las vegas.

It's been a week now and I still can't shake the feeling. Or rather, feelings, because there are oh so many of them.

I woke up to the news Monday morning. The rest of the day was a fog.

Do we really live in a world where someone is capable of such atrocity?

How do we live in a world where someone is capable of such atrocity?

We are all capable of such atrocity.

My heart has broken over and over again for those affected. The INFJ in me does not allow me to interact with the world in any other way but to feel into the very depths.

How do you go about your day after the world has experienced so much pain?

The unanswered questions.

The terror.

The unrelentless grief and despair.

The longing.

The regrets.

The fear.

The "if only I had..."

The screams.

The horror.

The blood.

The urge to run.

The urge to freeze.

The urge to pick up the pieces.

I couldn't pull myself away from the news for days.

I know all about "self-care" and what I "should" have done. I just couldn't.

Why should I be free to move on and live my life nearly unaffected when so many close to me are changed forever?

Vegas is "my place."

Many of my best memories have taken place in a city that now feels shattered.

So many people hate the crowds, hate the "sin" in one of my favorite cities, but it has always held a special place in my heart.

The bright lights.

The magic.

The awe.

The vastness.

The diversity.

The bits and pieces of shared culture and infamous places.

The music.

The laughter.

The bustle.

In-N-Out.

Our most recent trip to Vegas included a concert and overnight stay in the exact location of this unspeakable tragedy.

How do you reconcile that?

I've never considered Vegas a "safe" place, but to witness the horror of last week shook me to my core.

Not only can people do something so inconceivable, they can do it in my backyard. In my space.

When 9/11 happened, I was young, I didn't really get it at first. The twin towers? What were those? It became more real once I saw the second airplane hit while watching the news, but I was still so far removed. New York is worlds away.

This happened in a place I stood just months ago. In a place where my family and friends are.

Nearly every trip I make to Vegas includes some kind of concert.

After all, music is life.

How can I even go to a show after this?

Watching the videos of the gunshots going off and the chaos of the crowd was horrific, but one clip showed a young girl (probably no older than 10) running off alone, terrified.

I wept, thinking about my own kids. They are young now, but I have always wanted to share my love of shows with them.

Will I be able to now?

We have had a quick trip to Vegas planned for the last few weeks; an untimely injury led to the decision to pay hundreds there, rather than thousands here, for an MRI.

Our original plan included a stay at the Mandalay, but the $300+ nightly rate encouraged us to stay with family instead.

After I learned of the news, I wanted to call the whole trip off.

My trauma response is to run and get as far away and never look back.

I felt pretty traumatized.

I also felt guilty for feeling so traumatized when so many others were affected much more deeply.

All the freaking feelings.

It probably was no coincidence that the morning of our trip (exactly a week after the tragedy) I developed a migraine and stayed in bed most of the day.

As we got closer and closer to Vegas that evening, my stomach was in knots.

I wanted nothing to do with the strip. Usually a trip to Vegas would call for a visit to the M&M World and the Coca Cola Store.

Not this time.

By morning I worked up the courage to drive down the Boulevard.

It was surreal to pass the hotel we recently stayed at, to see the broken windows now boarded up.

To imagine again what would possess someone to shatter those windows and then shatter those lives, without a second thought.

It was humbling to drive by the crosses made by a complete stranger for those who lost their lives that night.

To see the crowds that had drawn, to honor those unfortunate souls who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

It could have been me.

It could have been you.

58 doesn't seem like a huge number.

Until you walk next to 58 crosses.

58 lives.

58 hearts no longer beating.

And all it took was 10 minutes.

Unimaginable.

It was so strange to see people posing for touristy "Welcome to Las Vegas" photos with such a tragedy filled tribute in the background.

My own kids initial reaction to seeing all the crosses was excitement. There were flags and balloons. "Mom, it's someone's birthday!"

More like a death day. 

I had to hold back a sob as I stuttered something about something bad happening to a lot of people and how this was other people's way to show support for people who were hurting.

So much hurting.

Hurting I desperately want to save them from.

This is their place, too. They won't stop begging to go back to the "Hotel Castle."

I don't want that to change for them.

I don't want this to be the world they live in.

I don't want this to taint their precious memories.

For the first couple days after the event, it was hard for me to take the advice of Mr. Roger's mother and "look for the helpers."

It was hard to unbury myself from the inhumanity and the gravity of it all.

Even after all my education and training to help people through their trauma, I just couldn't seem to get out of my own.

Shock is a pretty powerful thing.

I'm glad we still made the trip.

I'm glad I got to witness and honor the loss.

I'm glad I got to see that my Vegas is truly #VegasStrong.

As the billboards now read: "When things go dark, Vegas shines."

While police and the powers-that-be continue to work to answer the question of "why," everyday heroes are pulling together to rebuild.

And though I can honor the depths of the despair, I can also hold space for the hope in humanity.

There is evil everywhere.

But there is also good too.

And I would rather look for the good.