My Sacred Place has been Invaded

What is my sacred place?

It is somewhere that was invaded. It was invaded with hate and violence and it was taken from me and so many others in my town. My voice is taken now, like the Native Americans, it has become increasingly harder to reveal my residence and home because of the response I receive. Not only were we invaded by violence, but also by media and curious tourists from surrounding areas. I can't tell someone where I live or what schools I went to without an "oh...I'm sorry" or a look of sympathy.  I'm proud to be from my town, to have grown up here and gone to high school where Obama spoke and even proud to have attended the elementary school where the world ended for 26 families one Friday. I'm proud because my town is a family and we stick together in times of trouble and heartache, this town has raised me like a Native American tribe raises one of their own. My sacred place is Sandy Hook, CT. A place that is more sacred in it's meaning now than its privacy or anonymity.  I used to have to explain to people where Sandy Hook and Newtown were because no one had ever heard of it. Now, everyone knows. I've been bombarded with news cameras and curious outsiders as far as Japan. I struggle to keep my town sacred; I hardly ever watch the news or pay attention to the gun debates because I'd rather pretend that my town's innocence is still intact and location still unheard of, leaving it to be my own secret to keep. Sandy Hook Elementary School where I spent 6 years of my life is a sacred space, where I pray no one will touch the spirits that reside there. I feel for Native Americans and their need for secrets. I know what it feels like to have your home invaded and put on display as if you are a historical object or a circus act for entertainment, because I am from Sandy Hook and that is exactly what happened to us.