I remember exactly where I was when I first heard. I was between classes and one of my friends stopped me in the hall. "There's been a shooting at Virginia Tech" - she remembered where I was from.
I called my mom. "Have you heard from Dad? There's been another shooting at Tech." (There had been one a few months prior.) No, she hadn't, but he was teaching class then. She would try to check in with him later.
I went to my next class, and when I came out, my world was shattered.
I didn't usually bring my laptop to class with me, but I had a presentation to work on that day and had intended to set up camp in my lab and get it finished. Instead, I was glued to the news, watching in horror as that number kept increasing. I kept checking Facebook, to see who had posted anything. I texted a good friend I knew was on campus, praying that I would get a response. I remember the relief as I heard from him, and the worry as he told me that a friend of his had been in that building and he hadn't heard from her yet. I remember falling apart when I got a text from him later that night, telling me that she didn't make it.
My dad worked in one of the nearby buildings and was on lock down for hours. The time until I knew that he was home safe was excruciating. The anxiety of waiting to see if a name I knew would appear on the list was unlike anything I've ever experienced. I remember the physical pain that came with that fear.
I remember the vigil held on my campus that evening. I remember getting up to speak and trying to explain to everyone how similar Blacksburg and Lewisburg are, that this wasn't a big city school, that it could have happened to us here. I remember asking people to respond with love, not blame. I remember feeling like there was no way to convey what I wanted them to know.
I muddled through the rest of the semester. I got an extension on that presentation. I remember being angry with the people around me who were carrying on like nothing had happened. I was furious when university officials sent out a campus-wide message saying that they had reached out to anyone with Virginia Tech connections to help support them, but no one had reached out to me. After finishing finals, I couldn't wait to get home.
But when I got home, I still felt lost.
I remember walking the drill field, with all of the memorials set up. I remember the tears, the touching tributes, the outpouring of kindness. And I remember feeling guilty about being so upset, like I was an intruder in this suffering. I wasn't there when it happened. No one I knew personally had been killed. I thought that it shouldn't be affecting me so much, but it was.
Ten years later, I am only starting to fully understand the impact this had on me, and I realized that I needed to write something, that there were things I still needed to process. With what I have learned about trauma in the last few years, I am able to see some things more clearly now. Trauma comes in all forms, and you can't always control how it affects you. Years later, news of a possible shooter on campus again sent me into a full blown anxiety attack. I didn't realize what it was at the time, but I now know that this is a classic sign of PTSD. I should have gone to counseling, but my belief that the tragedy didn't belong to me made me think I didn't need it.
Ten years later, the memories are still vivid. Ten years later, I still love and ache for my Hokie home. And ten years later, those healing words from the poet Nikki Giovanni have become woven into my being:
We are strong enough to stand tall tearlessly;
We are brave enough to bend to cry
And sad enough to know we must laugh again.
We are Virginia Tech.
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