This week a woman I know—not a friend but someone I’ve worked with off and on in a loose way for seven years—died a violent death. And then a friend of mine had her house broken into and her little girl’s bedroom ransacked. And there is a rash of robberies going on in my neighborhood where three or five people not only threaten you with a gun and take your stuff, they also shove you to the ground and kick you in the head over and over. Between all this and the news on the radio about men flipping out and shooting people, I am worn out from spending the week envisioning violence.
I keep thinking that there had to have been—at some point—something someone could have done to stop it. A person doesn’t just go from normal mentally well peaceful citizen to causing awful harm on purpose in one giant step, do they? People around them must see, must have seen. Even people on the edges of their lives must have seen hints but not been sure or not wanted to interfere or just not known what to do.
It makes all of life seem scary, not because of all the danger that the bad guys make, but because we are so fragile and so entrusted to each other, and we are often so lame at seeing what’s really needed, and even worse at sticking our necks out and helping.
Anyway, I’m exhausted, and rather than do anything useful I am baking a chocolate cake, and am going to sit on the couch and knit something soft, and then go to bed early.
Peace to you and yours.