Last night, a senseless thing happened. Because of drugs, an 18 year old child lost his life. And this 18 year old was part of my life: 12 short years ago, he spent every day in my 1st grade classroom. He was one of mine.
I've been torn up since before 7 am, but am only now letting myself process it and my chest literally hurts. I tried to sleep and woke up in a panic. The shooter is still on the run.
I'm just sick. I'm on edge. I want to wake up and find out that it was all a bad dream.
I was hoping that writing would bring some comfort but it hasn't.
Steven wasn't perfect. He was a little stinker but he had his good points. He had a precious little smile and a sparkle in his eyes. He was eager to please. He was a good friend.
I just don't get it. I don't know how to wrap my mind around this poor little boy I knew dying in such a violent way.
Please, if you read this, pray for his family.