A year after the Vegas massacre
A year ago today marks the anniversary of the horrific massacre in Vegas at the country music festival that took 58 lives and traumatized our nation forever.
Thinking back to this event, and where I was when it happened, still makes me uneasy. I was on a trip with a best friend in Detroit seeing the last two Paul McCartney shows for his 2017 tour. I was actually quite disconnected with reality because I wasn’t spending a lot of time on social media or watching any TV. We didn’t even know anything happened until Amanda checked her Facebook and saw the posts we have become too used to seeing. The posts that are just normal now.
We also noticed in our hotel and casino we stayed at, the MGM Grand in Detroit, they had to close off their open concept bar/restaurant because they said people didn’t feel safe. I mean it’s a huge casino and the restaurant was completely open to it. They had some sort of glass up, that in the event of an attack there, wouldn’t have done anything, but it’s all they could have done. It made me so sad.
But still, this one was different. It was so many people. I understand and agree that just one person is too many. But this number is beyond disgusting. Any sense of security or safety is lost as the murderer gains infamy from being a coward and attacking a massive group of innocent music fans in Vegas.
It really wasn’t until I got home from the trip that I started seeing more about the massacre. It shook me to the core. Honestly. I got home from work and my mom had on the news as she was cooking dinner for us. I saw the hugest sense of fear in the eyes of the innocent and I don’t think I’ll ever forget that. I stood there with teary eyes until it cut to commercial break. I shut the TV off. I was holding back my tears as I walked upstairs to my room. I got in the shower and couldn’t stop crying. I got out of the shower and couldn’t stop crying either.
Of course I wasn’t there. I didn’t know anyone there. I have never been to Vegas. But truly none of that matters. It could have been any of us. Even those who don’t go to concerts. It just felt that much closer to me because I was at a concert myself the night it happened, then back to another one the next night after it happened. Paul played Give Peace A Chance and I think the entire crowd was moved and in tears. It was also the night Tom Petty passed away. I won’t forget it. Paul said, “even though this has been a very sad day, we’re going to celebrate the joys of life.”
I went to see my therapist a week later and just completely broke down. We were just having small talk. The beginning of a session. I was wearing a black crew neck sweatshirt that said “I saw Paul McCartney in Brooklyn.” He knows I travel a lot for shows. He asked if I was crying because that could have been me. And I really don’t think that’s why I couldn’t stop crying. I think I was crying because it literally could have been anyone, anywhere. It still can.
I also remember a coworker emailing me that night. He knew I was at a concert—I don’t think he knew where, though. He wanted to make sure I was ok. He asked me to please not go to anymore concerts because it isn’t worth it. He said he would buy me all the McCartney music I wanted so I could enjoy it and not have to worry. I loved him reaching out, but that wasn’t the point. I think that when we start giving up what makes us happy, or what makes us unique, is when we, the innocent people, lose.
It reminds me of that infamous quote from the movie, Kids. “When you’re young, not much matters. When you find something that you care about, then that’s all you’ve got.”
This post is just to share my perspective, however irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. That’s what a blog is, right?