I’m not sure how well known it is – I may have mentioned it a few times – that I am a grad student at Northern Illinois University. I have been working on a Master’s Degree in English Literature, and I also act as an instructor for the First Year Composition program there. Today seemed like a normal enough day. I felt irritated for having to get up early, and I felt woefully ill-prepared for both my morning meeting and a peer study group I attended in the mid-afternoon. During the study group, Jan from the English Department walked into the room, informed us of the shooting, and told us she would be locking the doors.

At first it seemed unbelievable, but hearing that it had taken place in Cole Hall (right next door to the English Building), we were quick to comply and found ourselves lowering the blinds and shuffling out of sight from the doorway. Cell phones were brought forth and calls made. Then we speculated, waited, and watched. At the time, we knew very little but could see the ambulances and police descend like ferocious fire ants. Many students were still walking around as if heading to class, then they formed a throng of curious onlookers as stretchers were wheeled out and eventually filled.

Needless to say, our building was eventually cleared, and I was able to leave campus. But up until that time I had been maintaining a sort of grim facade of nonchalance, and once left to myself in my car, I felt the sudden weight of the situation hit me.

When the Virginia Tech shootings had occurred, I felt a great deal of sympathy for those involved, realizing that my situation was not so different from their own. I even remember talking at length with my students the day after, venting frustrations that we seem forced to live in a world where violence seems an unspoken ultimatum for educational institutions.

Even then, however, I did not suspect how close those same circumstances would come to my own life and those of my friends and family. I can’t make sense of it. The whole situation seems as alien as Cloverfield, thundering through the ruins of New York leaving the dying and bewildered in its wake. And the world has fixated on it, just like I am now, pouring over the details again and again as if some answer can rise to the surface. But it can’t and won’t.

All I can say is I hope something can be regained from this tragedy, some affirmation that regardless of what unexpected horror may confront us in the future, we will have each other and a common understanding of what is truly important.