December 14

I have not been able to find the right words for this, but I decided to stop putting off writing about it any longer. I have been avoiding writing because I didn’t want to revisit those emotions yet. But that’s not fair. My niece and nephew, their parents, and all of the other families affected by the events at Sandy Hook Elementary seven years ago don’t have the luxury of not thinking about it. This is their reality. Every day. Every hour.

It was a regular workday and I was in my home office when my son came in to say there was something on the news about Sandy Hook. “Isn’t that where Nikki lives?” He asked. So I turned on the news and was stunned by the report. A mass shooting at an elementary school. I couldn’t ignore the sick feeling in my gut and I didn’t want my mom to hear about this from someone else. I got in the car and drove the 10 minutes to her assisted living facility.

When I arrived mom was sitting with some friends and I went over to whisper in her ear that I needed to speak with her alone. We stepped away and I explained that I didn’t know any details yet, but we should find out something soon. We went up to her apartment and I got onto Facebook to see if she’d posted any updates. She had not, but there were many posts from her friends asking for information. One stood out to me, it read, “We have Jake, have you found Dylan yet?”

We decided to give it a little time and I had sent a couple of messages to my niece with no response. Mom and I went for a short walk until she stopped me and said she needed to know. “She’ll answer her grandmother.” So I handed her my phone. Mom left a short message and we started back to her apartment. We were in the hallway when my nephew called. I picked up and put on the speaker. “We lost Dylan in the classroom,” he choked out. My mother’s knees buckled. Her great-grandson had been horribly murdered. He was six.

The next few days are a little fuzzy, but I got a call from IBM where my nephew worked and a lovely man offered me an opportunity to be with my niece at the company’s expense. I was in Connecticut just a couple of days after it happened.

Driving into that pretty little town was so strange. State Police were everywhere and there was a trooper at the top of their driveway. They were at all of the homes of families affected by the tragedy to protect against the public, and especially the media. I had even gotten a call before leaving Washington asking if I would agree to be interviewed. I snapped back at the caller and said, ”Why, so you can ask me how I feel? How the hell do you think I feel? No chance.” I actually used a different word. Sensational journalism at its worst.

My nephew’s parents were in town as was my niece’s mother whom I hadn’t seen in years. My biggest shock was seeing my niece. She looked so different and hugging her I felt how tight she was. Tight with horror and anxiety. I also learned that the shooter had lived with his mother in the house across the street.

I learned more details over the next couple of hours. It must have been torture for the families waiting for news as the police were reuniting survivors with their parents. I cannot imagine. As the day went on and most parents were reunited with their children, the remaining parents began to realize that their kids were victims. They were screaming and sobbing. I just cannot imagine.

We had a small private service planned, but before that, my niece and nephew had asked to see his body. You see, when something unimaginable happens, people come up with alternatives to the reality. My niece told me they needed to know for sure that he’d been correctly identified and hadn’t run out into the woods during the chaos and may be lost. So they put themselves through the horror again.

The first service was intimate with just friends and family. I was so shocked when I walked into that room to see how small the casket was, I just lost it at that moment. During the service, I don’t really remember what was said, I was too numb to absorb it all. I could spread my arms wider than that casket was long.

There was a lovely larger service the next day with several wonderful presenters who knew the family well. There was a sweet video and a friend played a hauntingly beautiful rendition of Dylan’s favorite song, ”Hallelujah.” After the service we went outside to release balloons. Thankfully the press was held back from connecting with the family.

I’m told that Dylan’s big brother could no longer sleep in the room that he and Dylan shared and it wasn’t too long after that the family moved. In 2014 the town purchased the shooter’s house and demolished it shortly after. The school was torn down and replaced in 2013. Everyone wants to forget, but nobody can.