no title, just frustration

 A dessert. 

All I wanted a dessert made with Biscoff cookies and to go back to the wine garden.

But the line we found for that particular booth may have saved our lives.

It sounds dramatic, I know.

But the truth is we had only walked out of the building at the State Fair long enough to find the line before I heard a few pops and people started screaming and running.

My mother looked me straight in the eye, told me to turn around and keep going.

I didn't believe what I'd heard. How could it be gunshots?
We all walked through security.
It seems I've trained myself to believe I'm overreacting because I usually am... but this time it was real.

We found a games trailer on the midway and somehow got behind it.

I was already crying. At this particular point, my mind has caught up and realized that yes, I did hear gunshots.

I had crouched down, trying to calm down when two little girls were suddenly in front of me, crying and asking why everyone was running. I immediately tried to pull myself together because the last thing I wanted to do was make it worse and upset them.

My dad had ducked around to see what was happening, so my mom and I pulled the girls closer to us.
It seems their parents had gotten separated, but only for a minute or two.
Before I realized it, their mom was sitting in front of us on the phone, and their dad was handing me their infant sister so he could go look for his own brother.

Today, my mom told me that being handed that baby was the best thing that could have happened to me. She says I was going into shock, but everything changed once I was holding that baby. She looked at me with the widest eyes, and I knew I had to calm down because babies always know. Eventually I was able to hand her back to her mom.

There are definitely moments that I don't remember.
I don't remember the girls getting under the trailer, but I remember asking the little one her name.

She was crying so hard that I couldn't understand her.
I remember she asked me my name, and I remember my mom and I holding hands with the two little girls as my mom prayed.

I don't remember the girls getting out from under the trailer.
But I remember my mom helping me up when an employee told me we could go because my legs felt like Jello. Later, I realized I had dirt all over my leggings from basically crawling on the ground so those little girls never felt alone in the chaos.

My parents and I were walking away from the midway, and it was so calm... as if nothing happened.
It wasn't until we made it around the Cotton Bowl and closer to the rodeo arena that an announcement was made. All I understood was "shelter in place" and people started running again.

We went into the arena, where the announcer told everyone there was a confirmed active shooter.

I kept trying to let work know what was happening, but the networks were definitely struggling.

It felt like forever before we were able to leave... I think it may have been about 20 or 30 minutes. I really don't know, my sense of time last night was terrible. I was in a daze, because of course, all I could think about was how any of this was possible.

How my best friend could be killed in a shooting a month after she walked out of a food court and missed a shooting... and how I walked out of a food court seconds before a shooting. 

How I happened to be in the same spot where I had a panic attack on the midway years ago because the sound of the shooting games made me think someone was actually shooting. 

How someone would bring a gun into a place like the State Fair and then use it in a room of crowded people, only to scare all of us, including small children.

How those poor little girls didn't deserve to go through those terrifying moments, how I hope we were able to help them, and how I hope they forget everything that happened.

I wish I could.

No one died. And I am incredibly grateful.
But the feeling of hearing gunshots, running for cover, and having to tell those sweet girls everything was fine when I didn't know that for sure... when I didn't know if I even believed it.

Just over 24 hours later, I can't stop thinking about how terrified I was. How angry I am.

So here I am, writing this because I have to get it out of my head and off my chest. 
I am okay.
But that doesn't mean this is easy.

I will be thinking about this one for a while.

I never got that dessert, but thank God for that line.
It really may have saved our lives.

Another trauma. A different response.

Hard to believe that I've not written here since 2017. It's like a time capsule of myself, and the things that happened in the past. The things that have happened since then... I don't know if the Emily of then would believe them.

This year marks 10 years since my best friend Jessica's murder. Next week marks 10 years since she narrowly escaped a shooting in a Toronto mall... only to die in a mass shooting just over a month later.

I was barely 24... I didn't know how to process it then.
I turn 34 in two weeks... and I don't know how to process it now.

This week, the nation faced another tragedy with a mass shooting in Uvalde, just 80 or so miles from my hometown of San Antonio... which previously suffered a loss with the shooting in Sutherland Springs in November 2017. That happened a month after I wrote my blog post about the shooting in Las Vegas.

This time around, I am a manager. People look to me for decisions, strength. And I feel like I've failed.

I'm writing here again partially at the suggestion of a counselor, who says the physical illness I've been dealing with since Tuesday is a response to trauma. She says my body can't deal with any more internalizing. I need to externalize, rather than try to swallow it, because this is how it is manifesting. I have a horrible headache, I've thrown up several times, I'm hardly eating (couldn't even bring myself to finish a kid's meal today), I cry randomly, and I can't focus the way I need to for work.

I know I'm carrying everything inside. And it's eating at me. Uvalde was the tip of the iceberg, when we heard two dead, then minutes later it was more than a dozen. My heart stopped. I knew there were babies in that school. Children who would never go home to their mommies and daddies again. They were laying there alone, just the way so many others have at different scenes.

I didn't know for months that Jessica did not die in the theater, so I had nightmares about her laying inside alone. I eventually found out she was taken to a hospital, which gave me some comfort... but I knew other people weren't given that chance. And I know she was likely gone before she got to the hospital, but at least I know she wasn't alone.

I see these pictures, these names... and I think back to all of the shootings I've ever covered. The loved ones who thought they were just going to school... to church... to a movie theater. 

I'm going to share this. Not for sympathy, although prayers/good thoughts/happy vibes are welcome, but because I don't want anyone else to go through this. I know my job requires a lot of me. I know part of this comes with the emotional trauma I've carried for 10 years.

I thought I was bigger than this. I thought I could handle it myself. I thought I had to be strong for everyone, but I don't know that I was being strong for myself.

Part of me hopes that by being upfront about my own struggles and sharing them, I will find some healing and maybe even help someone else.

The counselor I spoke to today asked if I've been to therapy. I have, it's just been a few years. And even then, a car wreck is what got me there. But that therapist told me my deeper rooted issues stem from the trauma of losing a loved one in a mass shooting. I didn't totally understand - how could I carry this when I wasn't even there? Is it my fault? Is it all in my head? Should I be stronger than this? 

She said there was a lot to work through, a lot that I carry - guilt, anger, pain, grief. Then I moved. A pandemic happened. And I didn't go back to therapy.

I called our EAP line today and asked for help to find a counselor, so I am going back. And if you need help - for anything - I hope you ask for it.

I am the world's worst about asking for help. I've always carried this chip on my shoulder that I had to be good at everything immediately. I hide a lot. I internalize. It's done some damage, and you'd think I would learn... but that appears to be an ongoing lesson.

I'm okay. The social worker at EAP asked if I was in any danger - I'm not. I am not suicidal, I know that things do get better (sort of, but this keeps happening), and I know that I am okay. But I can't go on like this. I have to do something.

Right now, it's writing this. I spent a half hour with a counselor earlier, and hopefully I will be in regular counseling by next week.

I know I've rambled here. It's been a bit of a freestyle exercise, just to get it out of my system. And if it helps someone, then at least I've made a difference.

Vegas.

A concert.

That's all it was.
A place where people could enjoy music, friends, and escape the craziness of reality - until it came to them.

I was at a concert on October 1st - thankfully, hundreds of miles away in Texas - but my head has traveled to that "what if" space. I've even seen Jason Aldean live - in a very similar setup, right outside the Dallas Omni hotel.

I can't imagine.

And yet I can.

For the friends and families of the 59 people who lost their lives, I don't have to totally imagine what they're going through. Because I know. I am well-versed in the road they face, because I've already walked it. I've felt the pain and the anguish and the frustration.

I wish I could say it goes away.
But it doesn't.
It gets easier to manage, but then life goes on, nothing changes, and the worst of the world unfolds in yet another neighborhood. And it all comes back.

I felt sick when I heard about the concert shooting. It seems you can't go anywhere anymore without knowing it could happen - and it probably has - a concert, a school, a movie theater.

The videos that conspiracy theorists point to for proof of a faked shooting or to find something where there is nothing - they hurt. It wasn't my loved one this time, but the sounds of that gun were sickening. It's the sound of a weapon similar to the ones I've been told killed my best friend.

So I know. And I hurt. And I wish there were something, anything I could do for those left behind. I will never know exactly what the families are going through - to have someone you've loved their whole life taken away - it breaks my heart.

But the friends. I understand them.
When you're single and in your 20s, friends are your other family. You know the ones you know you can trust with just about anything - and who will pick you up when you don't want the world to see you fall.

That was Jess for me.
Having her ripped away in such a public, tragic, senseless way was one of the most painful things I think I will ever face.

To the friends of those killed - and even those recovering: you may not believe it, but you will find strength you never knew you had. I've heard it for years. I still don't always believe it, but I know what I've been through isn't for the faint of heart.

You may think you don't need help - but don't be afraid to get it. Sometimes I wish I had. I've been okay, but I wonder if I could be better.

If you feel guilty - don't. You can't change what happened. You didn't pull that trigger. And the friend you lost or are helping fight their way back - they need you. The person they love, not the guilt you feel. I've felt so much survivor's guilt over the years - I wasn't there, I didn't tell her I loved her one last time, I made it to another birthday and she didn't. It's been five years and I still have to tell myself that there's nothing I could do. And I shouldn't feel guilty, because Jess would want me to be happy. She would want me to LIVE.

There will be things that are hard to face. I struggled going back into a movie theater - heck, I still mentally prepare myself. I have moments of panic in crowds - not all the time, just randomly. I've cried at the sound of a BB/pellet gun game at the fair - just flat out went from laughing to crying my eyes out in about 10 seconds. Monday morning, I skipped a trip to the fair because the last place I wanted to be was in a crowd.

But I won't hide. Because the person who took Jess' life doesn't control me from a prison cell. I hope you won't let the person who did this to your friend control you. That's not living. And you have to live.

Go back to a concert. Sing loud and dance if you want. Don't let the fear of what happened once stop you from doing something you love.

And take life one day at a time. Because we're not promised tomorrow. But we still have today.

#dallasstrong

I've always been proud to be from Texas. While I will always call San Antonio home - Dallas has a piece of my heart.

Six years of my life have been spent in north Texas; half on the western side of the Metroplex, the other half on the side where the bright green lights on the Bank of America building are always visible.

(Not long after I moved to Dallas - this is part of the city's BIG campaign)

Thursday.

I didn't know what had happened in downtown right away. It took a message from a friend asking me if I was okay to know that someone was shooting in downtown, just a few miles from me.

My heart sank reading Twitter updates while getting ready for work. I knew it would be a long morning - far from the chaos in downtown, but still crazy. (I've never seen so many people in the newsroom with us all night long.) I couldn't think straight most of the night, but I had a job to do.

My coworkers went on air at 9pm Thursday. We didn't go off the air until 8am the next morning.

Friday.

I had to hold back tears several time at my desk Friday morning, as the number of officers killed continued to go up. I can't unsee the image of an officer face down on the ground, motionless next to a squad car. When we walked out of the control room at 8am, I finally let myself really cry. And that wasn't the last time.

I used to work in downtown Dallas. I walked all over the part of the city that's now a crime scene. The men and women who wear that Dallas Police badge are the same ones who held doors for me, said hello as I crossed the street, drove by and waved. And it broke my heart to hear Chief Brown say how much they needed our support.

I've never been prouder to live here. But I've been fortunate to see the unity and feel the change in the air just driving around. One person inflicted so much pain and heartbreak on us, but I know we will get through it. We're Texans - we're resilient.

And it's been amazing to see how the world is responding - several newsrooms sent my station food. My morning team even got a Starbucks gift card from our counterparts in San Antonio. It's been absolutely incredible.

When I left work, I didn't care that I hadn't slept. I had to do something, so I tried to give blood at city hall. I actually got turned away because the blood drive was almost over, but I did run into a DPD officer. I really wanted to give him a hug, but I made sure to say thank you.

I passed Dallas Police HQ on my way to city hall. This is what I found.

Saturday.

Just driving around downtown earlier reminded me this is still our city. We live here, we work here, we play here - and we love being here. No one can take that away.

It won't be long before downtown is busy again, with the sounds of life moving forward. Our hearts will heal, but they won't forget.

(taken next to DPD headquarters last summer)

#istandwithdallas #dallasstrong

On my heart, never off my mind

This blog has become an outlet for my pain, my heartache when the reality of the world becomes too much to hold inside. I'm a pretty emotional person, so to say the shootings in Orlando hurt is an understatement.

I doubt that I know anyone in the Orlando club shooting, but I have close friends in the area. I also have a number of LGBT friends. This is close to home.

I really started blogging after my best friend's murder in Aurora nearly four years ago, and in that time, I've written about at least three mass shootings. Those are just the ones I've written about - Sandy Hook was so emotionally draining from working that day that I couldn't write another word about it.

Then I read the death toll this morning. 50 people killed. 50 beautiful, innocent lives, taken in a burst of hate.

We ask "why?" over and over, but the answer has yet to be found. We get sad and angry, but then we forget until the next mass shooting. Trust me - those of us who are unfortunate card carrying members of the "I lost a loved one to gun violence" club, we do not forget.

I feel the pain of my own loss every time I see, write, or hear "mass shooting." My heart breaks for the families waiting to learn the worst, and the survivors who have to live with this tragedy in their own way. I wish I could say it gets better with time, but I'd have to say it depends on the day.

No one deserves any of this, and surely, we as a nation deserve better.

As I write this, one of my friends in Orlando just marked herself as safe on Facebook. While I'm thankful for her safety and the idea that prevents me from having to worry, I'm just sad this even has to exist.

Orlando, I love you. Your city is home to one of my favorite places to vacation in the world, and it's not lost on me that I was almost there this weekend. Instead, I was at the movies last night with my family - another place I've struggled to feel safe in since Jessica's death.

I'm praying for the city, the families, the friends, the first responders, and those who made it out. I'm also praying for those with hate on their hearts. The ignorance and the violence have to end. We live in what I still believe is the greatest country in the world, but our own hate has become our own undoing.

It's about love, not hate.

Two beautiful smiles, taken from this world just a few months apart.

The sweet little boy on the left is Noah Pozner. He should be celebrating his ninth birthday with his twin sister today. The sassy redhead on the right is my best friend, Jessi. She would've been 28 next week.

Instead, they're frozen in time as a 6-year-old and 24-year-old, as victims of gun violence in 2012.

But this post isn't about what happened to them in Newtown and Aurora. This is about how they're remembered three years after their deaths.

I never had the pleasure of meeting Noah, but his sister, Danielle, is now a friend of mine. This morning, she posted a message on Facebook calling for acts of kindness in his honor today. Of course, I'm happy to oblige. I'm hoping this post will inspire others to do the same.

Coincidentally, today marks one week to Jessi's birthday. Every year, I write a letter to her on this blog as my way of working through the pain that rears its ugly head every so often, especially around important dates such as November 27.

The year she was killed, I decided to put together a social media project in her honor called "Mustaches for Jessi". It was my way of honoring her memory (and love for mustaches and social media!) in a happy, creative way. So many people participated that year - and it brought me so much joy when I was hurting most.

Last year, I dropped the ball. And now that we've been able to close the door on what happened in Colorado with the ending of the trial this year, I've tried to put it away in my heart, but never forgotten her.

I broke out my mustache scarf today, just as my own personal reminder that she's still close to me in spirit. Then it occurred to me that her birthday is just around the corner - it snuck up on me, seeing as I can't even believe it's November.

So rather than push for mustaches all month, I decided to stick to just her birthday. This is where I ask for your help to make that happen.

If you're interested, all I'm asking for is your best mustache photo. It can be real, fake, a finger 'stache - whatever you want. I have a Twitter account set up (@Mustaches4Jessi) so I can share them with the world. I would rather the world remember her for something she loved, and not the moment that ended her life.

Because to be honest, I need to do something that's about love, not hate.

I spend so much of my workday writing about the hateful, awful moments in our world. Why not contribute to the beauty that we tend to forget? Noah and Jess were people we loved long before they were part of the headlines.

I hope you'll help me celebrate both of their lives.

Emily
@emehlee
@Mustaches4Jessi
#ily

Small victories.

I went to the movies today.

I can count on both hands how many times I've been to a theater over the last three years. It takes a lot to get me to go, because I'm nervous. I still have the occasional panic attack, like the one a few weeks ago. I thought I heard a gunshot on the midway at the State Fair. It was a game, but I still burst into tears.

But today was a big deal for me. Today was the first time I didn't panic in the theater.

I didn't look at the emergency exit. I didn't plan my escape route. I just let myself be. It took three years, but that's some major progress.

Don't get me wrong - this doesn't mean I'm fine and I'm going every week again. But it is a step towards healing, which is a process.

Anyway, I just felt this was a small victory that deserved some documentation and acknowledgment.