Drama

There's nothing like another shooting to shake up the day.

Typically, Shannon and I trade off having really hard/bad days. It's not conscious or planned; it just happens that way. Until today. For whatever reason, we both woke up sadder than usual this morning. Caroline and I met some friends at the zoo, and we were half an hour late. We all had a good time, which was the bright spot in a rough day.

Things started to fall apart as we were leaving the zoo. It was getting close to naptime, but Caroline was stalling. Then she had a dirty diaper, which necessitated a very awkward diaper change in the parking lot, complete with me sticking my hand (and fingernail) in said dirty diaper and driving home with said diaper in the car because there was no trash can available.

Then we got home, and Caroline would not take a nap. She finally fell asleep but woke herself up coughing less than thirty minutes later. And there went naptime.

These events are typical with toddlers and are enough to discourage any parent. But I am not any parent anymore, unfortunately. Now, when things don't go according to plan (you know, when Caroline or Shannon simply act human), my patience completely evaporates. This is common among grieving parents. It's not even that I consciously think about Weston in these moments, but general irritability and impatience are common symptoms of grief.

We didn't go to our neighbor's funeral today. I talked it up in my last post; I feel a little bit like a chump, but that's the grief roller coaster for you. Given the fact that our whole family is emotionally and physically stretched right now, it was probably the right decision.

At some point in the early afternoon, I heard there had been a shooting at an office building at 16th Street and Glendale in Phoenix. Wow, I thought, that's just a couple of miles from here. I ran by that intersection just the other day.

Then, naptime chaos continued. I simply had to have some downtime to myself, so I asked Caroline to have quiet time in her room; I knew I needed some time to just cry and think about Weston. But then I checked Facebook.

I learned that Caroline's former daycare, which is close to the shooting site, was in lockdown. My heart started racing, and I felt sick. I've already lost a child. What if I had been working today and learned that Caroline was in lockdown? It was just too much.

Then I learned that a lawyer had been shot. My goodness. Was it someone I knew? It was like looking at my life last year.

And it gets worse. My phone rang; it was my mother. (That's not the bad part.) Simultaneously, I saw the suspect's name: the same pro per (representing himself) plaintiff that I had a case against about four years ago. And he is still at large, by the way. I talked to my mom for a few minutes, simultaneously freaking out about the shooter and talking about my horrible day and finally had to go: my former firm was calling about the shooting.

So, the "alleged" shooter (lawyer-speak is still ingrained, even though my mind is already made up) walked into a mediation and shot several people today, including the lawyer on the other side. One of them has died. I attended a proceeding with him in 2008 that should have lasted two hours but instead lasted eight. I think our case with him was his twelfth. I could really go on and on about my interactions with this man, but I will spare you all. But I will say that it is quite creepy to see his face all over the media now. He wasn't completely thrilled with how our case turned out; I hope he doesn't come looking for me. I'm really glad our firm has moved.

Court cases are public records: one can always find the names of parties and their attorneys (unless the party is a minor). My firm was listed opposite the shooter in one of his cases, so the media called my firm, and my firm called me. (FORMER firm, former firm: I don't work there anymore. Must remember that.)

All of this was happening as Caroline's quiet time was ending, so I was still quite distracted. It's human nature to try and insert oneself closer to dramatic events, I think, and I fully recognize that I might be doing the same. But this shooting hits close to home. A man died today; are his parents alive? Do they now know the horror that I know of losing a child? Shannon mentioned at dinner it could have been me: I sat across a table from this sicko multiples times four years ago. And I know he didn't like me. (That's OK: lawyers are not well-liked in general.)

It was another reminder of how little control we really have over anything. As if I could forget that I was unable to keep my son alive. But if today had happened this time last year, Caroline would have been in that daycare center (where nothing happened today, but I sure wouldn't be calm and relaxed knowing my daughter is in lockdown). If it had happened four years ago, I could have been in that room with the shooter. I wonder if he had a gun that day?

I don't know what to make of this. It's disconcerting. My equilibrium is shaken, so to speak. The last few days have been intense: I'm processing some profound thoughts and experiencing a little more clarity at where my life is headed, at what being Weston's mother will look like long-term. That's quite a breakthrough, I think (and about which a blog post is forthcoming), but now it's just muddled.

Welcome to grief, where the only constant is...change.