Just a few weeks ago, if you mentioned Connecticut, all that came to mind was a state in New England. Those of us who are good at trivia maybe knew that’s where Yale University is located. Perhaps there’s someone among us who might even recall that Mark Twain lived his later years there. But that was the Connecticut of a few weeks ago.

Now you mention Connecticut, and all that comes up is a lump in your throat. There’s nothing about geography or higher education or famous authors. Just a thick, heavy, impassible swelling of sadness and hurt. It’s a lump that words cannot breach and tears cannot dissolve.

The inescapable watermark of Connecticut has bleached a bit of color out of all of our lives. We’re all a little bit more faded, a little bit more worn, a little bit more tattered. Sure, we’re still recognizable. It’s just that we’ve become a little more emotionally threadbare as we cope with another collective heartbreak.