For Better or for Worse

Wednesday marks the one year anniversary of something I could have never imagined happening at my school and at my home. One year ago, a sick child who slipped through the cracks decided he'd had enough of this world and selfishly took 32 fellow Hokies with him. The merits of his sickness - mental, chemical, and otherwise - are a debate for another place and time. Plenty of posts just like this one have blasted the mental health system, Virginia Tech, handgun dealers, professors, suitemates, and students alike. In looking back, each could have done more. We like to think we would have done more in that position. We have the luxury of hindsight.



People were quick to rush to conclusions in to Blacksburg, a tiny town that would be a speck on the map if not for Tech, and start throwing blame like Bryan Randall bombs on a fall Saturday. Brian Williams, Katie Couric, and thousands of other media people invaded and wanted answers. When students or faculty weren't forthcoming, they were labeled as "uncooperative" or "cold". President Steger, a man who is well-liked among the students at Tech, was hung up by every media outlet in the U.S. "You were too slow to react" or "Why didn't you do it this way" as if he had the luxury of thinking in a situation that allowed only for reaction.

There are a handful of days where I can remember everything that happened from the time I woke up until my head hit the pillow that night, and April 16, 2007 is one of them. Those feelings - my stomach churning, wondering if my friends were okay, wondering what the hell happened - are as fresh in my mind as if they happened hours ago. Katie had flown in for a weekend in Richmond, and she left that morning. I heard something on the news about the first two victims in AJ that morning, and my immediate thought was that I heard it happened a lot of places but could never remember anything like that happening while I was at Tech. On my way to work from the airport, I decided to turn on the radio (I'm much more of an iPod, mp3 CD kind of person) just to see if there were any updates. It wasn't until I got to work that I started to find out how deep it was.

I cried.

Not like small little tears, like big monster hurricane tears. Complete with non-breathing and everything.

I went into a coworker's office, shut the door, and just started crying. I don't think I came out for 2 or 3 hours. It was everything: sadness, anger, disbelief, disconnect, not being in Blacksburg, not having Katie there, not knowing if my best friend was okay, and a whole host of things I can't articulate even 12 months later. It was unlike anything I'd ever known in that place. For four years, I never once felt unsafe. It was my home, and I know it better than anyplace else I've ever lived. It was peaceful, but it was alive. It was a place where people would ask how you were, and then actually wait to hear an answer. It wasn't the place people were inferring from behind microphones and on talk radio, to be sure.

A year and a half after leaving, Blacksburg in my mind is exactly how I left it. But I know it'll never be the same. People will always look a little longer, whisper a little quieter, and move a little faster even if they don't intend to. The perception of Tech will never be the same. I interviewed for three jobs in the past 6 months and all three asked me about the shootings.

"Did you know anyone?"

"I did."

"That's awful. I'm so sorry."

And then silence.

I wasn't close to any of those that died; I knew two of victims in that we knew each other's names. We'd say hi to one another in the hall or give the very male head-bob-back-and-forth if we saw each other at a party. But I shared a bond with everyone that died that day - we were all Hokies. Which brings me to the roundabout point as to why I'm writing this post.

The 33rd death that day in Blacksburg was every bit as senseless as the 32 others.

32 people were murdered that day by that sick kid with the guns in the picture and the taped diatribe, but what led to his death is also tragic. He needed help even though he didn't reach out. We could've done more to ensure students' safety in light of a random attack like this. We could've also done more to ensure that this child, this son, this brother, and grandchild received the help he so desperately needed. We should've done more. We have to do more.

I can't sit here and call Seung-Hui Cho a victim in the same way that 32 other Hokies were that day. I also think that someone who could do what he did cannot possibly be of sound mind to be judged on the same plane as everyone else, by whomever is judging (or Judging). But I can say that he was a part of my Tech family in the same way that so many others were and are. Hokies are family for life, and I know that wherever there's someone in maroon and orange, they've likely got my back.

So on Wednesday I'll be remembering 33 Hokies who passed on 4/16 and doing my best to honor all Hokies who have come before, as well as those to come. We owe it to all of our family. Ut Prosim.