ATHENS — If I stayed in bed, I thought I could escape the tragedy facing the University of Georgia.
Four young UGA women — Kayla Canedo, 19, of Alpharetta; Brittany Feldman, 20, of Alpharetta; Christina Semeria, 19, of Milton; and Halle Scott, 19, of Dunwoody — were killed and another — Agnes Kim, 21, of Snellville — critically injured after a terrible car accident outside of Athens.
As the news unfolded, concerned friends called me and sent me text messages to check that I was OK. In the morning, I woke up to more messages about how much I was loved and to remember that every day is an unpromised gift. These small acts of kindness made my heart feel heavy and my eyes burn with salty tears.
While this tragedy brought students closer together, I couldn’t help but think about how these women a few years younger than me wouldn’t get the chance to feel that same sense of community.
I didn’t want to be around people. I didn’t want to go to campus. I thought the best way to grieve was to be alone. In the comforts of my own apartment, I could control what affected me. Though as I scrolled through my newsfeeds and timelines on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram, I found myself crying every time I opened one of the social media apps.
People shared their pictures and prayers for the loved ones of Kayla, Brittany, Christina and Halle. Some shared words of encouragement for Agnes, who is still in critical but stable condition at Athens Regional Medical Center. Gov. Nathan Deal called for all flags in Georgia to be lowered to half staff on Thursday, recognizing that we were all Bulldogs that day. I quickly realized I wasn't the only one who felt this sadness.
But the post that affected me the most was the picture of the Arch, the landmark that represents what UGA means to its community — one university, one Bulldog Nation, one heart. After seeing a bow with black and silver ribbon placed on the Arch, the tragedy became more personal for me.
As a senior with less than 15 days to graduation, I constantly dream about what it will be like when I walk underneath the Arch. I’ve stood beside it, I’ve taken my graduation photos next to it. But walking underneath it is tradition — you could even call it a rite of passage.
Did these beautiful young women have the same hopes to walk underneath the Arch? Did they click through their friends graduation photos on Facebook and begin planning what they wanted their graduation photos to look like? I continued to wipe tears from my eyes throughout the day as I stayed hidden in my apartment.
By the afternoon, my sadness turned into frustration. Why was I so emotional? I don’t need to be comforted, I reminded myself. These women’s families, their friends, their classmates, their sorority sisters — they needed the comfort. They needed the phone calls reminding them that someone else was there for them and how much they were loved.
I didn’t know these women, but for some reason I continued to feel as if I had lost loved ones too. They were members of the Bulldog Nation, so by relation, they were my loved ones.
That’s what makes this heartbreaking loss unbelievable.
On a campus with more than 35,000 people, we can mourn together as a community and we can heal together as a community. The experiences we share here emotionally connect us with one another.
It’s why we can gather in the Tate Student Center Plaza and pray with students, faculty and staff that we have never met.
It’s why when someone who doesn’t want to be alone calls us, we spend the rest of the day watching daytime talk shows and raiding our pantries for snacks.
It’s why on the most devastating days of the year, we can say it’s great to be a Georgia Bulldog.
