I came from work yesterday and stared at the news for five news. It’s probably the longest I’ve spent glued to the TV since Hurricane Katrina.
When 9/11 happened, I was shocked. Terrified. Angry. But I didn’t cry.
When Hurricane Katrina happened, I was sad. Confused. Upset. But I didn’t cry.
And then yesterday a U.S. Soldier, someone who has worn, and allegedly was wearing, the same uniform I wear everyday, opened fire on his fellow Soldiers at a Readiness Center at Fort Hood. He killed 12 Soldiers. 1 Civilian. Injured dozens more.
I cried when Lt. Gen. Cone, the Fort Hood Post Commander, came on the news last night with an updated death toll. I cried when I saw footage of Soldiers come to the aid of other Soldiers.
I just couldn’t look away from the TV. I couldn’t, and can’t, understand.
I’ve been serving in the military for the past 6 1/2 years. That’s almost a quarter of my life spent as a Soldier. I’ve never been to Fort Hood. I don’t know anyone there. But still. What happened at Fort Hood, happened to my family. My Army family. It sound cliché, sure. But it’s the truth.
There’s a lot I could say. But I won’t. I’ll just take a moment of silence instead.