For someone who doesn't know how to tell the story, you did it very well. As someone whose children experienced Columbine at the same age as you did, I am thankful they did not have to learn all the lessons you did the way you did. But this reminds me that I have never asked them what it means to them. Thank you, and continue to live and help others.
You’ve named something most of us never find language for—the way violence becomes familiar, even familial. How it slips into the background hum of poverty, trauma, masculinity, and just… living. And then one moment—a man with a gun, an eyepatch, a cooler—pulls every buried memory up like blood rising to the skin.
What struck me most wasn’t just your bravery in the moment, but the aching, sacred pivot at the end: from surviving as expected to wanting to survive. That shift—however fragile—is holy ground.
Thank you for walking us through your ghosts. I hope you get every quiet morning, every grandbaby, every last “I love you.”
We need more people who choose life after staring down the tombstone and whispering, “Not yet.”
Oh. Oh, my heart. I get it in so many ways, all of this, but especially how wild it feels to finally want to live for the first time you can recall. Within one's *entire* life. My first attempt to really throw in the towel and leave was at only 8 years old and I recall thinking about it forever at that point. There was just never a time that I felt I could, would, or even wanted to stay.
This was my life, determination to stay that wasn't at all rooted in my actual desires or beliefs, until a couple of years ago. I'm 40. And now my determination to stay to make it better for even one weird, disabled, queerdo kid is inexplicably huge. Strong.
It's scary in a strange way to actually want to stay now though. I'm still not afraid to die or get hurt but I worry about everything else a little more. We all deserve so much better than this so I'm going to also be the person stepping up with my damaged, privileged, and not-fearing-bodily-harm ass fiery heart forever, so help me.
Thank you for hanging in here with us. I'm so glad that we fought so that we might continue the good fight today. Every today, every now.
Oh and I'd say your block is clearing up. There's a few lines in here that about laid me tf out, I'm glad I was already laying down. Just. Hell yes, Father Monk. Yes indeed. Flowing again well.
I'm proud of myself for how I chose my battles now. My priorities and determination gained a new depth and refinement when I began to want to live. But there are many things worth fighting for, and I will do so if needed.
Gosh, thank you for working it out and sharing with us. I related to this in so many ways.
The healing process can be so complex, especially with feeling unworthy.
When I had my children I realized I was doomed to live, for their wellbeing. Now I want to live and it took most of my life to get here. At least I made it. I’m glad you did Nathan
Oh Nathan. So this was that haunted bit I saw in your eyes last week... You hinted at things, but you know I don't push. I'm glad you figured it out, and I'm even more happy you have decided to continue to live.
Open the rest of those boxes in your "Personal" pile, my friend. Move forward. Keep breathing. One day at a time. Hopefully I'll be back that way again soon-ish.
Love to you, and thank you for having such wonderful words.
For someone who doesn't know how to tell the story, you did it very well. As someone whose children experienced Columbine at the same age as you did, I am thankful they did not have to learn all the lessons you did the way you did. But this reminds me that I have never asked them what it means to them. Thank you, and continue to live and help others.
This broke me open in the best way.
You’ve named something most of us never find language for—the way violence becomes familiar, even familial. How it slips into the background hum of poverty, trauma, masculinity, and just… living. And then one moment—a man with a gun, an eyepatch, a cooler—pulls every buried memory up like blood rising to the skin.
What struck me most wasn’t just your bravery in the moment, but the aching, sacred pivot at the end: from surviving as expected to wanting to survive. That shift—however fragile—is holy ground.
Thank you for walking us through your ghosts. I hope you get every quiet morning, every grandbaby, every last “I love you.”
We need more people who choose life after staring down the tombstone and whispering, “Not yet.”
Oh. Oh, my heart. I get it in so many ways, all of this, but especially how wild it feels to finally want to live for the first time you can recall. Within one's *entire* life. My first attempt to really throw in the towel and leave was at only 8 years old and I recall thinking about it forever at that point. There was just never a time that I felt I could, would, or even wanted to stay.
This was my life, determination to stay that wasn't at all rooted in my actual desires or beliefs, until a couple of years ago. I'm 40. And now my determination to stay to make it better for even one weird, disabled, queerdo kid is inexplicably huge. Strong.
It's scary in a strange way to actually want to stay now though. I'm still not afraid to die or get hurt but I worry about everything else a little more. We all deserve so much better than this so I'm going to also be the person stepping up with my damaged, privileged, and not-fearing-bodily-harm ass fiery heart forever, so help me.
Thank you for hanging in here with us. I'm so glad that we fought so that we might continue the good fight today. Every today, every now.
Oh and I'd say your block is clearing up. There's a few lines in here that about laid me tf out, I'm glad I was already laying down. Just. Hell yes, Father Monk. Yes indeed. Flowing again well.
I'm proud of myself for how I chose my battles now. My priorities and determination gained a new depth and refinement when I began to want to live. But there are many things worth fighting for, and I will do so if needed.
Gosh, thank you for working it out and sharing with us. I related to this in so many ways.
The healing process can be so complex, especially with feeling unworthy.
When I had my children I realized I was doomed to live, for their wellbeing. Now I want to live and it took most of my life to get here. At least I made it. I’m glad you did Nathan
Thank you for sharing. Wow! Fantastic writing.
Oh Nathan. So this was that haunted bit I saw in your eyes last week... You hinted at things, but you know I don't push. I'm glad you figured it out, and I'm even more happy you have decided to continue to live.
Open the rest of those boxes in your "Personal" pile, my friend. Move forward. Keep breathing. One day at a time. Hopefully I'll be back that way again soon-ish.
Love to you, and thank you for having such wonderful words.
Admiring your strength and your wordsmithing, and your heart and determination. No words to share in return, just, thank you so much for your work.