Because that parking lot is "just as much of a crime scene as the actual festival grounds."
While I knew that in the back of my head, I couldn't actually process it until actually hearing it. How did I know that? It was the parking lot where we ran through. It was my car that I texted Sam to run to. It was supposed to be our meeting place to reunite before figuring out our next steps. Instead we couldn't wait there for her. We didn't have time. We had to keep running. We had to keep moving.
And we did.
Through that parking lot.
Out through the fence in the back and down the street running away from that lot. Leaving not only my car behind, but the sound of the constant rounds of fire and screaming.
I know that it is a crime scene because there were people bleeding. People injured, hurt. Bodies not moving. Blood. So much blood. I myself almost tripped and fell over a body while running. It is a sight that I cannot get out of my head. And I wonder if they were one of the 59 that were killed or the 515+ somewhere at one of the hospitals here in Vegas.
While driving down to the parking lot this morning with Wayne to get more information about the timeline on retrieving my car, I started crying. I know that I have to get my car. I can't just leave it there. Abandon it. But the thought of walking through that parking lot again and something about driving off just gives me a feeling that I can't put my finger on. I can't explain it. I just feel it.
It has nothing to do with my car and not having it. But instead me thinking of what happened all around it. Surrounding it. Right next to it. I will drive Betty White, as I have named it, everyday knowing in the back of my mind what awfulness and pure evil happened all around it. Again, I can't explain it, it's just a feeling of something I can't put into words.
So while we juggle having one car, one set of car seats, and multiple emotions and thoughts, I will continue to be grateful that is the extent of our week. Juggling. Thinking. Processing. Healing.