Last year, a symbol of my childhood innocence was taken away from me.

One of my first memories from when I was young was my father playing guitar. He picked up the ax in his pre-teens and can still be heard nailing power chords in his office even though he recently hit age 54.

Last year, a guitar case carried destruction. All I could think was ‘how dare that symbol be taken away from me.’

For months, I was furious; I’m still angry. The tragedy that occurred at NIU last year was senseless, and it ripped us apart. Symbols from childhood were scarred, and feelings of safety and fruition were destroyed. It was completely senseless, and I am still not OK with it.

As a student, I was enrolled in that Geology 104 class for a little under a week. I sat in the back and remembered not being able to see the huge screen. I made the mental note of getting to class early, if I decided not to drop it, so that I could move to the front row. I ended up dropping the class, exchanging it for Global Terrorism.

As a member of the Northern Star, I was one of the first reporters to the scene outside of Cole Hall. The memories of the things I saw that day still haunt me.

After the police started taping off the walkways in front of Cole Hall, I made my way into Neptune Central. There, wall after wall of emotion hit me. But because I was working, I could only show a part of what I was feeling.

With me was another reporter who was formerly in the military. He began performing first aid, wrapping gauze around victims with head wounds and assessing the situation. I felt completely useless as someone who has been trained in first aid and as a reporter. I wanted to cover exactly what was happening, but I couldn’t bring myself to inquire about the hard facts that I was trained to ask. Instead, I started to force smiles and tried to reassure those who were sitting in shock.

After I got back to the office, calls started pouring in from around the globe. Ireland, Britain, California, Florida and New York were calling, wanting to get as much information as possible.

One woman from a news station demanded video. When I told her we did not have any and that I didn’t know Northern Television Center’s number off the top of my head, she responded in the snarkiest voice, “Are you kidding me?”

While she had no clue that I was just a witness to what could be the most traumatic thing to ever happen in my life, it was all I could do to not let my Irish temper get the best of me.

Reporters were sent all over campus, trying to get what was going on out to the rest of the community. As I sat editing and writing reports, the emotions kept getting shoved further and further down into the abysmal pit called denial.

This pit kept getting deeper as the semester dragged on. It wasn’t until a friend forced me to go to the counseling center that I realized the facade I was trying to uphold was not as convincing as I thought.

As I met with one of the counselors, I said how I felt so alone and that I was so angry and so guilty for thinking about my own emotions. She said that was normal.

I was flabbergasted. Normal. Really?

I continued to meet with a group until the end of the semester. Each week, I felt less exhausted, insane and depressed. And I felt more normal. Other people were feeling the same way too.

To this day, I don’t know if I’ve dealt with the shootings of Feb. 14. But I take great solace to know that what I’m feeling is OK as long as I understand why I’m feeling that way and do things to make it better.

While I know I’ll never be OK with what happened, I do things to increase the positives in my life. I’m trying to be nice to strangers — giving someone a smile or holding the door for someone I’ve never met before, doing a kind act such as brushing the snow off someone else’s car in the parking lot.

Whenever I walk by Cole, I don’t allow my mind to recall what I saw, but instead, I think about how nice of a day it is even if there are snowflakes blinding me.

But above all, whenever I’m home, I listen to my dad playing guitar, and I don’t let my thoughts stall on that day.