Good Mourning
It feels callous to go on with normal life, tragedy after tragedy.
After tragedy.
After tragedy.
After massacre.
In the trenches of devastation, it feels dismissive and inappropriate to post a picture of my sunset or write about the person I love. Just as well. Because after hearing at least 19 children left for school one morning and didn’t make it to night, it’s hard to view anything as beautiful.
After grocery shoppers are gunned down and bullets tear through sanctuaries and unsuspecting humans are harmed beyond repair, and first reactions are “You better not try to take my guns!” You wonder if there remains beauty worth salvaging at all.
You returned home after going everywhere you planned to go and doing all you set out to do, while such a modest opportunity was stolen from so many others. You’re growing old as lives are interrupted before adolescence. It’s enough to make you feel guilty for doing anything enjoyable.
The casual watching of television feels uneasy. Light conversation sits heavy. Laughter seems heartless.
But I don’t know that there’s a viable alternative. There is living and there is dying. When you can’t allow yourself to do the former you move…
