My most recent blog on the Huffington Post.
For all my blogs, please visit my Huffington Post Blog.
I’m on the mattress on the floor, except I don’t remember lying down. I’m fully clothed. How did I get here? Did I fall asleep? I feel hot and sick and tired; my entire body shakes. A sharp pain goes through the length of my left side.
I’m up in our room, in bed, in a ball, crying. It’s an ugly, messy cry. Florida is lost, and even though it’s early, I think it’s over. My heart seizes with fear, it’s a block of ice in my chest. I just felt a sense of wrong. Because it’s wrong.
“There is something you should know,” Ann, our sitter, whispered to my parents. The news was embarrassing; something to be ashamed of. “Danny said he wants to be a girl when he grows up.” This wasn’t exactly news to them. I was seven.
On July 21, 2012, I woke up to that text from my cousin, Brett. I texted him back that we were fine. My first thoughts were, “Where? Who?” But not why or what. Because I knew it was a shooting. What else would it be? And the why…