We returned yesterday from out of town. It was difficult to leave the refuge of our home for several days. Being away seemed to open vulnerabilities in me. Just didn’t manage to compose myself and protect myself in the usual way, perhaps because I had less control, less predictability, or just didn’t know how to read the cues in a different environment.
I found myself ambushed by anguish and tears at unexpected moments: at dinner, in an elevator, even at the airport. I am surprised to be falling apart in this way so many months after Morgan’s murder. Shouldn’t it be getting better?
Ironically if was also hard to return home to Roanoke. Our sense of sanctuary here has been shattered. I guess we will never feel totally safe again anywhere. That’s one of the ways we have been changed by our encounter with evil.
That violation makes us feel more fragile and act more cautiously. I check the doors and windows more often now. I rarely open them to catch the morning breeze and I draw the blinds early against the night’s blackness. I wonder if this will improve after the arrest of Morgan’s killer(s). I hope so; I don’t want to contemplate the rest of our lives colored with fear.
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