And I’m still running errands…
Yesterday was errand day. Routine. Nothing special. Pickup prescriptions. Stop at Home Depot to check on something for Father’s Day. (And have someone check my Math!) Last on my errands list: Grocery shopping. Ugh. It's Friday and it's vacation time. So I know it will take forever.
As usual, I have the radio set to NPR.
They are reporting from Orlando. One woman says she lives next to overflow parking for Pulse. Pulse, the dance club where a lone shooter terrorized people who had simply gone out to dance. To have fun. Laugh. Get away from work or school stresses. Life stresses. Pulse, a place where they felt safe just being themselves. And this man. This man filled with Hatred, picked this place of Joy and Fun and Acceptance, to take out his rage and shoot a hundred people, 49 to death.
The woman said she’s been looking at the same cars sitting in the lot for days.
Barely able to get the words out, she says she’s been watching those cars. Because she knows. She know their drivers are not going to be walking up, keys in hand, to drive them home.
She knows. And she and I are both in tears.
I park my car, wipe my eyes, grab my purse and a cart, pull out my phone for my grocery list, and start my shopping.
I look at the people around me. Some talking with family members as they shop. Some corralling children as they peruse the fruits and vegetables, looking for the best, the freshest.
And I shop.
I’m still here. Walking, thinking, shopping, breathing.
I’m still here.
The Orlando 49 are not here.
The Charleston Nine are not here.
San Bernadino. Aurora. Sandy Hook. Fort Hood. Virginia Tech.
They are not here.
But I’m still here.
Walking around looking for bread and chicken quarters and salad dressing.
And trying to understand why this beautiful country, My Beautiful Country, cannot grasp the difference between a hunting rifle and a military assault weapon.
Sad thoughts.
Angry thoughts.
Running through my mind
as I’m still here.
Still running errands.
