Personal reflection following the Covenant School shooting

On Monday morning I was getting settled into my routine at Vanderbilt University Medical Center. I’ve been here for about a month and a half and am slowly getting the hang of things, all the things. I got to work, filled up my water bottle, got a cup of coffee, then back at my desk I got to work organizing materials I’d need for the day.

I had a 9 a.m. meeting, then right after that, at 10 a.m., headed into another one. It was with a few other women in my department, so we spent the first 15 or so minutes catching up on the weekend’s happenings. Some had family and friends in town, others of us got to enjoy the beautiful weather this city has been gifted. Then we got into the planning and main points of our discussion only to be slightly interrupted by very long and very loud sirens. It’s not unusual for us to hear sirens throughout the day, as our building neighbors the adult hospital and is walking distance to the children’s hospital. But these sirens were literally wailing. Not realizing at the time why these were so much more attention grabbing, I made a comment about the sound. Now I realize what might have been going on and I can’t stop replaying that moment in my head. After we wrapped up the meeting, my co-worker and I went back to our office and got to work. This must’ve been close to 11 a.m. Minutes later she said, “There’s been a shooting.” I asked, “Where?” She repeated herself, in shock. “There’s been a shooting.” After some back and forth, I realized it was here, in Nashville, 20 minutes from us, and victims were being brought to our hospital. I can’t even remember my initial thoughts and feelings, probably shock and confusion. The journalist in me began combing through Facebook posts, articles, and figuring out where this school was. I read on their website, “The Covenant School is a private Christian school in Nashville for PreSchool through 6th grade.” That made it that much worse knowing how young the victims could be, and it was in a religious space. Then I saw the location and intersecting street, Hillsboro Pike. My heart sank. That really is “close to home” here. I take that road a few times a week. Sometimes for my favorite time of the week, a run to Trader Joe’s, every Friday night, to get to temple, and to get to different parks on the weekends. This is an area I’ve travelled often, even in my short time here. So much so that I know when I get to that intersection, of Hillsboro Pike and Burton Hills Blvd., the speed limit drops. It’s been a place where people slow down, and now it’s a place where people are stopping. Stopping to pay their respects, mourn, and remember the life that this place was filled with just days prior. Once I had more of an idea of the area and proximity to me, both physically and personally, the day consisted of clicking back and forth through different local news channels, watching and learning what was unfolding right here in our community. One that I have learned is a lot smaller, and tighter knit than I ever could have imagined before moving here.

A few hours into consuming all this information I turned to my coworker and asked if anyone was talking about this in our department. It just seemed weird because we weren’t far from it and our doctors were preparing to help those coming in. We walked down the hall and eventually gathered with others just trying to make sense of the little, initial information we had been hearing.

No one was able to focus on work and the day quickly shifted for so many of us. I began learning of the connections people in our department had to different aspects of this story, again, this seemingly “big city,” to me, was becoming a lot smaller in some ways. It got to the point where a couple of us headed outside for some fresh air. A handful of local journalists were grouped together down the sidewalk from the entrance to the emergency room. Many pedestrians passed and glanced over out of curiosity to see what was going on. Sirens wailed some more every few minutes. It was just an empty feeling.

At some point the day ended. Once I got home it really began hitting me, just what had happened and what this would mean going forward for myself, my workplace, and our city. I can’t continue this without thanking each of the people who reached out to me, starting Monday morning as the news came out, and have continued to this week. It genuinely makes my heart so much more at peace to know people are thinking of our community and taking time to listen to all my thoughts. Thank you, it does not go unnoticed, and has been a big part in helping me process. I got to work Tuesday, and emails began coming in from leaders about how we needed to put out a statement from our department on the tragedy and provide resources. I’d be tasked with this. I took a deep breath and tried to center myself enough to compose something, and think I did a decent job. With the help of two others, we got it together and were able to get it out. Then the rest of Tuesday I was slammed with getting our weekly newsletter finished and starting on another big project. By the end of the day Tuesday, I almost felt like I didn’t even realize what had happened the day prior because I was so locked into work that day.

I decided to stop by Trader Joe’s on the way home, and with it being four minutes from Covenant School, I wanted to stop by, say a prayer or two, and take intentional time to keep all the people impacted in my thoughts. I mean when you think about so, so many people. The victims, the students, teachers, parents, staff, faculty, bus drivers who got those kids from point A to B, first responders, medical staff, dispatchers, journalists, local businesses, neighbors, clergy, the drivers who stopped traffic, the list goes on. I was a little surprised when I pulled up. It looked different, but also similar to what I’d seen all over TV screens hours before. The memorial was growing by the minute. One of the first things I noticed was the scent of fresh flowers. You know when you hold a bouquet of flowers up to your nose to smell it, well that smell was magnified within feet of the entrance to the school driveway because there were that many flowers lining both sides of the street. There were stuffed teddy bears, balloons with the words, “I’m sorry” on them, posters, notes, the names of each victim, crosses, all the things we’ve seen at every tribute to the victims of gun violence before. It was just now I was standing at one, my own two feet on the grounds of a place, just days before filled with chaos. Tears slowly fell from my eyes thinking about the six lives lost. Standing in their space felt overwhelming, sobering, and gut-wrenching. A group of bikers was there to lay a sign. A few minutes later they asked a those of us surrounding them, maybe 15-20 of us, to bow our heads in prayer, and we did. I felt light gusts of wind, heard the sniffles of emotion, and the occasional, “Amen.” It was a powerful, powerful moment. There were bikers, students, older people, younger people, everyone that makes up Nashville has been in and out of this area the past few days. Wednesday came around and I was able to focus some more. I talked with a friend that night because all new emotions were hitting with the release of new video and information. People speculating and saying different things that just seemed tone-deaf, considering we’ve got six families of victims, and another family trying to figure out what is next. It’s a horrible situation and I think it would do us all some good to try and be extra cautious of how our words and actions can impact others at this time. With that said, we also must give grace to ourselves and others when it’s needed. We’re all handling this differently and moments of the day can be very different for each of us. Thursday morning, I found myself catching up on Ben Rector’s show he played the night before in Nashville, his hometown. There’s something about music that helps heal, and the artists know that which is why I think so many are making sure “the show goes on.” Someone said Ben acknowledged the week that the city has faced and opened with his song, “Make Something Beautiful.” If you’ve never listened to it, I recommend doing so, and then stick around for the rest of his stuff!

(Gallery includes pictures from the memorial that's been created at the driveway entrance to Covenant School, Trader Joe's created a sign for the front of their store to show support, and the Medical Center and Children's Hospital held a remembrance for the victims where people could place a rose and tea light.) The song starts with, “Please let me make something beautiful. A thing that reminds us there’s good in the world. A thing that reminds us there’s still something out there worth fighting for.” And man, if that’s not what this city did almost immediately after this tragedy shook our space. “Cause it feels like the world has gone crazy. Spinning faster and cheaper than ever before. And it feels like there’s nobody giving a damn that it’s getting worse.” Yeah, there’s some truth to that last line. But the people, primarily students, at Nashville’s Capitol, on Thursday, reminding these leaders about what’s important, that was powerful. It ends with, “Please let me make something beautiful. A thing that reminds us there’s good in the world.” I hope that’s what we can continue to do. While I still feel this big sense of hopelessness and anger, I’m hopeful that the coming days, and weeks, can act as a blank canvas and we can begin to create something beautiful from this awful event. Friday evening I was taking my usual drive to Shabbat services, down Hillsboro Pike, and passed at least 40 or 50 red and black ribbons tied to mailboxes to show solidarity. That definitely made me teary-eyed. Just knowing how hurt this city is right now, but it is comforting to know there is so much support, in different ways, for Covenant School and the Nashville community. Friday evening we got hear from the pastor at Woodmont Baptist Church, which was the reunification site for the families of Covenant School students. He shared what his morning was like, when he realized their space would be this place of reunification, and touching, spiritual words. The week has been rough, but it seems like each day I’m finding a little bit of good, or being comforted by the words and strength of people here. I think there’s a communal awareness that thoughts and prayers are not enough, as Pastor Nathan Parker said, “We have to pray with our feet.” Pray and also act. Be in motion to get things going in the right direction, one foot in front of the other, forward motion. I guess I’ll wrap this piece up with, “How are you?” Ask that to those around you, give them a space to express their feelings, and check in with yourself. I’m thankful to say that’s been happening a lot here this week, in work, at the grocery store, over texts and phone calls. It’s a hard time for people all over, and if we stick together, act with kindness and elevate those promoting healing and strength, something better can come of this. While the sadness comes and goes, I’m blessed to say that the compassion and strength of those around me remains steady.