I wake up early each morning since the shooting with the recurring nightmare of watching the incident take place. The imagery of the activity within the long three minutes between 12:59 and 1:02 is unbearable. I twist and turn, everything in my body is tight. My physical heart hurts. I pull my hair in anguish. I try to imagine different things.
There are moments when I become angry. Considering the loss of human potential sparks rage. I work to minimize the rage. I know it is not healthy to dwell in these emotions. The work is not with the rage right now, although I know I will need to release it at some point.
We are just a couple of days in from the shooting; it takes me longer than is my baseline to determine time, which has traditionally eluded me anyway. Livi Ami and I left painted pumpkins at the foot of Rhoam’s memorial at Silver Rail. We cried. We hugged each other.