I am angry and so I write

I am so angry, so very angry.  I am so angry and don't know what to do with my anger, and so I write.

All SK ever wanted was to go to UVA.  We made her look at other schools just to be sure (We give her plenty to sit on a therapist's couch and talk about in 20 years-- I try to control what I can and I've taken off the table 'my mother forced me to go to her cherished alma mater.')  But it's all she ever wanted, and she worked very hard to make sure it happened.  And it did.

In August Chris and I took an excited young lady to the hallowed Grounds of UVA.   She was ready to start a new chapter of her life, to embrace all the University had to offer, to make life long friends, and to grow in her love for UVA.  She has done and continues to do all those things, but she is also living in a dark shadow--the whole University is living in a dark shadow, and they are fighting like hell to keep the darkness at bay.  And I am angry--angry that on top of every other adjustment to University life, she has to endure all of this.  I am angry we will spend holiday time not only hearing about all the exciting times she has had this fall but also processing all the trauma and tragedy engulfing the University.

Hannah Graham went missing and I was terrified. I was and am angry, but  I was also so proud of my University and how the community rallied around the Graham family and one another; I was so proud to be able to say that I am part of this community-that this was my University.  I was proud, and I was grateful.  I was grateful for my University friends who rallied around my girl making sure she was okay and probably the bigger challenge making sure I was okay.

Despite the fear that seized the Grounds, SK was thriving.  She was and is making incredible friends; she was and is not only excelling in her classes, but soaking up all the knowledge.   I love the phone calls I get that start with, "Guess what we talked about in class today?" and then we have rich deep conversations.  I am proud of her service through Madison House.  I love how she has become part of the Monroe Society so she can pass her love of the University onto prospective students, and I am angry that there are now prospective students who may not even apply.

Two days ago a chilling article was printed in Rolling Stone (Read with caution).  It is horrific, and I am embarrassed and so angry that this is my University.  Sabrina Rubin Erdely the author, has said that she looked for an elite school to highlight-- to highlight this atrocious behavior that happens on college campuses across the country.  I am angry that she found it so easily at UVA.  I am angry that so many lives have been damaged at UVA and across the country because of a culture of silence and shame.  I am angry that the behavior of some casts a pall on college life that is sometimes hard to crawl out from under.  I am so very angry.

I am angry that I have had to talk to SK about this, and I am proud of her stand.  She is horrified that some students are saying people should have stayed quiet, and she better understands than many adults the complexities of the situation.  She is angry with some of the administration, and she supports others.  And I am both proud that she is so articulate about all of this and angry that this situation--this complex legal and societal issue is not something she is just learning about in classes but rather is living.

Yesterday I received a text from SK, "someone committed suicide here today."  And I literally froze and my anger bubbled to the surface as I let out a scream, "NO!!!!"  She sent me the link, and I began to cry hot angry tears.  I'm angry for the community, for the child--yes child, who ended his/her life, and I am angry and sad for the family that will now enter the holiday week burying their child instead of welcoming him/her home for Thanksgiving.  I yelled out to my empty house, "NO!  Please not one more thing at UVA.  Please God, no more."  And my anger continued throughout the afternoon and into the evening to fester and to burgeon.

Later in the evening I received a message from a friend about something else.  In it she said, "You and Chris are amazing parents."  I was surprised that a comment that I should have been grateful for, a comment that was meant to build me up, made me even angrier.  It made me angrier  because I don't feel amazing.  I feel powerless and out of control.  All I could think was, "Yeah we're so amazing that our girl is having to deal with stuff alone."  I didn't, we didn't, prepare SK to deal with all this.  Yes we talked to her about the dangers of walking alone, of not accepting drinks from other people, of date rape, and of stress.  But we didn't prepare her for all this...I am angry that she and so many other people have had to endure this onslaught of tragedy at the University.  I am angry that I can't fix it.  When SK sent me the text with the link to the suicide article I responded, "Do you just want me to come get you tomorrow?" and I silently hoped and prayed she's say yes.  For two hours as my anger grew I got no response.  She finally responded,  "I would but I have a bunch of stuff.  I'll be okay."  That's the girl Chris and I raised--and I'm both proud and angry.  Proud and angry that she is so conscientious and responsible, proud and angry that she wants to stay.  I want to go get her.   I want her home in my arms; I want her home where she can process with those she loves; I want her to not have to process, to not have to try to make sense of the violence and senseless behavior surrounding her in C'ville.  I am so angry, and so I write.

I write so the anger won't fester and become fear and hate.  I write so that the anger finds a way out and hopefully, and I do hope and pray, the anger joins with others outrage and anger and begins to find a way forward.  I believe in the goodness of the world despite the evil that continually tries to blot it out.  I believe in my University and the goodness of the community.  I want to be a part of the solution, but first I must get rid of the anger, and so I write.