I remember too much

I was originally going to write an essay on the things that I remember from April 16, 2007, for today's two-year anniversary of the tragedy. I wanted to do this because I fear that I will one day forget the details that need to be remembered--how it played out, how the world reacted, and most importantly, the 32 people we lost that day.

But before I started writing it, I re-read their bios. Or, to be blunt about it, their obituaries. Thirty-two obituaries for 32 incredible people. Read them for yourself: http://www.vtmagazine.vt.edu/memorial07/memorium.html. You'll see that every one of them was outstanding in some way or another. I remember, in the weeks that followed, having to edit these 32 obituaries. It was painful to have to cut any detail about them for the sake of space. I felt like I was inflicting additional pain, although I'm not sure on whom.

Today, re-reading them, I felt a different pain. The pain of a parent, trying not to imagine how unfathomably life-ending it would be to lose your only child. Of a spouse, shying away from how it would feel to get the phone call that you had been widowed of the person you chose to be with for the rest of your life. Of a child, not wanting to picture your parents as they bid you a final farewell.

My heart aches today--to much for me to attempt writing anything coherent or adequate. Instead of remembering, right now, all I want to do is forget. I am a coward.

That being said, as I was walking at lunch on what's turned out to be a sinfully, wrongfully beautiful day, I gazed out at the rec fields and had a vision. Of them: of the 32. I imagine their spirits gathered from whatever afterlife they are experiencing, their varying faith and their beliefs an immaterial issue now. I can feel them here in Blacksburg, if only just for this one day. Perhaps they are drawn by the sorrow and regret and pain that everyone on campus is feeling. It is a palpable thing. But at least they will know that they are remembered, always, even though sometimes we try to forget.