On August 12th, a woman, a woman named Heather Heyer was killed. Murdered. She was young and was doing something she believed in, something which someone else decided she did not have the right to do and he was going to stop her.
She is now "the woman who was killed when...". And you read about all the other terrorists who had incidents of domestic violence in their pasts, and you remember all those other incidents you try to forget. All the people killed because someone else didn't think they had the right to live.
There is injury that maims, inside and out. There are scars and ugliness and things that are very hard to fix, if at all. Those are in people who are alive. We help them, we try to stop it from happening again.
But a woman is dead, and that cannot be changed. fixed. undone.
We'll move on, except for the people in her life.
Dead. Gone. Not coming back.
Sometimes, when it is your elderly, ill mother, you can do a little rationalizing dance in your head about it being her time, or better off now. You miss the person, and remember the life full of good and bad and try to stay on the good.
But when you lose a child or a partner or a best friend, there is a hole in your heart. Sometimes hot hot burning pain pours out of that hole. Sometimes its just cold and grey and filled with the I don't want anything of depression.
Gone. Never coming back.
Somewhere, many wheres, there is a mother, a father, a lover, saying: I just want to hear my child, my partner, my sister laugh one more time. I just want to tell her that I love her, one more time. There's so much I didn't get to say. There's so much we didn't get to do. Please.
I just want to hold my baby one more time.