few hours for closure. That's what he told me, so here I am walking
through the parking lot of the high school. I won't go inside, can't
do it. It's been four years since the tragedy, but the pain is still
I see the kids getting out of their cars, riding their bikes and walking through the lot. They're laughing and playing around. I should be there with them.
There's the bell. Kids are rushing to get into the building; they can't be late for class. I'm standing in the middle of the lot; people are passing me on both sides. Do they know who I am? Do they remember me?
The kids are gone, all inside learning, thinking, and planning their futures. I should be with them. I should be planning my future but I have no future, there is only the past.
I walk around the campus; the buildings look no different than they did the last time I was here. There is the main building made of tan block. The gym, locker rooms, and the shop buildings in the back were cinder block painted white. The trees and bushes are a little bigger, but other than that, there's not much change. Did I really expect the school to be that much different?
How can I have closure when I'm still so upset? I would probably cry if I could. I'm walking around the school, angrier by the minute.
"Why did you send me here?" I yell to the only one that could hear. I wait for an answer, but there's none to be heard, so I continue my trek around the school.
Finally, I make my way around to the front of the school. I see the large memorial that the school had built, it's right next to the flagpole. The memorial is surrounded by fresh cut flowers. I walk up to it and first trace the names of my friends with my finger, a tear slides down my cheek. I wipe the tear off my face. It's real! For the first time in four years, I can cry. I can feel the marble under my fingertips! The last name that I trace is my own.
"Thank you, Lord, for sending me back to Columbine."