I sat in my chair sitting not believing what I had just heard. Another student had just told me that you cheated on me the whole relationship and he’s pretty sure you left me for her.
I know it’s been a year and I happy in my current relationship, but for some reason, it stings a little.
Actually, it stings a lot. I am no longer in love with you and still wonder why I ever was, but I still can’t believe it was all a game to you. You were the first person I gave my full heart to, the person I trusted everything with, and the person I was ready to do anything for.
I wish you just told me so I didn’t find out from someone else or that you left me before you cheated because honestly, that would have hurt less.
If I would have found this out before I found my current boyfriend, I honestly don’t know how I would have been able to trust anyone again. I am happy that I moved on and my current boyfriend taught me how much better men can be, but it stings to think about what you did and it’s going to be something I will carry with me in every relationship.
Although I am beyond happy now, I still feel that hurt and betrayal from you, like you stabbed me in the back.
On Sunday night, a lone gunman killed 58 people and injured 515 more, during the Route 91 Harvest Music Festival. I woke up Monday morning, checked my Snapchat stories, and saw the news of this story on every major website. In English class, we talked about the shooting, as it related to our weekend reading of Shirley Jackson’s The Lottery.
A husband and wife were enjoying the country music festival, when they heard gunshots from up above. The husband got shot in the back while protecting his wife, as they ran out of the concert. His life’s work as a nurse culminates, as he saves one more life: his wife’s.
That story isn’t made up, a fabrication put in this post to add even more tragedy to the United States’ deadliest shooting to date. That is the story of Sonny Melton, a West Tennessean. His wife, Doctor Heather Melton, has spoken out about her husband’s final moments in a heartbreaking testimony.
“He saved my life,” she told WSMV, a CNN affiliate. “I want everyone to know what a kindhearted, loving man he was, but at this point, I can barely breathe.”
This breathlessness can be felt in every victim’s family as they find out about the massacre from articles, workplace conversations, or a lack of a call back. Just like how one finds out about their dad’s car crash from the police knocking at their door at 3 am. Just like I found out about my mother’s death when I woke up on Labor Day six years ago from my uncle, who had to brave a face of me, even though he just found out his sister died.
Whenever a massacre happens, I feel that initial stab in the heart for the 58 families who won’t get to celebrate another birthday, will never get another phone call, or will never see their loved one again. I feel for the 58 funerals filled with tearful eulogies and scratchy black dresses.
I feel for the daughter who has to finish her math homework with dry eyes, as she’s told to “move on with her life.” I feel for the wife who has to go to work, while she budgets for how her husband can have an open casket with a bullet hole through his left eye. I feel for the weeks of articles pinning this shooting on ISIS or a bad father, when all the families want is to bury their loved ones in peace.
Whenever we talk about death, we ignore grief and sadness. As a society, we focus on moving on and waiting for the next tragedy. I hope that those in Las Vegas take the time to mourn and that this time it sparks conversation about gun control or mental health. I hope that no more people have to die to learn how to fix our mistakes, but until then, I hope whoever reads this knows that it is okay to feel bad, to mourn.
I mean that completely literally, by the way. Last night, we traveled to Maricopa to play a football game. We knew from the beginning that this one was going to be a battle.
This is probably the understatement of the century.
We worked hard and just couldn’t make anything happen on either side of the ball. We started strong, and finished strong. But somewhere in the middle, we lost ourselves a little bit.
We didn’t lose our drive and our determination. We were confused and in pain. A lot of what happened last night was very controversial, especially to the spectators, who had a pretty good view of the carnage that was being left on the field.
I want to thank the spectators that came out to support and cheer us on. I speak for the whole team when I say we could never show how much we appreciate the shouts and yells from the sidelines. Trust me, we hear you.
The reason this post hurts is actually completely physical pain. I’m still a little shaken in the head from taking as many hits as I did. Also, I have a very swollen hand that is making typing very impossible. I am also sitting in a position that keeps the computer close to my body, as I cannot fully extend my left arm.
None of that matters, however.
Pain heals itself.
We will get back to work this week and keep on going.
Enjoy this picture of men running into each other.
For those wondering who that is, yes it’s Brian Dawkins hitting Alge Crumpler :).