I was getting ready to go to my building’s annual semi-terrible holiday party tonight (although the cold pigs n blankets have started to grow on me), and suddenly it flashed back: the same sinking feeling. The same reluctance to go and make small talk with neighbors. The heavy weight on my mind of a school shooting.
Exactly a year since the day I didn’t want them to see me cry. Exactly a year since Newtown.
The whole Arapahoe story hasn’t yet unfolded, but I have the same horrible, conflicted feelings. And God, the questions. The questions. Continue reading