nation. On Friday, as I went to submit a press release to a local news site, I learned of the tragedy and immediately became consumed by it. I checked every major news site and refreshed these pages non-stop, learning more of what was happening in Newtown with each passing minute. I left work early and headed to my mom’s house to watch live coverage of the news. I woke up Saturday morning with a knot in my stomach. I couldn’t comprehend how the news from the day before had happened.

I’ll admit I’m fortunate, in that I don’t live in Newtown and I didn’t know anyone who passed away, but everyone around me is affected, with some having friends who lost their kids and some trying to understand the events after growing up in Newtown. I’ve been somewhat disconnected from the tragedy, being that I don’t have television at home. But I still hear about it on the radio on my drive into work (all the local stations are still talking about it) and still see the updates on websites, because I want to know. I want to know why someone would do something like this and why they would seek out kindergarteners, let alone commit any sort of act like this.

Today, on my drive into work, as I listened to a local station talk about the latest news and the latest ways that we can help, I broke down. I stopped and waited in the parking lot for a few minutes before going into work.

Tomorrow at work, since we are a community-based non-profit, we are joining the rest of the country in a Moment of Silence, and we are lighting candles and saying a prayer for them as well. In an effort to help those in attendance, I was given the task of putting together a list of resources, including where one can get help if they are having trouble coping, and how one can reach out to help those in Newtown. In my efforts to put together a comprehensive list of ways to help, I began finding more and more scholarships set up in memory of victims, and a list of organizations to which I could donate in memory of a victim. With most, there was a link to the website for these memorial funds, and on each of those sites, a photo. Or several photos.

The photos.

The stories. I re-read stories of how one teacher who passed away was found cradling a student that had passed away, or how another teacher lost her life in an effort to save her students, or how a child lost his life trying to lead his peers to safety.

I broke down at work.

I don’t know how to end this, but I needed to get the words out.

But there are no words.

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