Gone, but never forgotten

I didn’t want this to be my first blog post. It’s not exactly something anyone expects or anticipates writing about. But it’s been pervading my mind, as well as everyone else’s, I’m sure, and there was just no way around writing about it before anything else. It’s just too relevant for me to shove aside.

Aurora is my hometown. I’ve lived there my whole life, and I’m sure I’ll be there a while longer. It’s the only place I grew up, it’s the only city I went to school in. It’s the only home I’ve ever known. It’s been my life. And to wake up one morning and realize that anyone I’ve ever known here may not have had the luxury of getting out of bed like I did that day was a bitter pill to swallow.

I woke up around 7 a.m. July 20th with missed calls and texts from concerned friends and coworkers asking if I was okay. It was only when I turned on the TV and saw the news that I even knew why they asked. Of course, you go through the worst case scenarios in your mind: did I know someone who was there? Are they still alive? Those reactions were only followed by one thought: that was almost me.

A few friends and I considered going to the premiere of The Dark Knight Rises that night, and since Century 16 Theater is in such close proximity to all of us, it was definitely a theater we considered going to. I’ve seen countless movies there throughout the years, including Ted, which we had seen there not even a week before. But I decided not to go because I was tired from working all day, and my friends figured it was probably sold out anyway, so they just wanted to try for a different night. I don’t know if Century 16 would have been the theater we ended up going to, but I thank God that I never got to find out.

I saw on Facebook that morning that a few of my other friends were there, and that they had luckily made it out safely. My eyes were glued to the news for the rest of the day, awaiting the release of the names or pictures of those who died, and hoping none were familiar faces.

The Sunday after the tragedy, there was a vigil held for the victims and their families at the memorial the community created across from the theater. I wish I could’ve been there, but I commend those that did. It takes a certain level of strength to attend something like that, and the strength of the community that day was so undoubtedly clear during that vigil. I was at work, and we observed a moment of silence in the evening to pay our respects though we couldn’t be there in person. Some of my coworkers were personally affected, and it was so hard to look them in the eye after the silence.

After work, a small group of us wanted to visit the memorial. We got off around 11 that night and all signed balloons to place at the site. I even got to do a little artwork on one of them, brandishing a bright blue balloon with the words “Colorado Proud” in Old English style calligraphy, our signatures and prayers encircling it and three other balloons representing the colors on the state flag. We tied them to a rock and placed them with the amazing amount of candles, stuffed animals, signs, and other tributes.

We also got two dozen roses to place on the twelve crosses erected in honor of each of the fallen. When we arrived, I promised myself I would stay strong and keep from crying as hard as I could. After seeing the glow from the dozens of lit candles shining on all the gifts and seeing how many members of the community were still there at 11:30 p.m., I started to falter on that promise. I saw some of my group start to tear up, and that didn’t help either.

We divided the roses and put one on each of the twelve crosses. One of my coworkers asked us if there were extras, so we gave her a few of the ones left. She offered them to a man and two women talking in front of one of the crosses. The elderly woman accepted them, saying, “thank you so much. I’m going to give these to my granddaughter.” Then she knelt next to the cross and gently laid them down at its base. There was absolutely no stopping the tears that flooded from my eyes once I heard and saw that. I completely lost it. Shoot, I tear up now thinking about it.

Two young men asked everyone if they’d like to join them in a prayer. Not a single soul declined, so the entirety of the people still there formed a giant circle, locking hands with friend and stranger alike. I can’t remember half of the prayers said because I couldn’t stop sobbing. It was by far one of the most emotional and difficult nights I’ve been a part of.



Days later, it’s still plastered on the news. It will be for months to come, as more unfolds about the tragedy, the victims, the theater, and the court hearings. Whether we want to or not, we will hear about it incessantly. It’s not something we can easily escape.

I’m frustrated most by those who say things like, “oh, of course it happened in Aurora.” I’ll admit, growing up, friends and I would joke about how “ghetto” Aurora was, and I’ve heard others say the same. But let’s face it; it’s a large town with mostly middle class families. We don’t get shot up or held at gunpoint on a daily basis, we don’t have gang wars running the streets, and as far as I know, we aren’t exactly known for our prostitution rings or drug cartels. Aurora can be questionable at times, but it’s far from the ghetto.

What if, and God forbid, this happened in a place like Cherry Hills? Would people pay more attention if a theater in Highlands Ranch was under attack? How about in Denver? Would we still have the cynics who can brush if off in areas where it may not be so “expected” to happen? The point is that this very well could’ve happened ANYWHERE. The shooter had no regard for the people he killed or hurt; socioeconomic status, race, gender, age, where they lived, it didn’t matter to him. He isn’t even from Colorado, and probably didn’t choose Aurora because of it’s “hood status.” Claiming that it happened and shrugging it off simply because “that’s just how Aurora is” is the same “bound to happen” mentality as thinking a woman asks to be raped because of what she’s wearing. It’s an unjustified cause, and makes no rational sense. Correlation does not equal causation. It could’ve happened to anyone, anywhere.


I’m proud of the community and how unified people can be when they’re needed the most. It makes me glad to be part of the so-called “ghetto” town of Aurora, and I’m not going to move just because this happened. My deepest and most sincere compassion goes out to everyone affected by this senseless act of violence. But I know that we’re going to come out stronger in the end.


Photo credits:
therepublic.com
newstimes.com