It’s cold and snowing, and I am wearing my Sandy Hook sweatshirt, so my mind is taken back to my friends in Connecticut.
The weather is changing, and Christmas commercials are coming on TV. Carols are playing in stores and decorations are coming out. It’s been almost two years, and people think you should be over it. If you’re a particularly good actor, people think you are over it. You are starting to realize that it’s true—you will never be over it. Now, you’re willing to settle for not crazy anymore.
Those of you who stayed wonder if it would have been better to leave. You wonder whether you all drag each other down, feed each other’s trauma. Those of you who left wonder if you should have stayed. At least then you would be surrounded by people who get it, get you. You have betrayed, envied, and taken care of each other more times than you can count.
You have begun to have sane days shattered by guilt, and sane days that miraculously stayed sane, and so you were sure you’d turned the corner, only to be disappointed when crazy came back.
News flash: You have turned a corner. The way out is sometimes harder than the first steps in.
As one who knows the particular hardships of the second year, I am still here, in my sweatshirt, watching the snow fall, and sending my love.