Like a lot of people my family (dad, my aunts Sue and Norma Jean, and my cousin Cathy) and I watched the news that morning in horror but in a way we were also a tad grateful because my Uncle Bobby had passed away the day before after fighting cancer for over two years. We were grateful because if he hadn't passed he would have continued to fight because he would have been worried about the family and leaving us alone at such a terrifying time.

I remember thinking of all of those people, their families and then thinking of my nieces and nephews and tried to get hold of mom, sister and brother to see if they'd gotten the kids out of school and wondering just how fucking far we could all run into the hills if we had to.

What's strange is that I don't remember being angry at the acts, I know I had to have been, but the only anger I can actually remember was directed at my Aunt Sue because she was going on and on about it being the End Days to the point I wanted to hit her so I went outside and sat in my Uncle's favorite seat under the shade tree and tried to calm down.