Dear Luciana,

I’m about to tell you something about me that Mommy didn’t even know. It’s not something I hid from her. It just never came up.

A couple of days ago it was April 16th. On the 16th, 19 years ago, a student at Virginia Tech murdered 32 innocent people.

That was the year I graduated college.

I wasn’t awake when it happened. I was skipping class, which was weird for me. I very rarely skipped class.

If you’ve ever seen the video of the gunshots being recorded from outside, that was right in front of the building I was supposed to be in.

You would think that would have kept me up at night. It didn’t. I don’t think my brain comprehended how close I was to dying. It didn’t feel real.

Mommy dying felt real. Mommy dying felt like I died. Virginia Tech was my brain finding the nearest exit.

I woke up to a bunch of missed messages asking if I was okay. I didn’t know anyone who died, but it was impossible not to know people who knew people.

Everything about that time was surreal. The entire world descended upon Blacksburg. If that sounds familiar to how I describe what life was like after Mommy died, it’s because it was.

National news teams were everywhere. People I knew were being interviewed on different news channels. Helicopters in the sky, cameras set up everywhere. It gave me my first glimpse into what life was like when the whole world is staring at you and all you want is the opposite.

Months later a scene in a TV show triggered what I now know was probably a panic attack. That was new to me. Nothing that traumatic had ever happened to me before.

Afterwards there were memorials for those who died. The community even came up with a slogan within the next couple of days.

Never forget.

Why am I telling you this now?

Because I forgot.

Never forget was the promise. I broke it without noticing.

I obviously have been through a lot the past couple of years. But even if my mind wasn’t a bowl of leftover oatmeal from all the grief I’ve been dealing with, I still probably would have forgotten.

The only reason I remembered is because I logged onto Facebook and saw a post about it yesterday. I never would have remembered on my own.

Does this mean I’m one day going to forget about the day Mommy died?

No.

Unless I become senile or have some traumatic brain injury.

And I’d have to top having your wife die when your daughter is 9 months old. Good luck, universe.

The year after April 16th happened was such a big deal to those who were there when it happened.

Then two years.

Then five.

Then ten.

Now all of a sudden it’s two decades later, and while people remember, people also move on with their lives.

And it’s the same with Mommy.

I’m still going to be grieving a decade later, and other people who knew Mommy will grieve, but it won’t be the same.

I wonder what the friends and family members were thinking three days ago. Do they still have the same pain as when it happened?

Do they still have nightmares?

Do they still have panic attacks?

Do they get to move on?

Besitos,

Daddy