There isn't much for me to say about today. Eight years after I wandered dazed through the halls of my high school wondering why no one else looked the way I felt, I think I have sort of integrated the event into my life. I find in my heart a hollow spot, like a mausoleum or a memorial, where the sorrow is as deep as ever, but had to be scarred over to be able to get on with life. My memories of those days will never fade, I think. I remember, and I pray, and I always, always will.
What I am more concerned with how to handle today with my students. They were 5 and 6 when it happened; it is an impression for them, a vivid dream they're not sure really happened. And, more bizarre to me, as the years go on my students will of course have been even younger. I a few years, they won't have even been alive.
Which, to me, underscores the importance of remembering it myself.