Thoughts from Kalamazoo: What living with mass murder feels like

Kalamazoo, Michigan recently became the latest site of a killing spree in the United States.

It's also where I live.

In fact, the person who wound up killing six people and injuring another two began his acts of violence about a ten minute car ride from my home.

So it was personal.

There have been others who have commented on the factors that cause such horrendous things to happen. But I'd like to focus on how living so close to the source makes a person feel.

You become stunned.

To begin with, I found out about the killings in church on Sunday morning, the day after. (The shootings took place during a time span between 6 pm and 10 on a Saturday evening.)

I was standing at the front door of my home church, chatting with one of the persons assigned to greet folks as they came into the building. At one point in our conversation, he asked me, "Did you hear about what happened at the Cracker Barrel last night?" (The Cracker Barrel restaurant was one of the shooting scenes.)

He told me and I became instantly stunned. There was a part of me that couldn't believe such a thing could happen in my town. Maybe being in a state of shock is a normal response when what you thought could never happen actually does.

You become afraid.

Later that afternoon, I went for a walk around a neighborhood park. 

I'm in the habit of doing this every day. I look forward to it,  but it's not something I think about much, if at all.

But this time, as soon as I got out of my car, I did.

What if, for some strange reason, someone was driving their car around the park, saw me, had a gun, and decided to shoot?

So the thought that I might not actually finish my walk entered my head.

You become fatalistic. 

As I started out on the walk, fear quickly gave way to fatalism. I'm not looking for ways to die; but on the other hand, I wasn't going to quit exercising because of what might happen.

There was a bit of sheer stubbornness in the mix as well. 

You become sad.

Centerpoint Church, a fairly large congregation in suburban Kalamazoo, opened its doors for a prayer vigil for the victims and their families Sunday evening. (If you want to see what sad people look like, take a look.)

The service included worship songs and times of group prayer. And it was a time to openly express yet another feeling.

You grieve.

You grieve because something unexpectedly horrible happened to innocent individuals and their families. 

You grieve because it happened in the town you call home. 

You grieve because your sense of security has been shattered and redefined. 

You grieve because your definition of normal has been thrown out the window.

But that's not the end of it.

You can choose hope.

It sounds almost ludicrous to mention this.

How can anyone go through something so awful and find hope?

The best way I can answer this is to mention that hope is a choice as much as a feeling.

At the end of the day, I choose it.

Photo credit: www.dioceseofhamilton.com (top photo)

Brittany Geeson for the New York Times (second photo)