AUTHOR: Carolyn Savage | POSTED: July 20, 2012 | COMMENTS: 5 Comments
I hate days like today. Truly hate them.
Well, beyond the obvious emotions of sadness, shock and anger that coarse through me right now, I can’t help but imagine the horror that’s unfolding in so many homes, for so many families of the innocent victims. The heartbreak of mothers who sent their child off to the movies–which is supposed to be a safe place–only to have their life snuffed out by a madman. I can feel their grief in my own heart. It’s a lump in my chest, and I know it’s going to be there for a while.
I also know the process. Afterall, this isn’t our first time at the rodeo (as much as I wish it was).
Today, lists of the dead and injured will grow to include names and faces. Faces of ordinary yet extraordinary people, who were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.
By this afternoon we’ll start hearing from victims’ families. We’ll watch them memorialize their loved ones, in hopes that perfect strangers, like me, will understand what the world lost last night.
By tonight, we’ll have images of a psychopath burned into our brains. The mugshot of the perpetrator will be flashed on every television set, Twitter feed and homepage in an attempt to humanize the face of evil. And I’ll look into his eyes and wonder, How did you become such a monster? And, of course, there won’t be a satisfying answer to be had.
Soon the President will make a statement offering his and the entire country’s condolences. And it won’t seem like enough. But it’s all he can do.
Charges will be filed, and they won’t seem fitting.
Next week there’ll be a memorial service. You know, the one in the stadium where politicians and religious leaders will try and make everyone feel a little bit better. And it may work, for us strangers, but then will come the visions of the families leaving that service, still as heartbroken as they were when they entered. They have a lifetime to deal with this and I wish I could take it away. But I can’t. No one can. And that’s unsettling.
And then will come the funerals. And I know myself. I’ll cry every time I see another mother crying. It’s the way I’m wired.
So, yes. I hate today.
But I’ll pray for tomorrow. Pray with me!