It used to be the town where nothing happened. Where the only type of crime was the occasional speeding ticket. The kind where picket fences line every road, where there are more lemonade stands than police cars, and where the only place to go on a Friday or Saturday night was the diner or old movie theatre.

When I was a little girl, I craved a sense of excitement more than I did mint chocolate chip ice cream—anything that would make this place any less ordinary. It was the perfect suburban town—the kind you read about in books and see on the cover of Home & Garden magazines. I used to wish that something would happen—anything to bring a sense of adventure into my town. My mom always told me to be careful for what I wished for. I wish I had listened to her. It used to be the town where nothing happened, but now it’s where everything happened.

At first I didn’t know what happened—there were reports that a shooter was in the middle school, but they didn’t know if there had been any casualties. I remember being here at school, hearing the news—and for the first time, I wish that nothing had happened. But being here in Keene, N.H., it is easy to forget about what occurred in Newtown, Conn.

It’s the distance that gives us the ability to separate ourselves from tragedy. While Keene State College may be 144 miles away from Newtown, Conn., that distance does not affect how it has impacted me. While some of you may not remember the victims’ names or remember who they are—I do, and I forever will, which is something that no amount of distance can change.

I remember teaching some of them swim lessons at the local swimming pool I lifeguard at and how they’d hold their chin above the water, doing everything in their power not to get their faces wet, while simultaneously trying to stay afloat.

These are the memories that will continue to haunt my subconscious. But it’s different for the rest of the student body who were not impacted—they forget that some of us are still trying to process what went wrong and what happened.

This tragedy has become a part of our history. It is something we no longer discuss, and it is something we no longer think about.

But there is not a day that it doesn’t cross my mind. It’s hard to forget about when you are constantly being reminded about what happened. These reminders are everywhere in Connecticut—from the posters I see that line the highways containing heartfelt messages, to the times when my family and I go out for dinner at a local restaurant, it’s decorated head to toe with a victims’ favorite color in honor of celebrating what would be their seventh birthday.

It’s easy to forget about tragedy when you are consumed by your normal surroundings. But we should not forget about what happened, because if we do, nothing will change and it will no longer force us to reconsider how we act as a society and democracy.

Without remembering, there will be no change.

There are some that are still grieving; trying to figure out why it happened. And while there will never be an answer to that question, we need to be mindful that there are some who will never come to terms with what occurred. We cannot forget about what happened, and more importantly, we should not.

Instead of remembering the children who would do anything in their power to hold their chins above the pool water while trying to stay afloat simultaneously, we remember them from the photographs used during their funerals. Any memory we have of the victims have been tainted by the media’s exploitation of the victims’ pain. Now, memories of seeing photographs of the funerals are ones that are more prominent in my memory.

While I wish this never happened, it did. Now, my greatest wish is that we do not forget about Sandy Hook—and that we do not let it become a part of our history.

Rather, this tragedy needs to lead a revolution in the way we operate as a society and democracy. And we shouldn’t let the 144 miles separate us from recognizing this.

Even though I cannot tell you how it happened or why it happened, that does not make it any less real. What makes it real is seeing those 26 faces everywhere, and how no amount of tears or cries for help can bring them back.

Our town is no longer the one you read about in books or see on the cover of Home & Garden magazines—it is the one you read about in newspapers, the one you see on news channels. It is no longer ordinary; rather it has become a piece of America’s history. And while history never dies, a part of us did that day. It’s the place where everything happened.

Sam Norton can be contacted at snorton@keene-equinox.com