To The Daily Sun,
I'm at the church office today (Tuesday). I'm supposed to be putting together Sunday's bulletin. But, instead, I'm making memorial fliers for the victims of the horrific terror attack in Orlando. I've seen all of the political speeches, heard all of the same old rhetoric. It's the fault of ISIS. It's the fault of the gun. It's a failure in the mental health system. The FBI is screwed up.
Right now, I'm kind of in a place where I just need a minute to not care who or what is at fault.
I don't have the answer. I have a flier. I have the flier that I made for a candle-light vigil. There are pictures of 23 people in it. There are names of 25 more. The oldest is 50. The youngest, 18. Make that was. They are all dead.
On Sunday, I watched the evening news. David Muir was speaking with a distraught mother. She couldn't find her son. Her name is Christine Leinonen. Her pain was so visceral that I felt like she reached through the television and pulled my heart out. I pulled up the City of Orlando's web page. There were only seven names on there. Her son, Christopher, was not among them. I refreshed, and refreshed, throughout the evening, throughout the day on Monday. I remained hopeful. This mother and her son had become inexorably part of me and I was holding on to rapidly fading and yet, with each refresh, ever increasing hope that he was all right.
Christopher is on the list. Christine is now bereft of hope and so am I.
I don't have the answer. Right now, I don't care what the answer is. I just want it to stop.
For now, I'm going to keep folding these fliers. Because that's all I have.
- Category: Letters
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