One Year

One year has passed, but the memories are still fresh. I can talk about it now, sure. I can speculate and wonder why it happened. I can talk to co-workers about the larger implications. I can get myself busy enough that it doesn't distract me. It doesn't define me, and it doesn't define my community. But one year isn't quite long enough to forget feeling utterly helpless, forced to watch the news unfold in my cubicle between frantic calls back to Gina in Blacksburg. The relief at knowing she and most of my friends were okay. The grief in imagining that so many others weren't and in realizing that one of the victims was a friendly, smiling guy I had taken a few classes with freshman year. The shock in simultaneously recognizing him and internalizing the cold truth, a closer and more horrible truth, in the span of a second. The shame in trying not to imagine what the families and close friends were experiencing at that moment.

One year later, I still can't pass by the memorial websites when I happen upon them. I still get choked up when I glance at a few, then read about the collective accomplishments of so many bright individuals, always finding out something new, though it's tempered by their forever-unfulfilled goals. It's a finality and a reality that I loathe to remember but don't ever want to forget.

So today, as the news recycles footage and tries to say the same thing 1,000 different ways, I will join my Hokie Nation as we unite once more and remember the 32. I will continue praying for the families that are bitter, grieving, and still looking for answers. I hope they find them somewhere.

I remain proud to be a Hokie, I am proud of how the University pulled through last year, and I will keep this pride forever, even as we all lean on each other in our remembrance and healing. As we hope that this never happens again.

Now let's get busy living.