Loss Finds Love

 “Hi, Uncle Tommy, I just had to hear your voice.”

“Hi Cherokee, how are you doing?”

“Me and the other survivors of the Vegas shooting have been talking all morning, how are you?”

“I’m standing on the bridge waiting for them to bring the body of the police officer who was killed. So many people are here, I’m overwhelmed.”

“I love you Uncle Tommy.”

“Love you too, Cherokee, I’m glad you are alive.”

“Me, too.”

I stood on the overpass on Wendy drive with a hundred other people. We waited in silence. When my phone rang, I almost didn’t answer but it was my niece who survived the shooting in Vegas, along with her mom. Her voice broke my heart. I my pained for the trauma she had experienced. I began to cry as I thought of all those at Borderline and the families whose lives have been changed forever. I wept for the survivors, who will know live with this event. I wept for those who have experienced mass shootings who live with that trauma daily. 

My day, like so many of us, changed the moment we heard about the shooting.  

From the overpass, I went back to my office at the church not knowing what to do. Fortunately, I only had about 20 minutes before I left for the prayer vigil that was gathering at California Lutheran University – we still didn’t know how many died but we knew the students of Cal Lu were devastated.

They prayed. I couldn’t. I pray daily but I couldn’t pray that day – my heart and mind were shut down.

Later that afternoon, as I met with some of our staff at Monte Vista Presbyterian church to plan a prayer vigil for those who had died (we now had their names) our church administrator came in and said, “Have you seen the fire?”

We walked out and saw billows of black smoke near Vallecito mobile home park – where Dorothy, a ninety-something member of our church lived. I jumped in the van to go check on Dorothy and I soon discovered, what we’d all discover, roads were being closed. I prayed for Dorothy. 

My wife called and said, I needed to get to Moorpark to pick up one of our children – I, like so many others, got caught in traffic on Lynn Road – the 101 was about to get shut down. As we drove back on the 101, there was an inferno in front of us as we turned off on Borchard Ave. 

Nov. 8 is my birthday. We had a dinner planned – no one felt like celebrating. My son nailed it when on the card for me he wrote, “I know you’ve had a (expletive) day.”  

I fell asleep late and awoke when a friend called from our church,

“Tom, can we open the church as an evacuation center? Borchard Park is full and the Red Cross needs a place for the overflow.” Not quite awake I said, “Yes, whatever they need, what is happening is the fire getting worse?” At 4am we opened the church and people began to come in……

And that is how it began for me.

The next week of mourning, vigils, fires are a blurr. I had two funerals that the following two weekends that were not related to the murders at Borderline. “Normal” deaths still happen in trauma.  

On the Sunday after the murders, while we were still in the midst of fires, I preached a sermon that was a lament – grieving openly, asking the hard questions of suffering, not giving pat answers, but rather just pleading before God for relief. 

Most people understood – others questioned why I did not preach about God’s strength in the midst of loss and His power to overcome. 

I wasn’t ready. I don’t believe most of us were ready – we needed to grieve and pray. On that day, I was ready to pray to a God who enters into suffering. We needed each other in the midst of our questions. 

We needed love in our loss so we could find hope in our healing. God’s grace was experienced in how we loved each other and in His Spirit meeting us in our pain. I have deep strength through prayer as time went on. 

I am so grateful for our community – we came together on so many different fronts to love and confront evil with good. We opened our hearts and our homes when others evacuated. 

We have loved and we will continue to love.

-Tom S.