It’s been a hard year. Hard for all, devastating for some. As we approach the one year anniversary of the gas explosion in Lexington, we knew we needed to acknowledge the day, but it’s hard to find words.

A child is gone. Three homes are gone. Many lives will never be the same.

What happened is complex and far reaching. It’s private, deep and nearly impossible to explain to friends and family who are not from here. I still can’t explain.

For this one year remembrance, the best I could do was reach out to some other neighbors to ask for their thoughts. Everyone is anonymous.

I feel terribly tied to this place; I also want to move away.

Every day when I pass the site of the blast, I shake my head in sadness and anger and wonder, “Why did this happen?”

I guess I feel numb about it. It’s still so vivid. How was that a whole year ago? It’s beautiful now, with spring coming. It was all death not that long ago. That day I was driving home in a beautiful sunset and then I saw the black smoke. Here it is spring again and there’s grass in the field. I don’t know how to feel.

Watching my neighbors’ houses burn down, that didn’t feel real.
None of it feels real.

Whenever I see a blond little boy, or even a blond young man, I think of Alistair.

Reminders come in unexpected ways, even in the midst of happy moments. It hits hard.

People saw awful things that night.

There’s so much that came out of this that was horrible, some inspiring.

The unthinkable tragedy suffered by the Lamb/Cunningham family will never be forgotten in my home; my heart and prayers go out to them.

It’s not something I’ll ever forget. I need to move forward.

Our thoughts are with you. You are not forgotten.