|From a vigil in Times Square (via Instagram)|
I can just say this: It is almost 2013. After today, I'll have sat in that newsroom for half a dozen mass shootings. I remember each day what happened--when I woke up, how I got the news, what I saw on our network and online, how long I was in the newsroom, how I got home... It never gets easier, you never really get numb from all this. Especially not today when you hear this one sentence, stated over and over: Of all of the victims, 20 dead were ages 5 through 10.
The night of the Aurora shooting, I was the last to leave the newsroom. It was just me, Keva, and Will, communicating via messenger in our different locations. When I did finally leave, it was late. I took a taxi home because I couldn't see myself making it on the subway, and--well, you know the story: I significantly freaked out the taxi driver by sobbing the entire drive home. He gave me a box of tissues. I went to my room and cried the rest of the night. (Granted, I was also going through my own unnecessary personal drama.)
Tonight, I saw the same thing happening, but am so grateful to have a nighttime editor in the same newsroom now, so I didn't have to endure it alone. And tonight, I was also so, so lucky to have someone bring me food and give me a hug and spend the night talking about everything.
And then there was a text from my mother. And IMs from friends. And reconciliation with another friend. And a message from the family of a person who kicked me out of his life. And tweets from people I've never met in person.
You forget sometimes to tell people you love them. It's easy to let people slip away. Sadly, it takes something unimaginable to become a reality before you remember.
Today, in one word, was horrifying. Perhaps, one day, we will not see this evil anymore.