When the horror becomes real

I can’t say good morning.

I can’t say happy Monday.

Not when so many families are waking up to the news of the shooting in Las Vegas.

Not when so many families still don’t know what happened to their loved ones in Puerto Rico.

As an author, I’m supposed to imagine horror. Cause bad things to happen to good people. When the earth herself does the damage…or someone who is supposed to be a functional, productive member of society….it hurts all of us.

Hurricanes are real. And, in my belief, the frequency and severity are a result of climate change. This post isn’t to debate that. Storms like that are meant as a reminder to us that we’re not as immortal as we like to think we are. That, yes, the weather around us can be deadly.

Mass shootings….there’s not a reason for them. It’s not gun control. It’s not mental health issues. It’s not ideology or religious differences.

It’s a cowardly way to gain fame and notoriety. It’s taking the extremist road to ‘solving’ problems over doing something more productive.

Because there is nothing productive about slaughtering people. Doesn’t matter if you know them, or don’t. Doesn’t matter the age, gender, religion, or hair color. There’s no reason for it. No way to legislate it away. No law that can’t be circumvented or ignored by someone who wants to do just that.

We as a global society cannot continue to murder each other as a solution to some problem that we think exists.

One reason I write is for therapy. There’s a lot of things from my childhood that I’m still sorting through. But I’ve never once thought violence was a way to deal with them.

We need to care about each other again. Be willing to roll up our sleeves and help unload groceries for the neighbor who uses a cane. Go out of our way to make people feel like they matter, that they’re not forgotten.

We need to stop saying it’s not our business and start to make it our business. Because the next shooting is one rejection away. And you could be the one at the concert.

My heart hurts.


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