Retail therapy.

I went home to my apartment during my lunch break on Wednesday. The luxury of living within an eight-minute commute to my workplace is that I have the opportunity to make the most of that midday hour—I get a lot done during lunch without having to spend a lot of time in the car. Most days, I go home to grab a bite to eat, check my mail, scratch my cats behind the ears, and maybe watch a little TV. Often, I run errands at the nearby bank, grocery store, or shopping mall. It’s not unusual for me to run to Westroads Mall during lunch to grab a cup of coffee and make a quick stop at the Clinique make-up counter in Younkers or, yes, Von Maur.

I am thankful I did not choose to run that particular errand on Wednesday.

I drove back to work from my apartment at 1:30 pm, entirely focused on the work that was waiting for me. My drive places me about one block north of Westroads Mall. At 1:42 pm, the incident began.

There’s very little I can say about the Westroads tragedy that hasn’t already been said by every news station in the country, except that I never imagined every new station in the country would be saying such things. Things like this just don’t happen in Omaha.

The last time I was in Von Maur, I was frantically preparing for a last-minute trip to Alabama to attend my grandmother’s funeral. While packing, I realized I had run out of foundation make-up: it was a Beige Alert. I hopped in the car and raced the few short minutes to Westroads, trying to make it before they closed. I went first to Younkers, but they were all out of my color, naturally. Trying not to sprint, I power-walked the length of the mall to try Von Maur instead. The young lady behind the counter kindly ignored my vaguely unsettling rapid breathing as she found my color and rang it up for me. She took the time to ask me about my situation, and sounded genuinely sympathetic as she wished me the best for the funeral. She was really sweet, and I wish I remembered her face a little better. I don’t know if she’s still alive.

People talk about how scary it is when things “really hit close to home” for them. I don’t think I ever understood that phrase until this week, not really. I’ve watched events like this unfold on the news before; I remember watching the Columbine, World Trade Center, and Virginia Tech tragedies on television, rapt for details that would help me understand such a thing. But this time as I watch the news crews recounting the incident, describing every step and detail, drawing diagrams and computer-synthesized models of the store, I see it differently. In my mind, I don’t see the diagram they’re showing—I see the smooth metal handles on the door as I walk into the store, and I hear the Christmas music playing overhead. I see the always-inviting couches at the foot of the escalator in an attractive lounge area I never have time to sit in. I see myself walking along the third floor, running my hand along the banister of the atrium, and then taking it away again when I get a static shock. I can look down in my mind and see the giant Christmas tree two floors below (where the piano player often sits in his elegant suit). This was the exact view Robert Hawkins had before he pulled the trigger on an unsuspecting shopper a floor below, who was only looking up to see what the commotion was.

It does not compute.

Omaha is reeling, but it is a town with far stronger community ties than any place I have ever lived before. This week is no exception, and I’m taking comfort in that small-town mentality. We never thought this would happen to us, not here, but that thought sort of unites us. We’re horrified and shaken, but we’ll get better.

The Westroads victims and their families are no doubt at the front of everyone’s minds, and they deserve all the support and compassion we can muster. But they are not the only ones affected by this tragedy: every business in Westroads Mall is suffering today. Forced to close, these businesses (many of them mom & pop operations) are losing money at the most crucial time of the year and may have trouble paying their employees (who are also losing work), who in turn depend on their jobs to support their families. Meanwhile, many Omahans are afraid to go back to the mall, declining to shop there even when it reopens. If business at Westroads does not get back on track, people will lose their jobs at what may be the worst possible time.

My East Coaster best friend asked me if I will ever shop at Westroads again. And my answer is, “Yes. Absolutely.” In fact, I feel very strongly that every member of this community should make a concerted effort to go shop at Westroads when it reopens tomorrow, Saturday, December 8th. We need to support our businesses and our community.

Omahans, I’m talking to you now. As an onlooker to a tragedy like this, it feels like there’s nothing you can do, no way to help. But there is. Go shop at Westroads tomorrow. You need to do your Christmas shopping anyway (you know you’re not done with it yet, don’t even play). You may as well do it in a way that can give back to the people who need it the most. Pay your respects to the victims while you’re there, and respect them by not hiding. Von Maur is still closed indefinitely, but let’s try to make the mall a welcoming environment when it reopens its doors.

As for me, I’ll be spending the day there with my mom as we shop for the holiday season. Stop by and see me, and we’ll sit and have a cup of coffee together.