Friday, April 17, 2009
Metro columnist Dan Casey: Raw grief is giving way to memories
Dan Casey is The Roanoke Times' metro columnist.
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BLACKSBURG -- As the sun burned off the morning fog over Montgomery County on Thursday, a veil seemed to lift over Virginia Tech.
You could feel it in the hush that descended over a huge crowd just before the Run for Remembrance, like a giant collective exhaled breath, as thousands of orange and maroon balloons chased 32 white ones into the azure sky.
You could hear it in the pavement-pounding feet of runners as they circled the Drillfield for the 3.2-mile run/walk, crossed the finish line, then cheered and whooped as music blared across the grassy mall.
You could see it in wide smiles and raised eyes after the run, as people squeezed themselves onto the steps in front of Burruss Hall to pose for a picture.
Just like the shock of April 16 two years ago soon gave way to a nearly bottomless grief in Blacksburg, those emotions have continued to morph.
Certainly the 32 people who were savagely shot to death, and the others who suffered grievous injuries, weren't forgotten during Thursday's remembrance events.
But it was hard to come away from this year's ceremonies without a strong notion that the campus seems to have turned a corner, or two.
Time has a way of doing that.
Raw grief has given way to solemn memory. And there's hope in a place that was once full of despair.
Compared with last year, "People are definitely a lot stronger," said John Schultz, 24, of Blacksburg, after he finished the morning run. "This year people are more celebrating life than mourning death."
Schultz grew up in Blacksburg, but wasn't there two years ago when the massacre happened. He was in the Navy, stationed out West. But his girlfriend was a Tech freshman and he returned home almost immediately on emergency leave. He was on campus for last year's ceremony.
Lauren Ko, a junior from Winchester, was also a freshman that year. Her college experience will forever be shaped by April 16. She noticed the difference Thursday, too.
At last year's ceremony, "everybody was kind of nervous. We didn't know what to expect," she said. "This year, everybody has a sense of, not necessarily peace, but we know how we can deal with our grief better."
You could hear incredulity that the massacre could ever be repeated, and a grudging acknowledgement that something similar had, just three weeks ago, in Binghamton, N.Y.
"I was like, I just can't believe that can happen again," said Kimberly Ferguson, who works in the student financial aid office.
And though abject grief wasn't on display on campus Thursday morning, undercurrents appeared later in the day, much as you would expect.
The Drillfield cleared soon after the run, and for a time, the campus seemed eerily quiet.
There was a quiet service inside the War Memorial Chapel for family members of the dead and wounded; roughly 80 attended.
While they were inside, thousands of students, faculty and others slowly and quietly trickled back to the grassy mall.
The families emerged from the chapel and walked measuredly toward the April 16 Memorial, flanked by an honor guard of cadets. As they reached it, the crowd on the field went silent.
A bit earlier, I had talked to Bethany Allison, a third-year student from Tazewell who will graduate in December. She said she was walking outside Norris Hall when she heard the shots inside and saw people jumping out of windows.
"Nothing will ever make me feel as sad as I felt that day, ever," she said.
For her and others, the shock and horror that gripped us two years ago is a receding memory. But it's a memory nonetheless.
